“Not a big problem,” the comm tech told him. “However, I was told to inform you if you were heard from again that if you do return, you must proceed immediately to Glathriel and remain there. If you are picked up here again, you will be immediately transported there. You must make somebody nervous.”
Damned paranoids,he thought, but he acknowledged the transmission and switched out.
The truth was, he’d like to do that at some point. Move into Glathriel and live there, “go native,” as it were, if he could stand it, and uncover the real mysteries of the place. Now, however, wasn’t the time.
Still, after seeing what was wrong with the Well, he seriously considered remaining this time, at least for a while. He wasn’t really sure why he hadn’t done so before, although, of course, the last time had been pretty dicey and leaving had been the only practical choice.
Hell, he could change his looks in there, even his race and sex, if he wanted to. He couldn’t figure out why he’d never done it. Too much the uncomfortable god, he decided. Maybe this time would be different. Or maybe he should just try the current Glathrielian matrix and see just what the hell was going on inside those people. That was if this girl made it up there with him and couldn’t tell him what he needed to know after removing her speech and language block.
They headed back up to the park with a detour past the ship they were going to take. It was a big one, larger than any he’d remembered from his still admittedly spotty recollections. Three-masted, made of superior fitted wood covered with some kind of synthetic laminate that protected and sealed it, two stacks, three decks above the main deck. Yeah, it looked like it could take an ocean, all right, and keep everybody comfortable and dry while doing it. It even had all sorts of smaller, exotic-looking masts atop the wheelhouse, indicating that if the hex allowed, it could use almost any technology known to Well World science.
It flew the Suffok flag, which meant it was a long way from home. He wished it were going home; it would make things very easy indeed, since that hex was virtually on the equator, but he suspected that it rarely went up that far. Considering that such a ship could not lie idle for long, he suspected that its profits, more than its hull, went to its home port in any given year.
Terry stared at the ship with a mixture of awe, wonder, puzzlement, and a little fear. The puzzlement was of course because she had no idea how the Well World worked or that there were nontech, semitech, and high-tech hexes, and thus its combination of features from every type of ship she’d ever known, and some she’d never thought of, seemed bizarre. Fear because even in normal times she’d never been that great on ships, and she really didn’t know if her claustrophobia could stand it long on that thing. She knew, though, that something that big and that grand didn’t make small voyages.
They continued walking back up the street to the park. By now it was late in the day and the merchants were mostly packing up, but Brazil was able to spot the one he’d spoken to about the horses, and now he figured he’d close whatever deal he could get. He’d paid a lot; now the Ambrezan, sensing Brazil was in something of a time squeeze, offered only half.
They haggled and argued and finally settled on a hundred plus as much of the unsold produce as Brazil and Terry could carry back to their nearby campsite. Brazil made out a bill of sale on some glorified butcher paper and signed and dated it, and the merchant took it and nodded.
Brazil had to admit to himself that he took far more of the produce than he could possibly consume, but he felt a little gypped by the guy and wanted to cost him as much as possible. Terry, however, once she got the idea, did even better.
Both of them ate until they were stuffed, understanding that little of it would keep, but after he watched Terry put away so much of it, he wondered if there were going to be leftovers, after all.
Finally, they cleaned up as best they could and found themselves again virtually alone in the park after dark. The sky had cleared, and the glow from the massive stellar display was almost like a full moon on Earth. It was one sight that neither he nor Terry ever tired of; those who were born under it and took it for granted rarely even looked up.
Terry felt oddly nervous about the coming day. For one thing, she had no idea if she’d have to sneak or bully her way onto that big ship to stay with him or whether he’d added her to the fare. For another, cut off from Earth, from her friends, and from Glathriel, she felt particularly lonely and insecure, and Brazil was the only one around she had to lean on.
He’d considered turning in early to insure having enough time to get the gear packed and board the ship, but he felt too wide awake, and there was that wonderful sky and the water. He finally decided that he’d take a walk and appreciate the scene. Acutely aware of her insecurity, Terry went with him, taking his hand as they walked along the ancient seawall where once great ships had called in some distant age. After a while they sat together on the seawall and looked out at the sky, the inner harbor lights, and the darkness beyond. To Terry, this moment was wonderful; she wanted it to continue.
She closed her eyes and allowed the night sense to come in, the scene took on a far different look. It wasn’t dark anymore; instead, it was rippling, and within it she saw thousands of pale green shapes, many tiny, some very large.
and, here and there, large shapes of an indigo color she’d never seen before. What were they? Some monsters of the deep, like whales, swimming yet breathing air? Or did intelligent races live even in the water here? Were they more creatures of some kind, creatures who had some sort of different civilization out there in the sea?
The concept, combined with the sky, made her feel even tinier and more lost and insecure, and her fear that Brazil might leave her grew. How could she follow him through that?
Without even realizing that she was doing it, she squeezed his hand and sent, Love me! Don’t ever leave me! The white aura, particularly strong after all she had eaten, rushed from her and to him, and a bright white series of impulses traveled from her up his arm and into his head and seemed to explode there, then fade, although not entirely.
They hadn’t invented a number high enough to count the women Nathan Brazil had known in his life, and he’d spent millennia trying to never form an attachment or any real feeling for any short-lifer because of the inevitable heartbreak. It was always a battle, though, particularly because of his own intense loneliness. Somehow, though, right there, right then, with this mystery woman he could neither talk to nor understand, he lost the battle and the will to fight it at all. Suddenly, without even thinking, he drew her to him, and he kissed her, and suddenly the pent-up emotions held back for so many countless years overwhelmed him.
She had been both surprised and pleased when he’d embraced her and started to kiss her in a way far more than friendly, since that was just what she wanted and needed then, but with the kiss came a sudden massive surge of deep, blinding white from him into her. The closest she might have come to describing the feeling rushing inward, had she been capable of analyzing it or even cared to, was that it seemed as if her whole brain had been fried in a massive wave of pleasure and desire.
By the time they’d finished, under that magnificent sky, on the grass, near the ancient seawall, and were just lying there side by side, holding hands and looking up, she was incapable of even wondering if what she’d tried had backfired. She only knew that she’d never felt like this before, not ever, and that she could never bear to lose him or live without him. She was, even in the Glathrielian energy sense, linked to him now for life.
Brazil, too old, too wise, too strong, was unaware of the cause of what had happened but was nonetheless affected by it. Iswore when Mavra left that I would never allow myself to do this again, he thought. But I guess I made myself a little too human, after all. So, here I am, feeling totally illogical, in love with somebody whose name I don’t know, whose background I don’t know, and who I can’t even talk to. Maybe after all this time I really have gone nuts.
But he didn’t want to reject it, e
ven though he knew deep down he could purge it if he truly worked at it. He’d felt the same intensity of feeling from her, and for now maybe that was enough. He felt the odd linkage, as if something tangible actually connected the two of them like some umbilical cord, but he dismissed it as just too many years of holding in his emotions.
Finally, he got up and pulled her to her feet, and they walked back toward the camp, still in an emotional high.
The fact that a feeling of impending danger cut through the high was all the more dramatic. They both sensed it at the same time and moved over away from the campsite toward the darkest area of trees. They separated, but the link established between them did not weaken or falter. It was as if they could read each other’s emotions, though not thoughts, and immediately accept and act on them. There was something out there, something not friendly, and it was waiting for them.
She separated from him and immediately tried her night sense. What had been invisible before now came in very, very clear. There were two creatures; one, larger than the other, holding some sort of instrument, was hiding behind a tree just down the path to the fountain, with a clear view of the tent; the other was in the trees, silent, still, waiting for them.
At the same moment Terry saw them with the night sight, Nathan Brazil suddenly knew exactly where both of the lurkers were. He didn’t wait to wonder how he knew; he sensed that the girl was going for the one in the trees, so his target was the bastard down the trail.
Great!he thought sourly. What the hell am I going to do? Hit him with my guidebook? Anything he could possibly use as a weapon was back in the camp. Or was it?
He suddenly realized that he was carrying his clothes, not wearing them, and he fumbled in the pants pockets to see what he had. The map and book, safety matches, and… one of the spare little gas canisters he used for the camp stove. He couldn’t remember putting it there and wondered if it was full or empty. There was no time to check; he’d have to trust to those little twists of fate that always got him out of nasty situations and hope this wasn’t one of those times when he was going to wake up in a hospital.
Dropping everything but the canister, which lit much like a common cigar lighter, he silently made his way around through the trees, giving the ambusher a wide berth. Thanking fate that these two hadn’t discovered them up by the seawall, he began to close in on his quarry from the fountain side.
He could see the lurker now. Humanoid, maybe a meter and a half tall, covered with brown fur or feathers, and, most important of all, holding a mean-looking rifle of no local manufacture with what must have been a sniper’s scope on it. With the experience of countless lifetimes, Brazil approached the creature in absolute silence, slowly, slowly closing in, ready to pounce if the sniper suddenly noticed him.
Now he was practically standing next to the sniper, at the same tree. Carefully, silently, he turned the little gas jet on and prayed that the flint and wheel wouldn’t screw him up.
The sniper suddenly straightened up a bit in puzzlement, then sniffed the air. Brazil lit the canister and shoved it at him. A huge sheet of flame roared out and caught the fur, and the creature roared in pain and turned, giving Brazil a look at one of the meanest-looking faces he’d ever seen.
As the creature straightened up, Brazil dropped the canister and leapt at it, grabbing the rifle and then dropping, rolling, and coming back up with it pointed back at the assassin in one fluid motion.
The creature banged its back against the tree and put out the fire but then glared down the barrel of his own rifle. There was no doubt from the way Brazil held it that the man knew just how to use it.
Over near the camp another creature had waited in the trees to pounce on whoever might have come to the tent. It clung, silent and still, to the side of the tree without any obvious means of support.
Terry had moved around to the other side after separating from Brazil and had gone up a tree well distant from her own quarry. She moved with silent precision, using the night sense to see the links whereby she could get from one tree to the other and finally to the one next to the tent. The thing glowed brightly in her night sense, a sickly red like dried blood against the glowing tan of the tree. The outline was clear and now familiar to her: one of those scorpionlike creatures, its long, curved tail poised and practically screaming instant death to her.
She was right above it now, and for the first time she wasn’t sure what to do. She sensed that Nathan was about to pounce on the other one; whatever it was had to be done fast. If only she had a better angle… Nothing she could do would work unless she actually touched the loathsome thing!
At that moment Brazil moved, and from up the path there was a scream that she knew was not his. The creature was suddenly alert, then turned toward the direction of the sounds. At that moment, fidgeting, the deadly tail was pointed straight down, the curve right below her. Timing, of course, was everything, but there was no chance for anything else but direct force and a prayer that it would work.
She jumped feet first and struck the tail at its midcurve. The tail went forward and punctured the thick exoskeleton of the creature, who roared even as they both fell from the tree and onto the tent below.
She landed right next to the thing and gave a panicked cry as the poison-tipped tail flailed up and down in random directions. She rolled away just in time for it to miss her, but it was a near thing. She was entangled in the collapsed tent with the creature when it again struck within a hair’s breadth of her arm. She reached out reflexively and shoved it, at the same time sending her own fear and panic.
The creature managed to right itself but seemingly forgot about her. It leapt a good ten feet, landing on its feet, and began running on all six of its legs away toward the port, emitting an eerie, piercing sirenlike scream as it did so.
She had no idea where it went, and she didn’t care. She knew it was gone, and she felt that Nathan was all right as well.
Brazil was torn between his captive and his clear perception of her fright and panic. He turned slightly, distracted by the feelings he was receiving from her, and the would-be sniper took it as an opening, running into the man and knocking him down, sending the rifle into the grass. The creature didn’t look for it or go at Brazil, though; instead, it ran at top speed away into the darkness.
Brazil got up quickly and looked around, but the assassin was gone. “Damn!” he swore aloud. “Damn! Damn! Damn!” He looked around for the rifle, certain that the creature hadn’t retrieved it, and found it in about thirty seconds. The girl no longer worried him; he knew without even checking that she was safe and that the other assailant, too, had fled.
Instead, he walked back down to what remained of the camp, looking at the rifle, noting only now what had caused him to know that an ambush awaited.
The two embedded electric streetlights along the fountain path were out. Either put out or shot out, most likely.
He found Terry shaken but unharmed. She might have a bruise or two, and she had a couple of scratches where she’d fallen into the tent, but it didn’t appear to be anything serious.
He smiled, winked at her, and kissed her, then turned his attention to the rifle. It was a damned good one, too. Expensive. But the previous owner was no pro; a pro would never have taken up that exposed position or allowed anyone to get that close. Similarly, the Ecundo, for that was what the scorpionlike creature had been, had acted less like an assassin than like some ship’s crewman hard up for some spare cash and recruited on the spot for an “easy” job. Again, no matter what her own abilities, she shouldn’t have been able to get close enough to nail him without his hearing, and he certainly should have nailed her with that stinger when they fell. These were amateurs. Amateurs hired by somebody with money and sources of illegal weapons.
They’d just survived a crude attempt by amateurs at a paid “hit.”
“Now what the hell…?” he mused, staring at the rifle. Who would want him dead badly enough to hire toughs to do it? Who would be dumb eno
ugh to think they could kill him? Yet if they didn’t know who he really was and what that meant, why bother? The Ambreza? Hardly. They could have snared him a lot easier a thousand times and with far less mess. He’d been only in Ambreza and briefly in Glathriel, and certainly the latter was out as a suspect. The only one who knew both who he was and where he might be would be Mavra Chang.
But this wasn’t her style. Remote-control hits by amateurs? And she of all people would know that he couldn’t be taken out any more than she could. But who else could it be?
Damn it, Mavra was as much if not more of an enigma to him than the girl was. If it was Mavra, what might be the motive? To slow him up, perhaps, now that he was on the move? A real possibility. But the worst possibility was one he didn’t want to think about.
That somebody here, somewhere, knew who and what he was and was bent on stopping him at all cost, a third player whose very race and motives were unknown.
He looked at the ruins of the camp and sighed. Then he went over to find his clothes and get dressed again. She might not mind, but it was damned chilly for him.
There wouldn’t be much sleep tonight, after all, even with all that had happened. Tomorrow morning the ship would sail, and they would be on it. Plenty of time to sleep then. Or, at least, if there was another attacker aboard, they couldn’t run away like these two and he might get answers to some questions.
It was the story of his life, he decided. Every nice turn was met with an unexpected plunge into something nasty.
Erdom
Lori had been with Posiphar long enough to understand the bargaining game, and it was a good thing, too, since the tentmaker wasn’t offering a very good deal on getting Julian off his hands in spite of his professed disgust with her.
“Since the treatment has begun as the Holy One directed, she is coming along very well,” Aswam argued. “In a few more months, with the herbs the monk gave us to add to her food and drink, she will have forgotten all this foolishness and become a good girl and bear many fine children.”
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