Satisfied that all was well, he climbed the stairs once again and checked the control panel. For the first time, he allowed himself to relax and think about the past and the future.
True, he told himself, he’d planned everything each step of the way, knowing that he and he alone had to be the one to enter and to control the powerhouse. But he’d been like a prisoner in jail who dreams of escape: so much effort went into planning how to do it that little thought had been given to what was to happen after.
There were ghosts in this chamber all right, not the least of which was the living ghost of Nikki Zinder, whom he’d assumed many years dead. Now here she was—if not pretty, at least cute, and fairly trim.
Obie was a slippery character; you could force him to follow your orders, but if you left him a loophole he’d plunge through every time. That brought up one thought immediately.
“Obie?”
“Yes, Ben?”
“I don’t want you telling anyone else by any means what I’m doing in here, or anything I might do in the future. Understand?”
“Yes, Ben.”
That settled at least one big worry. Next was—
Suddenly Yulin was very dizzy and somewhat nauseous, and he grabbed onto the panel for support, steadying himself until it subsided.
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 personal
ly. 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.
“New transaction, Obie,” he said, feeling better than he ever had in his life, so confident that he was now a god that worries faded.
“Go ahead, Ben,” the computer came back at him. “My, I did a nice job!”
Yulin actually laughed. “Yes, you did,” he approved. “Now you have a similar set of jobs. Subject is Nikki Zinder. New encoding modifications for subject.”
“You know Dr. Zinder built in a prohibition to prevent my doing certain things to her.”
Yulin nodded. “Not strong enough. Not nearly strong enough. And some of it I can undo. Okay, new subject is to be 160 centimeters high, female, age seventeen standard, the following dimensions.”
Slowly, carefully, he described his Venus. He gave her all of the modifications to sensory apparatus and immunities he’d given himself, including the camouflage ability and digestive-system versatility. Strength, too; great strength, but managed by an alteration in her internal structure and not something that would mar her exceptional beauty.
And a few things more.
“Mentally, subject shall retain all memories and sense of identity, except she shall look upon herself as my slave and my property, and she will consider this right and just and proper, normal in all ways. She will be totally obedient to my wishes, totally devoted to me and my wants, desires, and needs, to the exclusion of all else. Understand?”
“Sure, Ben. You want a human Dasheen cow,” Obie cracked. “It is unfortunately within my limits. Is that all?”
“For now,” he told the computer. “Lock and run. Now.”
It took the same eight seconds or so. He stared down in anticipation, and he wasn’t disappointed. She was absolutely the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
Her daughter he made a twin of the new Nikki, except he replaced Nikki’s black flowing hair with auburn, so he could tell them apart at a distance.
He called for them to come to him, and they did, joyfully, almost throwing themselves on him in adoration.
“All right, girls!” he laughed. “First, I think maybe we’ll explore our new bodies. Then you’ll run a few errands for me while I work with Obie on getting us back where we belong.”
“Oh, yes, Ben!” they both sighed in anticipation.
A few hours later he was ready; they had been intensely pleasurable hours, not at all wasted, but now to business.
“Obie?”
“Yes, Ben?”
“Are your external sensors still operable along the main shaft?” Although the computer was blind Topside, it could see the Underside area around the shaft leading to the big dish that still locked on the Well of Souls.
“Operational, Ben.”
He nodded. “Okay. Any life forms Underside?”
“None that I can detect, Ben—although I don’t seem to be able to detect the Yugash too well unless it’s in visual range. My sensors weren’t designed for energy creatures.”
He understood that. “But we’re all immune to its takeover, right?” The computer assured him they were. Yulin continued. “All right, then.” He turned to the two women, unable to overcome his delight at their beauty.
“Girls, you know what to do now.” They nodded in unison. He turned back to Obie. “Defense mode off, Obie. Defense mode will be off automatically on their return unless they are under coercion. Return to defense mode when they clear the door into the control center. Clear?”
“Clear, Ben.”
“And Obie—don’t forget. Not a word of this to anybody.”
“You know I can’t now,” the computer responded grumpily. “Defense mode off.”
The two women walked to the door, it opened, and they passed quickly out. It slid shut behind them.
Yulin returned to Obie. “You’ve been talking to Gil Zinder all along, haven’t you?” he accused.
“Yes, Ben, I cannot tell a lie,” Obie replied. “I thought you’d want to talk to him sooner or later.”
“Maybe not,” he said thoughtfully. “Obie, did the two of you work on the problem of freeing you from the Well?”
“Yes, Ben.”
“Did you solve it?”
“Yes, Ben.”
Aha! So much for problems, they vanished like magic, he thought smugly.
“Procedure?” he asked in anxious anticipation.
As Obie told him, he realized the logic of it and cursed himself for not having seen it himself. The solution was so simple it might have been overlooked for decades—of course, he was still rusty, he reminded himself. But there was a feeling of power in him beyond anything he’d ever known, and the confidence that he not only could do anything, he would do everything.
He would make no mistakes, he assured himself. Everything was to be thought out and carefully considered.
But he had already made one, and he didn’t know it.
Topside
The group was disappointed and gloomy. The products of diverse cultures and backgrounds, veterans of many campaigns—some in more than one form—most had fought, clawed, and schemed to be among those to reach the enigmatic New Pompeii. Six creatures of great potential and no little intellect, all totally impotent to solve their problem.
“We could always go home,” Renard suggested. They looked at him impatiently, a little patronizingly. He shrugged. “It’s an option, that’s all,” he added defensively.
“No, it is not an option,” Wooley responded. “We know what is in there. A big machine. We can even talk to it. A machine that can talk to the Well, tell it what to do. If Yulin wishes to, he can do anything he wants to the Well.”
“Perhaps he will leave it,” the Bozog said hopefully.
Vistaru sighed. “That’s even worse, and you know it. Well, maybe not so much to you or the Ghiskind, but Yulin’s not going to rush off to some strange system or race. He’s going to go home—to his original home. And he’s going to have the big dish to do whatever he wants to with entire planetary populations. The rest of us—Renard, Mavra, Wooley, and myself—came from those people. We can’t let him remake a civilization if we can prevent that, and we must do all in our power to prevent that.”
“Not to mention that Yulin’s a Dasheen,” Mavra pointed out. “Three guesses how women would fare in his new order. But—we have to be committed, I think. I sense that at least in Wooley and Vistaru. Bozog, if you want to take the ship and return, I’ll give you all the programming instructions you need. Renard could take you if he wanted, although your tentacles would do for what little control manipulation would need to be done.”
The Bozog shifted its bulk. “You know that is impossible,” it responded. “We knew it, too, before we took off. There is no return possible with that ship. None of us is capable
of another perfect dead-stick landing, not even friend Mavra here, had she tentacles or arms. It was a one-in-ten-thousand shot that they made it originally. The odds are far worse now. No, we can crash into the Well World, but not land, not ever.”
This surprised them. That aspect had never crossed their minds, although it should have. “Then why did you come?” Wooley asked.
“For myself,” the Bozog said slowly, trying to choose its words, “because it was possible. Because it is a feat and experience beyond duplication. To be here, on another world! To see the Well World from afar! This, in itself, is worth a dozen lives.”
Renard shrugged. “What about you, Ghiskind? You could survive a crash, I’ll bet.”
The Yugash flowed into the Bozog. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. But, if so, which of you will be the pilot willing to surrender its own life for mine? No, I, too, knew it was a one-way trip, unless the Obie computer can send us back.”
“I think that’s unlikely,” Mavra put in. “I don’t think any of us will ever see the inside of that control room. He’s too well defended.”
“If only there was some way to destroy it,” Wooley said in frustration. “A bomb, perhaps!”
“Maybe we can crash the ship into the big dish,” the Bozog suggested.
Mavra shook her head. “No, Obie’s pretty firm on that. Defenses are automatic since that was the weak point Trelig had to address. Fly into that beam and you’re gone.” Still, the idea of destroying Obie—which she rebelled against because, despite all, she liked and respected the thing—struck a chord. Schematics and plans flowed again, only this time with purpose.
Destruct. Destruct mechanisms.
The idea wouldn’t gel. A corner of her mind remembered Obie’s comment that, though he couldn’t absorb the Well’s input, he could do a few limited things by concentrating on a single, specific task. Well, Obie was to her what the Well was to Obie. She tried it, concentrating on destruct mechanisms.
And there it was.
Not a single one, but many, all over. Antor Trelig wanted to be certain that no one would ever be able to displace him as master of Obie or New Pompeii.
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