For a moment he was fearful, and he took a few more minutes to calm down enough to think it through. What was wrong with him?
The answer was obvious. As a Dasheen bull he depended on milk manufactured by the female for deficiencies in his own system. How long had it been since he’d had some of the chemical substitute? A day? Two? More? He was about to order some made up for him by Obie when he stopped.
Do I still want to be a Dasheen? he asked himself.
He liked the culture, he felt comfortable as one; it was practical on the Well World. He’d run enough through Obie to know that control of the Well of Souls computer was impossible unless a machine far greater than Obie was built, and that much was beyond him—at least now. Nor did he dare tinker too much by giving the Well new instructions; the Well was the stabilizing device not only for the Well World but for literally all living, things in the universe. Give it improper instructions and one could wipe out civilizations, even oneself. At best summon that Marko-vian, Brazil—a being who could operate the Well, even cancel out Ben Yulin, New Pompeii, and anything else it wished. He had no desire to run into that character; still, Brazil was also subject to the Well. Handled carefully, he should never know.
But handle what? This was the new problem. To go out in space, looking into new civilizations? Perhaps, one day—but not now. Obie represented unlimited opportunity coupled to virtual immortality.
What he needed were people to do the hard stuff, people he could trust as he could trust his Dasheen cows back home.
There was only one source for such people that he knew of, and that was in the human sector of the Milky Way galaxy, now so far away. One world at a time, if need be, carefully, nicely, normally adjusted so precisely that nobody else would even realize things had been changed. Not Brazil, not the Council.
That meant being human again.
But what kind of human?
He thought it out carefully, sighed, and flipped open the channel to Obie.
“Yes, Ben?”
He punched several buttons on his keyboard. “Unnumbered transaction, file in aux storage under my key only.”
The computer was amazed every time he did this, and opened the section otherwise closed to him. Yulin and Obie always went through a complex exchange on it, which Yulin suffered through again.
“Now, Obie, I want you to listen carefully,” Yulin said slowly. “You will carry out my instructions to the letter, neither adding nor subtracting anything on your own. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Ben.”
“Recall subject Ben Yulin as first recorded physiologically.”
“I have it, Ben,” the computer responded.
“All right. That model shall be the subject, as modified according to the following criteria. First, subject shall be two meters tall and proportioned accordingly, with total muscular development. Got that?”
“Yes, Ben. You want to look like a body-builder,” Obie replied in his sarcastic way. Yulin ignored it.
“Obie, do you have Mavra Chang’s original encoding?” he asked.
“Up front.”
When he’d first escaped from New Pompeii, Yulin used Obie to turn himself into Mavra Chang. At that time he’d discovered that Chang had surgically implanted tiny sacs and needles under her fingernails that could inject powerful hypnotic drugs. He’d had the opportunity to use them once in self-defense and he’d never forgotten them.
“Give subject Ben Yulin the hypnotic injector system found in the Chang encoding below the fingernails. Make it natural, self-refilling, and harmless in all ways to the subject, who shall himself be immune. Got that?”
“I’ve got it, Ben,” Obie said. “It will take some work, but not much.”
He nodded. So far so good. “Further modifications to subject. The best ocular vision system possible, including infrared and ultraviolet perception, full day-night capability with good color and excellent resolution even at great distances. Okay?”
“I have such a system design,” the computer replied.
“Further modifications to subject Ben Yulin: the best hearing in all ranges you can design, wavelength selectable by the subject.”
“Go on,” the computer responded casually. “I’m fascinated by this superman you are constructing.”
He had a few additional ideas. “Obie, you’ve studied the denizens of the Well World. I’m aware that the Lata and a number of other creatures can live off anything organic. Can you adapt subject’s system to do that?”
“It’s getting better,” the computer noted. “Oh, yes. Do you want wings, too?”
Tempting as that was, he passed it up. “No, but can you design subject to be immune to Lata and Yaxa venom?”
“Done.”
“How about Yugash takeover and even severe electric shock?” he asked, pressing it but at the same time truly reveling in this casual godlike activity at his command.
“The prevention of takeover by a Yugash is relatively easy,” the computer replied after a moment. “Immunity to electrical shock is much more difficult. Since I assume that you are merely looking for a defense against Renard, might I just design in a tolerence for voltages of slightly greater amplitude and duration than the Agitar are capable of?”
“Good enough.” Yulin’s mind was racing again. Then he remembered one attribute of at least four Well races that would be very handy about now.
“Obie, among others, the Zupika can blend in with any background. Can this be programmed into the subject, usable on a voluntary basis? I assume true invisibility is impossible.”
“Invisibility’s impossible if you want to remain a creature of solid matter,” the computer replied. “As for ability to blend—well, it might not be as perfect as the natural form, but I think it’s possible. Yes, I can do it.”
“Then add that attribute to subject.”
“Is that all?” the computer asked mockingly.
Yulin’s head cocked slightly to one side. “No, one more thing. Add that subject is male, will breed true in these attributes, and is capable of almost indefinite multiple male orgasms.”
The computer actually sighed. “I should have guessed. That’s three things, but they’re locked in.”
“Closing instructions,” he concluded. “Subject will have all of Ben Yulin’s current input memories and personality—nothing of that is to be changed! However, subject will feel comfortable, normal, and natural in the new body and will know its operation, capabilities, and limits.”
“Coded,” Obie acknowledged.
“This is a closed transaction,” Yulin ordered. “You will be unable to complete any other transaction until it is completed, and your next transaction must be coded by me personally. Clear?”
“Clear,” the computer responded. “Lock and run. Now.”
Yulin walked down the stairs carefully, still dizzy, still nauseous for want of Dasheen milk. He made it to the circular platform and stood upon it. The overhead dish swung out, locked, then bathed him in a metallic blue glow. The image of the Dasheen bull stiffened, flickered, then winked out.
The two women tied up in a corner struggled to free themselves while their adversary was inside the machine, but could not.
Eight seconds later another image flickered in the glow, then solidified. The blue glow disappeared. The dish swung back.
The women stared. Ben Yulin had always been a handsome, somewhat exotic man; now, every muscle developed and bulging, he looked like an Adonis and a David wrapped up in one.
But this one moved, smiled at them, and checked his fingernails. He stepped down, walked over, touched a fingernail to Nikki Zinder’s skin. A tiny needle, a hollow tube of cartilage, injected a clear fluid into her. She struggled a second, then stiffened, and seemed to sleep. Another finger flexed, and her better-looking daughter also succumbed.
He untied them, ordered them to rise. Nikki Zinder was first on the platform; her daughter stood zombie- like, in front. He returned to the console, punched some more numbers.