Quest For The Well Of Souls Part 19

And then, finally, it hit sixty and seemed to hover there for the longest time. It flipped, and the thrust was reduced. Even though he was ready for it, the sensation of sudden release, like falling over a precipice, caught him by surprise, propelling him forward. The restraints bit into him.

He sighed, looked over at the screens. They were still heading outward, into deep s.p.a.ce. The indicator showed an alt.i.tude of over one hundred kilometers and climbing.

They had made it.

The screens flipped on. The group wasn't out of the woods yet, he knew. Now he had to take the s.h.i.+p to high orbit, loop, and approach New Pompeii, making certain that at no point in his initial approach did he fall to within eighty kilometers of the surface. The s.h.i.+p swung around. The console screen showed the Well World, projected trajectories, and the s.h.i.+p's current position. A string of figures ran down one side, constantly changing, showing the computer working to put them in the preplanned slot.

He activated the intercom. "Everyone okay?"

"Some bruises, and Mavra and Wooley are out cold, but I think we all came through," Renard replied.

Yulin turned his attention to the controls. They had made orbital insertion while he talked, and were only a few kilometers per hour from the optimum and less than a fifth of a degree off-orbit. Easily correctable, and he told the computer to make the adjustments.

The large screen came on, providing a remarkably detailed picture of what was ahead. The Well World filled most of the area below them, and, as he watched, New Pompeii rose. He would make one pa.s.s as a check before going final approach.

On the screen, columns of figures shot by at speeds barely slow enough to read, and graphics showed angle, speed, and destination. The computer was locking in for Phase Two.

But the critical human element was gone now. It was the computer's job to follow the carefully programmed instructions and do all the work. The pa.s.sengers could only hope that the systems would continue to function as well as they had so far.

"How's it going back there?" Yulin asked over the intercom.

"All right now," Vistaru's soft voice answered. "We have Wooley back with us again, and we've undone Mavra's straps and got her to her feet. That's all right, isn't it?"

"Fine," he responded. "There will be only slight motion problems now that the s.h.i.+p's in its element. We're braking over North Zone, and the screens say it's a perfect intercept. All we can do is watch and wait."

"On track," Yulin announced. "Locked in. All right, people. Hold on. Here we go."

The big screen showed the Well World, s.h.i.+p, and New Pompeii clearly. Small dotted lines indicated the ideal and actual trajectories. The multicolor graphics were of no use to Yulin's color-blind eyes, but he knew which trajectory was which by the pattern of characters that composed each curve. He felt slight jerking motions as the computer adjusted speed and direction. Slowly but steadily the two traces were merging into a single perfect flight path.

Suddenly the radio popped on.

"Code, please," a mechanical voice demanded pleasantly. "Correct code within sixty seconds or we will destroy your s.h.i.+p."

Yulin almost jumped out of his skin; panic suddenly rose within him. He'd been so intent on the takeoff and approach he'd just about forgotten about the robot sentries. He could see them on the screen, little dots moving to intercept and take him out. He gulped.

His mind was a complete blank.

"Fifty seconds," the voice said pleasantly.

He punched the intercom. "Is Chang awake yet?" he screamed.

"Still groggy," Renard replied. "Why?"

"I need the d.a.m.ned code!"' he yelled.

"Forty seconds," said the voice.

"I thought you knew it," Wooley responded accusingly.

"I can't remember, d.a.m.n it! Ask her the G.o.dd.a.m.ned code now! now!"

"Thirty seconds," said the voice. The little dots were in perfect attack position now.

Suddenly a new voice came in over the radio on the same frequency. It was a man's voice, soft and pleasant.

"It's Edward Gibbon, Volume One, Ben," said the voice.

He was startled but he grabbed at it.

"Twenty seconds," said the robot sentry.

"Edward Gibbon, Volume One!" he screamed.

"There was silence, and he watched the LED clock tick off. It pa.s.sed ten seconds, and there was no new warning. Now it counted off the last ten. As it did he glanced up and saw the little blips break formation and resume their stations.

Ben Yulin almost fainted.

"It's Edward Gibbon, Volume One, Ben," Vistaru said pleasantly.

"I know, I know," he growled, out of breath. "If I had to depend on you we'd have died thirty seconds ago."

But who had had given him the code? Not the Bozog. Though almost certainly they were monitoring the radio, it was too human a voice for that. A familiar voice, somehow, from the distant past. But this was a journey into that past, as much as into the future, he thought. given him the code? Not the Bozog. Though almost certainly they were monitoring the radio, it was too human a voice for that. A familiar voice, somehow, from the distant past. But this was a journey into that past, as much as into the future, he thought.

He flipped on the inters.p.a.ce radio and called, "Obie? Is that you?"

"Yes, Ben," came the reply. "How have you been?"

"Obie-how the h.e.l.l? Are you alone down there?"

"Oh, yes, quite alone," responded the computer. "It's been a long time, Ben. A lot longer for me than for you. I've followed some of your progress through the Well, though. Who wound up on the s.h.i.+p? I can't tell that from here."

Yulin told him, then asked, "Topside-what are the conditions there?"

"You know I have no voluntary circuits Topside," the computer reminded him. "The atmosphere, pressure, and temperature have been maintained, and the electrical system is functioning normally. Beyond that I can't say. I've nothing with which to monitor."

Yulin thought for a moment. The s.h.i.+p was closing on the s.p.a.ceport airlock as they spoke. "Obie-have you been incommunicado all this time? I mean, if you can talk to me, do you talk to others?"

There was silence at the other end.

"Obie? Did you hear me?"

"I heard you, Ben. We'll talk again when you get here," the computer said.

He tried to raise Obie several more times, but there was only silence. He sat back and thought for a moment. The computer was fully capable of deceit; it was as human as he in many ways. The fact that it had refused to answer his question was in itself an answer. The computer had had been talking these past years with someone-and there was only one person who would know how to build the proper receiving equipment. been talking these past years with someone-and there was only one person who would know how to build the proper receiving equipment.

Dr. Gilgam Zinder, discoverer of the Markovian mathematics and creator of Obie, was still very much alive back on the Well World.

But back there, Yulin told himself confidently. He knew all the Southerners aboard, and Zinder would not have been processed as a Northerner. Zinder could talk with Obie, even consult the great machine, but he couldn't actually operate it, change the programming. Only someone at one of the control panels inside Obie itself could do that, and even if Zinder were there there, he did not know about Ben Yulin's innovative circuit design. When he'd used it, he'd stunned Zinder to unconsciousness.

No matter what surprises Zinder and Obie had planned for him, they were in for a nasty shock, Ben Yulin thought confidently.

He watched the console. The s.h.i.+p closed gently. The first of the two locks was damaged; he probably had done that himself in his panic during the flight from New Pompeii, he reflected. The other was fine, though, and the computer headed for it.

A sudden sc.r.a.ping sound forward, and a wrenching jerk as the s.h.i.+p slipped into its berth and straightened itself heralded their safe landing.

They were back on New Pompeii.

He switched the s.h.i.+p to external power, drawing from the New Pompeii power plant. The instruments flickered briefly and it was done. The last step in the chain.

He undid his straps and stood, for the first time realizing the brutality of the takeoff.

Painfully, limping slightly, the minotaur made his way aft to see about his pa.s.sengers.

New Pompeii

The airlock hissed, then the big amber stand-by light flashed off and the green went on. Ben Yulin threw the levers, pulled open the hatch, and walked to the other side. The proper light was on, so he opened that end as well. A breeze wafted back at them as the slight differences in pressure equalized. The group followed the Dasheen into New Pompeii's s.p.a.ceport.

To Mavra, despite her distorted, black-and-white vision, it looked very familiar. Renard, too, looked around in wonder at the familiarity of it all. To the others it was new; a plush, luxury lounge.

Yulin was cautious. "Funny," he said. "Looks almost like somebody cleaned up here, doesn't it? I'd expected it to be dirty. The carpet isn't even stained-and I know a lot of s.h.i.+t went on in here just before I left. I don't like this at all."

They took the hint. Wooley and Vistaru drew pistols.

"An odd construction," commented the medium-size Bozog. "I may have some problem getting my two-and-a-half meters through the door."

"I think it's wide enough for you to get through," Renard said.

Yulin, who was unarmed, declined to lead the way. Finally Wooley volunteered. The door slid open before her.

The rest followed cautiously. Vistaru took advantage of the atmosphere and uncluttered corridor to fly; her race was not really built for walking, and she was otherwise too small to keep up. The lower gravity, which made the others feel wonderfully relieved, proved a problem at first, but she found the condition tolerable as long as she didn't get fancy or ambitious. No use in slamming full tilt into a wall, she scolded herself.

Outside, the terminal looked like a Roman ruin. The gra.s.s was high, and the lawns were dotted with flowers. The walks were just about overgrown, and trees were more abundant and less perfectly manicured than those who had previously been to New Pompeii remembered. Ivy, ferns, and mosses had overgrown some of the buildings, giving them a haunted appearance. Antor Trelig had dreamed of a new Roman Empire with himself as G.o.d-Emperor, Caesar. New Pompeii reflected this; its architecture was Greco-Roman, with lots of columns, arches and domes. As a ruin, it was in some ways even more impressive and awesome than it had been.

"It's incredible," Wooley breathed.

Yulin nodded. "In its own way a great achievement. Under the dome, this world is completely self-sufficient. The plants have probably added too much carbon dioxide to the air, but the animal-plant balance was about perfect in the old days. The air's clean, pure, and it's cleansed continuously. The automatic monitors keep the oxygen-nitrogen-trace-gas balance from deviating too far from optimum. Water vapor is injected from the subsurface tanks, and reclaimed. Trelig even had his own rainfall in there-on demand."

"That's a pretty thick forest over there," Vistaru noted, pointing to the left, beyond the buildings.

He nodded. "A nice forest, yes: And somewhere in there are glades where exotic fruits were grown. Some deer and minor wildlife have probably survived. Insects, too. You can hear them if you listen."

They could. It was eerie.

"Bozog, you having any problems?" Renard asked.

"None," responded the creature. "If necessary, I can feed on one of the buildings."

They walked on, heading for the largest structure in sight, the great hall where Trelig had held court and entertained guests-willing and unwilling.

"Yulin?" Mavra called.

He stopped. "Yes?"

"I'm sure it's occurred to you that at least a few people could survive here on the animals and fruit."

Yulin nodded.

"The sponge would have polished them off long ago," Renard retorted.

"You forget, Renard, there were others for Trelig's big show-councillors and councillors' representatives. Some of them were pretty tough people."

Yulin reconsidered. "Could be," he admitted. "If the spongies didn't kill them off."

"A couple of those people were professional agents like me," Mavra noted. "They'd have been a lot harder to take, and time was on their side. I think we'd better a.s.sume that somebody's still around."

"That clean lounge," Yulin said softly, now suddenly alert again, looking around. "They sure haven't taken care of the rest of the place."

Renard agreed with her the more he thought about it. "That's true, but you have to figure that they'd be pretty normal for a while. But it's been twenty-two years now, without hope, without communication. Who knows what kind of life they'd develop, what would happen in their minds?"

"I think you're right," Renard agreed. "There are no bodies. No skeletal remains. Organic material decays slowly here because of the purification system used to filter out microorganisms."

"No graves that I can see, either," Vistaru pointed out.

"They'd be overgrown," Mavra responded. "No, I think we'd better a.s.sume we're not alone here and treat this as we would a hostile hex."

Yulin had a sudden thought. "The s.h.i.+p! It's not secure! Maybe we'd better-"

"Yes, maybe we'd better," Wooley agreed.

After securing the s.h.i.+p, they returned to explore the ruins. Power was still available, even the video equipment that spied on people everywhere. But aside from the fact that a kitchen area had been cleaned out, which was to be expected anyway, there was no sign of current use. The guards' quarters had been used, although not recently.

"Not many survived, that's for sure," Renard noted. "Maybe three, four people at best. That's enough for this place to support. I wonder where they are?"

The weapons locker had been sealed shut by an energy weapon. Mavra had done that twenty-two years ago, and it was clear it hadn't been opened since. A few weapons were found scattered about, all discharged and useless.

Some time pa.s.sed before Renard, who knew the world better than anyone else, discovered signs that someone had attempted to leave a message in a small room below the combination guests' quarters and library. The door had been broken in from the outside and whoever did it had fantastic strength because the ornate wooden doors were very thick. Inside Renard found signs of a struggle before the communications gear built into the far wall. A recording module was in place, and the panel still worked, so they anxiously crowded in as Renard ran it back to start.

"This was the monitoring room for Trelig's recording studio," he told them. "He sometimes brought in musicians for private sessions, and he'd listen here to what was being recorded. You can see the hundreds of modules in the wall case. Whatever happened, this module is the last one made here-and might tell us something."

It stopped, and Renard deftly manipulated the controls, then punched play. A screen flickered, and a realsound field enveloped them.