Man Who Used the Universe

by Alan Dean Foster

  Counselor Momblent died six hours later, only partway back to the city. But he died happy.

  Making contact was hard. The problem was that Chaheel Riens had no intention of unburdening himself to anyone lower than a personal representative of the Board, if not an actual Board member. The Board of Operators was the supreme programmer, the highest human level of UTW government. Trying to gain an audience with one of them was like trying to meet with a member of the Council of Eight, or a Family Matriarch.

  He could not settle for anyone of lesser status for fear that an underling might be part of Loo-Macklin's extensive network of personal contacts. Surely the word was out to keep watch for a particular Nuel scientist, though in a sense Chaheel was protected by Loo-Macklin's own high opinion of him. He would think that Chaheel was too intelligent to come back into the UTW. Only a complete idiot would do a fool thing like that.

  At least enough Nuel now moved freely through the eighty-three worlds so that Chaheel's mere presence was not cause for comment. His thoughts and remarks might give him away, but not his shape.

  Prior to departing for the UTW, Chaheel had undergone a change of eye color. Additional surgery had removed the characteristic wisdom folds from his abdominal skirt. Loo-Macklin's minions would be searching for a psychologist named Chaheel Riens. With luck they would never look twice at a minor family functionary named Mazael Afar, on loan to the Board of Operators Research Foundation from the Varueq family.

  Surgery and fabrication had to be carried out in secret. So powerful was Loo-Macklin's influence among the families that Chaheel didn't doubt they would forcibly restrain him if they knew of his plans.

  It was his first trip to Terra, also called Earth, also Gaea, mother world of humanity. It was a measure of how deeply the Nuel had penetrated human society and how extensively shape-prejudice had been overcome that Chaheel was even permitted to travel there.

  He was certainly not the first Nuel to visit that blue planet. Clearly the Plan was moving ahead nicely. Praise and glory to the Families . . . and to their allies, like one Kees vaan Loo-Macklin.

  Subsequent to arrival Chaheel made certain he was not being followed or watched. Then he initiated inquiries. Who was accessible, whom might he talk with?

  Eventually he was able to arrange a meeting with a programmer of eighth status. Though hardly a member of the Board of Operators, it was still something of a coup for Chaheel to have secured a meeting with someone so high in the computer hierarchy.

  He insisted that the meeting take place in the man's home and not a government office. Oxford Swift found the request, not to mention the insistence, peculiar, but then what else but perversity could you expect from a Nuel? Already he regretted agreeing to the meeting.

  His home was a rambling falsewood structure, which ambled along the south bank of the Orinoco. Similar residences were strung like beads along both sides of the mighty river, carefully stained to blend into the thick vegetation.

  Chaheel arrived by marcar early in the morning. The meeting was to take place before Swift was required at his office. It gave the man an excuse to cut the interview off early should the alien's presence prove disagreeable.

  "Greetings, uh, Mazael Afar." The human did not extend a greeting hand to the creature, which flowed down the ramp leading into a curved room overlooking the river. "It's nice to meet you," he lied. "I've worked with the Nuel on one or two other occasions, though never before in person.

  "I understand you have some questions you want to ask me that involve your projected work for the department?"

  Chaheel replied by removing a small instrument from a pocket. The man eyed it curiously as Chaheel turned in a slow circle. Insofar as he could tell this residence was not being monitored. The conversation could proceed without fear of detection.

  "My name," he said as he slipped the device back into his pocket, "is not Mazael Afar but Chaheel Riens. I'm a psychologist, not an economic programmer."

  Oxford Swift digested this silently. He was of middle age, with long black hair tied back in a single fall. Thin puce suspenders held up blue and white trousers. His wife glanced curiously into the room from the food preparation area, vanished hastily when Chaheel turned a single huge eye on her.

  "I expect you have an explanation for this subterfuge," Swift murmured. He thought about the little ceremony with the strange device. "Let's go out on the porch. It's a nice place to chat."

  At least this individual is perceptive, Chaheel thought. Perhaps I have made a lucky choice.

  "My reasons are of the utmost importance," he told the man. "I was informed that you were more honest than most." The man made a little gesture with his head, which Chaheel knew to signify modesty.

  "What I have to tell you is possibly vital to both my own people and to mankind. I will tell you truly that my government ignores my pleas. I am hoping that your own will prove more receptive."

  "Why come to me?" Swift wanted to know. "Surely not because I have the reputation of being an honest man?"

  "Partially that, and because of your position. You have access, albeit limited, to the highest level of UTW government. That is more than I could hope to gain in the short time I believe may remain to us."

  "You're afraid of something."

  "Yes, truly. I fear the intentions of a man named Keeyes . . ." he struggled with the syllables, "Kees vaan Loo-Macklin."

  "Loo-Macklin." Swift did not have to think long. "The one who opened commerce with the worlds of the Families?" Chaheel indicated assent. "That's a man many people are probably afraid of. I take it your reasons are more than petty."

  "I will tell them to you." He eyed the opposite bank of the river and its string of half-concealed expensive homes uneasily. "Is there still a safer place where we might talk?"

  "Come downstairs." Swift looked toward the kitchen. "We're going into the den, honey. Be a few minutes."

  The woman looked out of the area. "I have to be at the airport in a couple of hours, but I've time to fix you something if you want it." She hesitated, forced herself to face Chaheel. "Can I prepare anything for you, sir?"

  "Thank you, I have already eaten this morning." He allowed for her obvious ignorance. To the Nuel the majority of human food, consisting largely of dead animal parts, was inedible.

  They descended a staircase. It required all Chaheel's courage and skill to negotiate the descent. Cilia were not adapted to steps.

  Downstairs was barely above river level. A large glass window shaded by the porch they'd been standing on earlier opened onto a screened-in swimming area. Without waiting for an invitation, Chaheel divested himself of his attire and slid gratefully through the arched entrance into the warm water. After a moment's uncertainty, Swift copied him.

  Chaheel did not worry about parasites. As for other waterdwellers, he was sure the man had the area screened in for a reason, and stayed carefully within the protected area. Outside, a few piranhas watched his gray bulk hungrily.

  "What sort of information is so important that you have to hide it from your own people, Chaheel Riens?" the man asked him.

  The psychologist considered how to begin, staring curiously at the human. He'd never seen one in water before. They moved awkwardly but did not sink as he suspected they might.

  Now that his chance had arrived he was unsure how to proceed. He'd been unable to convince his own kind. How could he convince these bipeds?

  This particular human, this Oxford Swift, seemed receptive enough. If he failed with him he would have to try another human, perhaps in a different branch of the government.

  Might as well begin, truly, he told himself, and see what happens. "It began, Oxford Swift, some years ago. At that time I was . . ."

  He was interrupted before he could say anything of importance by a noise from above. Both man and Nuel turned in the water to look toward the stairs. The man's wife was standing there, looking disheveled and concerned.

  Flanking her and rapidly filing into the den were a conside
rable number of heavily armed humans. They wore legal uniforms. To Chaheel's surprise they wore complexion armor in addition to their weapons. The thin mylar flashed in the dim light of the den.

  Too late, forever too late, he told himself in despair. Loo-Macklin had discovered his return to the UTW, penetrated his carefully concocted disguisings, and tracked him down.

  I shall be escorted to some quiet section of wild jungle where I will meet an accidental and carefully engineered death, Chaheel told himself grimly. It should not be too hard to cover up. Nuel psychologist traveling under alias meets unfortunate termination in the wilds of Terra. Or perhaps they would simply report Mazael Afar's death.

  After a while, the Science Registry of his home world would wonder what had happened to the brilliant psychologist Chaheel Riens. They would list him as missing. And of course he would be difficult to trace. He'd seen to that himself. I do hope Loo-Macklin appreciates how easy I've made this for him, he thought bitterly.

  One eye swiveled to study the metal net barring access to the open river. He was a better swimmer than any human and not burdened by weapons or armor. If he could get over the net . . .

  Alas, the Nuel are not constructed for climbing any more than they are for jumping. He could probably pull himself over the metal mesh, but not quickly enough.

  Actually, the only real surprise was that he'd managed to get this far without being discovered. He noted the look of puzzlement and mild fear on the face of his human host. Have a thought for this poor human who might have helped you, he ordered himself.

  "They are here for me," he told Oxford Swift.

  The leader of the clustered invaders stepped into the water's edge, stared at him. "Are you the psychologist Chaheel Riens?"

  "You know that I am as truly as I know the reason for your presence here."

  The man seemed surprised.

  "I had been expecting you, in fact," Chaheel continued. Now Oxford Swift's momentary fear had given way to bewilderment.

  "They just broke in," his wife said from atop the stairs. "I tried to tell them you were in conference, darling, but they just pushed past me."

  Oxford Swift was beginning to recover some of his aplomb. He was an eighth-status citizen, after all.

  "This is outrageous, whoever you are. Unless you have a warrant for entry I suggest you take your pack of armed monkeys and . . ."

  The officer in charge frowned but held his temper. "My armed monkeys and I are operating on an Interworld Government Priority class Over-A. Until this morning I didn't even know there was such a thing, sir." He looked back and up at the unhappy Ms. Swift.

  "I apologize for all this, ma'am, but you'll know the reason for it soon enough." He looked back toward Swift. "You too, sir." He turned a puzzled look on Chaheel, who bobbed easily in the water.

  "I'm glad that we found you, visitor, but how did you know to expect us?"

  "Don't play word-games with me, human," snorted Chaheel. "I am a student long-time of your culture, in case they did not tell you that. It's obvious that even though you wear the trappings of officialdom you are here at the direction of Kee-yes vain . . . Kees vaan Loo-Macklin. You are to see that I have an accident before I can unburden myself of certain information. Truly."

  "I don't know what the hell you're raving about, slimeskin," said the obviously upset officer. "All I know is that Caracas Intelligence received word you might be in this area. We've been scouring the whole Orinoco Basin trying to locate you. Apparently someone remembered processing your communications with Mr. Swift here," he gestured toward the human, who had left the water and was dressing himself, "and so we came straight away to check out the possibility you might be with him.

  "We're to escort you to Caracas immediately where you're to be put on a suborbital transport for São Paulo. There's some kind of emergency brewing down there."

  Now it was Chaheel's turn to suffer bewilderment. "You mean you are truly not here by order of Loo-Macklin? You are not to kill me?"

  "Hell, no. I don't even know the guy you're babbling about."

  "São Paulo is headquarters for the Board of Operators."

  "Our orders have that seal," the officer admitted, "but didn't come from them. The request for your presence was put out by the Nuel ambassador to Terra."

  The officer paused as one of his subordinates whispered to him. He nodded once, looked toward Swift.

  "I think you'd better come along too, sir."

  "Me?" The programmer took a step backward. "I haven't done anything. I haven't even been told anything." He looked askance at his alien visitor. Chaheel felt sorry for him. "He came here saying he had some information he wanted to give me. You broke in on us before . . ."

  "Please calm down, sir. It's only procedure. Nothing's going to happen to you."

  "But I have work to attend to today, and tomorrow my presence will be required at . . ."

  "They don't tell guys like me much, sir," said the officer, "but from some of the word coming down, there are people high up in the government who think there may not be a tomorrow."

  Chaheel noted that they brought along the man's mate, too. Outside the house was a small, if decorously dispersed, army. Someone was badly worried about something.

  Down the river and then by marcar tube to Caracas. From there, via superfast suborbital aircraft, to the capital city of São Paulo. Chaheel's mind was spinning as fast as the turbines in the aircraft's engines.

  The Nuel ambassador wanted him, not Loo-Macklin, not the Terran government, not the Board of Operators. If Loo-Macklin was not involved in this business somehow then what did the ambassador want with Chaheel Riens? And why bring along two ordinary, innocent humans? On the chance they might have heard something? Heard what? What was going on?

  His thoughts were still unsorted when the aircraft touched down on the broad landing plain outside the megalopolis of São Paulo. Ground transport whisked them at dangerous speed into the heart of the immense city. The Board of Operators functioned here, overseeing the decisions of the Master Computer, which made critical civic decisions for every one of the eighty-three worlds.

  Machine and attendants were housed in a gigantic pyramidal structure overlooking the distant Mato Grosso. By satellite relay the Master Computer was tied to two dozen other massive computing installations scattered across the surface of Terra. The capacity of the two dozen exceeded that of the Master Computer. Their job was to work in unison to compose the questions, which were to be put to the Board of Operators.

  Somewhere inside the bowels of that tower of knowledge worked the thirty men and women, operating in shifts of ten, who composed the Board of Operators. They were chosen by competitive testing every two years and held their positions for four-year terms. They were the decision-makers, or so the population thought of them. Actually they were no more than nurses, or perhaps glorified mechanics, attending to the needs of the Master Computer. But even in this day and age there were those who grew uncomfortable at the thought of having their lives run by a machine, however capable. So responsibility was attributed to the Board, which accepted it as simply another duty.

  Chaheel began to grow excited. There were possibilities here. Never mind poor, confused Oxford Swift. Here he might have the chance to corner and unburden himself to a truly important human, perhaps even one of the thirty Operators themselves. If the opportunity presented itself he would certainly seize it, no matter how his armed escort might react.

  The pyramid rose three hundred and twenty stories into the subtropical sky. Its crown vanished into the clouds that swirled in off the Atlantic. They entered via a back service entrance so as not to disturb the usual crowds at the main entryways with the sight of armed men.

  High-speed elevators lifted them to rarified heights. At the two hundred and eightieth floor they slowed and stopped, exiting into an endless room dominated by half a dozen multistory-high viewscreens. Currently each was filled with complex plottings and mathematical readouts. Humans in multihued unifor
ms wandered busily through the auditorium. There was an air of expectancy as well as confusion among them.

  The armed party, which had been shedding personnel step by step, was met by a high officer. He exchanged military gestures with the officer in charge and they conversed for a few minutes. The man and woman were shunted politely but firmly off to one side.

  "What's going to happen to us?" Oxford Swift was yelling. "I have to be at work . . . I want to see my attorney! I'm an eighth status . . .!"

  No one paid him the least attention. Chaheel still felt sympathy for the biped. He'd been unwittingly drawn into something he did not understand. Well, he had company.

  Suddenly, his skirt jouncing impressively as he oozed forward, and his exquisite silver and purple tunic being woven by no less than a dozen el working at such speed that he appeared to be covered by steadily changing pictures, there was Piark Triquelmuraz, ambassador to Terra and special envoy to the Board of Operators of the eighty-three worlds of the UTW.

  He was overbearingly large, no taller than Chaheel but much wider. The Nuel had a tendency to grow out instead of up. Their cartilaginous internal supports could not handle great height, but did very well with distributed weight. His cilia were invisible beneath the many folds of his abdominal skirt, and green-flecked eyes both focused appraisingly on Chaheel.

  Two assistants accompanied him; one a Nuel subambassador, the other a human. "Chaheel Riens," Piark huffed importantly.

  "First Father Ambassador," replied Chaheel, executing the greeting one reserves for a much-honored elder. "I would know why I am brought here, truly?"

  "Shortly you shall. We have been searching for you for some time, ever since you unexpectedly fled the worlds of the Families. Fortunately, there are not even today all that many of us working within the UTW and most of us are located on the large industrial worlds. Your alias did not slow us, but your surgical alterations did. Providential that you were so near, yet that doubtless cost us time. I did not think to look for you under my skirt."

  "I had reason to be there," Chaheel replied tersely. "No reason longer to conceal my purpose. I expect you know of it already?"