Finally the creature got to Vardia, flew all around her, then suddenly jumped on her head, and before she could make a move it pushed its sharp, mosquito-like proboscis into the top of her head just under the leafy growth. They were all too stunned to move for several seconds. Suddenly Hain said, "I'll zap it."
"No!" Skander shouted violently. "You might leave that thing in her. Wait a minute and let's see what happens."
Vardia had no pain centers but she did have sensitive nerves, and they felt the thing enter and probe until it touched a particular set of nerves, the ones that sent messages to and from her head and brains.
Quite suddenly everything went dark, and a strange voice much like her own thoughts, only stronger, asked, "Who and what are you and what are you doing here?"
She could think of nothing but answering. The alien thought was so powerful it was hypnotizing. It was more demand than question.
"We are just passing through your hex on our way to the equator."
She felt the proboscis withdraw, and the lights came on again. She was in control and saw the thing heading away at high speed.
"Va— Chon," Skander corrected. "What happened?"
"It . . . it spoke to me. It asked who we were, and I said we were just people going through the hex toward the equator. Man! It's strong! I have the strangest feeling that I would have to answer anything it asked—and do whatever it said."
The Rel drifted over and lifted itself up so it could examine her head with whatever it used for sensory equipment. As it drifted just a few centimeters from her up to her head, she felt a strange tingling. Obviously it did not float—something supported it.
The Diviner and The Rel seemed satisfied and floated back down. "No sign of a wound of any kind," the creature said. "Amazing. One of the flowers got curious, and since you were the only member of the vegetable kingdom around, it picked you. Stay still and let it happen again. Assure them we'll do no harm and get through as quickly as possible. Tell them we're following the coast and will take care."
"I don't think I can tell them anything they don't ask," Vardia responded weakly. "Oh, oh, here it comes again!"
The creature did not have to probe the second time; it went straight to the proper nerve endings. "readout!" came the command, and suddenly she felt herself being drained, as if that which was her very essence was being sucked up into a bottle through a straw. The process took several minutes.
"Look!" Skander cried. "My god! She's rooted! Unmoving in bright daylight! What did that thing do to her?"
The insect moved back into the mass of flowers.
"We can't do anything but wait," The Rel cautioned. "We don't know the rules here. At least those insects seem to be dominant only on the plants. Take it easy and let things run their course."
Hain and The Rel both moved toward her, where she stood rooted and motionless. Hain pressed against her skin, and got no response, nor any from the blank eyes.
"Are we going to have to camp here?" Hain asked at last in a disgusted tone. "Why not just leave her?"
"Patience, Hain," The Rel warned. "We can't afford to proceed until this drama plays itself out, even if it takes hours. We have only a little more than two hundred kilometers in this hex but we want to survive it."
They waited, and it took hours.
* * *
Vardia felt suspended in limbo, unable to see, hear, feel, or do anything else. Yet it wasn't like being asleep—she knew that she existed, just not where.
Suddenly she felt that sucking feeling again, and suddenly she was aware of someone else. She couldn't understand how she knew, but something else was there, all right. Suddenly that force of thought she had felt when the insect had first penetrated her head was all around her.
"i meld what is yours to me and what is me to you," the voice that was pure thought said, and it was so.
There was an explosion in her mind, and she clung desperately to control, to her own personality, even as she felt it being eroded away, mixed into a much larger and more powerful, yet alien, set of thoughts, memories, pictures, ideas.
Why do you resist? asked a voice that might have been her own thoughts or someone else's. Submit. This is what you have always wanted. Perfect union in uniformity. Submit.
The logic was unassailable. She submitted.
* * *
"It's coming back!" Skander yelled, and the other two followed the path of the insect to Vardia's head and watched it bury its sharp proboscis as before. This time it stayed an abnormally long time—perhaps three or four times longer than it had the last trip. Finally it finished and withdrew, buzzing off back to its home flower. They watched as her body came back to life, the eyes moving, looking about. She uprooted, and moved her tentacles around, shook her legs.
"Chon! Are you all right?" Skander called out, concerned.
"We are fine, Dr. Skander," replied Vardia in a voice that was hers yet strangely different. "We may proceed now, without any problems."
The Diviner's little flashing lights became extremely agitated. The Rel said, "The Diviner says that you are not the one of our party. Who or what are you? The equation has been altered."
"We are Chon. We are everything that ever was Chon. The one you call Chon has been melded. It is no longer one but all. Soon, as even now it happens, all will be Chon and Chon will be all."
"You're that damned flower!" Hain said accusingly. "You swapped minds with the Czillian somehow!"
"No swap, as you call it, was involved," it told them. "And we are not that damned flower as you said, but all the flowers. The Recorders transfer and transmit as you surmised, but the process may be and usually is total at first sprout, or how else should we get our information, our intellect? A new bloom is a blank, an empty slate. We merge."
"And you merged with the Czillian?" The Rel said more than asked. "You have all of its memories, plus all that was you?"
"That is correct," the creature affirmed. "And, since we have all of the Czillian experience within us, we are aware of your mission, its reason, and goal, and we are now a part of it. You have no choice, nor do we, since we cannot meld with you."
Skander shivered. Well, Vardia got her wish at last, the mermaid thought. And we've got problems.
"Suppose we refuse?" Skander shot at the new creature. "One gulp from Hain here and you're gone."
The creature in Vardia's body stepped boldly in front of Hain and looked at the big insect's huge eyes.
"Do you want to eat me, Hain?" it asked evenly.
Hain started to flick her sticky tongue, but something stopped her. Suddenly she didn't want to eat the Czillian, not at all. She liked the Czillian. It was a good creature, a creature that had the interest of the baron at heart. It was the best friend she had, the most loyal.
"I—I don't understand," Hain said in a perplexed tone. "Why should I want to eat it? It's my friend, my ally. I couldn't hurt it, never, or the pretty flowers and insects, either."
"It's got some kind of mental power!" Skander screamed, and tried to free herself from the saddle in panic. Suddenly Hain spread out, lowering her shell to the ground, legs extended outward.
Skander was free of the harness and looked around for a place to leap. Her darting eyes met the lime disks of the Czillian, and suddenly all panic fled. She couldn't remember why she was afraid in the first place, not of the Czillian, anyway.
The thing came right up to the mermaid, so close they could touch. A Czillian tentacle stroked the Umiau's hair, and the mermaid smiled and relaxed, content.
"I love you," Skander said in a sexy voice. "I'll do anything for you."
"Of course you will," the Slelcronian replied gently. "We'll go to the Well together, won't we, my love? And you'll show me everything?"
The Umiau nodded in ecstasy.
The Slelcronian turned to The Diviner and The Rel, who stood there a few meters away, viewing the scene dispassionately.
"What are you going to do with me?" The Rel asked in the closest it c
ould come to sarcasm. "Look me in the eye?"
For the first time the creature was hesitant, looking uncertain, puzzled, less confident. It reached out its mind to the Northern creature, and found nothing it could contact, understand, relate to. It was as if the creature was no longer there.
"If we cannot control you, you are at least irrelevant to us," Vardia's voice said evenly. The Diviner and The Rel didn't move.
"I said the equation had changed," The Rel said slowly. "I didn't say which way. The Diviner is always right, it seems. Until this moment I had no idea whatsoever how we were to control Skander once in the Well, or why the addition of the Czillian tipped things more in our favor. It's clear now."
The Rel paused for a moment. "We have been in charge of this project from its inception," The Rel continued. "We have used a judicious set of circumstances and The Diviner's amazing skills to make our own situation. We lead. Now we lead without worry."
"What power do you possess to command us?" scoffed the new Vardia. "We are at this moment summoning the largest of our Recorders to crush you. You are no longer necessary."
"I have no power at all, save speech and movement," The Rel admitted as eight huge insects hummed thunderously into view over the flowery fields. "The Diviner has the power," The Rel added, and as it spoke the flashing lights of The Diviner grew in intensity and frequency. Suddenly visible bolts shot out from the blinking creature and struck the eight Recorders at the speed of light.
The Recorders' outlines flashed an electrical white. There was a tiny roll of thunder as each of the creatures vanished, caused by air rushing in to take the place where it had been. It sounded like eight distant cannon shots.
"Hmmm . . ." The Rel said in its flat tone, "that's a new one. The Diviner is full of surprises. Shall we go? I should not like to spend more than two nights in your charming land."
The Slelcronian mind in Vardia's body was staggered and crushed. Something seemed to deflate inside, and the confident glow in its eyes was replaced by respect mixed with something new to its experience—fear. "We—we didn't know you had powers," it almost gasped.
"A trifle, really," The Rel replied. "Well? Do you want to join us or not? I hope you will—it's so much simpler than what The Diviner would have to do to get Skander's cooperation, and I'm certain that, in the interest of your people, both of them, you'd rather we made it before anyone else."
The stunned creature turned to Skander and said, shakily, "Get back into your harness. We must go."
"Yes, my darling," Skander replied happily, and did so.
"Your lead, Northerner," the Slelcronian said.
"As always," The Rel replied confidently. "Do you know anything about Ekh'l?"
THE BEACH AT IVROM—MORNING
"Looks peaceful enough," Vardia commented as they unloaded the raft onto the beach. "Very pleasant, really."
"Reminds me of the Dillian valley area, upvalley in particular," Wuju added, as they strapped the bulky saddlebags around her.
"Something in here doesn't like people, though," Brazil reminded them. "This hex has no embassy at Zone, and expeditions into it have always vanished, as Bat did last night. We have only this one facet of the hex to travel, but that's still over one hundred kilometers, so I think we'll stick to the beach as long as possible."
"What about Bat, then?" Wuju asked in a concerned voice. "We can't just abandon him, after all he's done for us."
"I don't like doing so any more than you do, Wuju," Brazil replied seriously, "but this is a big hex. He can fly at a good speed over obstacles, and by now he could be just about anywhere. We might as well be looking for a particular blade of grass. As much as I'd like to help him, I just can't take the risk that whatever's here will get one or all of us."
"Well, I don't like it," Wuju said adamantly, but there was no assailing his logic on any grounds except emotion. "We survived the Murnies," she reminded him. "How much worse can it be here?"
"Much," he replied gravely. "I survived Murithel by luck, as did you—and we knew who the enemy was and the problems. This is even more chancy, because we don't know what's here. We've got to leave Bat to the Fates. It's Bat or all of us." And that settled that.
With Bat gone, Brazil regretted more and more his lack of arms or other appendages that could hold and use things. Although this was a nontechnological hex, several good and somewhat nasty items would be usable, and these were given to Wuju and Vardia. The centaur was given two automatic, gunpowder-powered projectile pistols, worn strapped to gunbelts worn in an X—and carrying extra ammunition clips—across her chest. Vardia had two pistols of a different kind. They squirted gas kept under pressure in attached plastic bottles. When the trigger was pulled hard, a flint would ignite the gas, which could be liberated at a controlled rate. The flamethrower was good for about ten meters, and needn't be very directional to be effective. Wuju, of course, had never fired a pistol and had no luck with the little practice gotten in in the ocean. But these were still effective short-range weapons, psychologically if nothing else, and they made a lot of noise going off.
"We stick to the beach," Brazil reminded them. "If we're lucky, we'll be able to get the whole way without going into the forest."
As satisfied as they could be, they thanked the Umiau who had pulled them this far, and the mermaids left.
Brazil said "Let's go," in a voice more filled with tension than excitement.
The sand and huge quantities of driftwood slowed their progress, and they found on several occasions that they had to walk into the shallows to get around some points, but the journey went well.
They made good time. By sundown, Brazil estimated that they had traveled more than halfway. Since his vision was extremely poor after nightfall, and Vardia was better off rooting, they stopped for what they all hoped would be their only night in the mysterious hex.
The sandy soil was not particularly good for the Czillian, but she managed to find a hard, steady place near the beginning of the woods and was set for the night. He and Wuju relaxed nearby as the surf crashed on hidden rocks just beyond the shoreline, then gently ran up with a sizzling sound onto the beach.
Something was bothering Wuju and she brought it up. "Nathan," she said, "if this is a nontechnological hex like Murithel, how come your voice works? It's still basically a radio."
The idea had never occurred to Brazil and he thought about it. "I can't say," he replied carefully, "but on all the maps and the like this is nontech, and the general logic of the hex layout dictates the same thing. It can't work, though, unless it's a byproduct of the translator. They work everywhere."
"The translator!" she said sharply. "Feels like a lump in the back of my throat. Where do they come from, Nathan?"
"From the North," he told her. "From a totally crystalline hex that grows them as we grow flowers. It's slow work, and they don't let many of them go."
"But how does it work?" she persisted. "It's not a machine."
"No, not a machine in the sense we think of machines," he replied. "I don't think anyone knows how it works. It was, if I remember right, created in the same way as most great inventions—sheer accident. The best guess is that its vibrations cause some kind of link with the Markovian brain of the planet."
She shivered a little, and Brazil rubbed close to her, thinking the dropping temperature was the cause. "Want a coat?" he asked.
She shook her head negatively. "No, I was thinking of the brain. It makes me nervous—all that power, the power to create and maintain all those rules for all those hexes, work the translators, even change people into other things. I don't think I like the idea at all. Think of a race that could build such a thing! It scares me."
Brazil rubbed her humanoid back with his head, slowly. "Don't worry about such things," he said softly. "That race is long gone."
She was not distracted. "I wonder," she said in a distant tone. "What if they were still around, still fooling around. That would mean we were all toys, playthings—all of us. Wit
h the power and knowledge to create all this, they would be so far above us that we wouldn't even know." She shook him off and turned to face him. "Nathan, what if we were just playthings for them?"
He stared hard into her eyes. "We're not," he responded softly. "The Markovians are gone—long dead and gone. Their ghosts are brains like the one that runs this planet—just gigantic computers, programmed and automatically self-maintained. The rest of their ghosts are the people, Wuju. Haven't you understood that from what you've learned by this trip?"
"I don't understand," she said blankly. "What do you mean the people are the Markovian ghosts?"
" 'Until midnight at the Well of Souls,' " he recited. "It's the one phrase common to all fifteen hundred and sixty hexes. Think of it! Lots of us are related, of course, and many people here are variations of animals in other hexes. I figured out the solution to that part of the puzzle when I came out of the Gate the same as I went in—and found myself in a hex of what we always thought of as 'human.' Next door were one-and-a-half-meter-tall beavers—intelligent, civilized, highly intellectual, but they were basically the same as the little animal beavers of Dillia. Most of the wildlife we've seen in the hexes that come close to the type of worlds our old race could settle are related to the ones we had back there. There's a relationship for all of them.
"These hexes represent home worlds, Wuju," he said seriously. "Here is where the Markovians built the test places. Here is where their technicians set up biospheres to prove the mathematics for the worlds they would create. Here's where our own galaxy, at least, perhaps all of them, was engineered ecologically."
She shivered again. "You mean that all these people were created to see if the systems worked? Like an art class for gods? And if it was good enough, the Markovians created a planet somewhere that would be all like this?"
Midnight At the Well of Souls Page 27