03. Gods at the Well of Souls (36 page)

At any rate, once aloft, the pilot had lift, could get up farther, and could  clearly steer. The amazing thing was how the device kept climbing until he was  just a speck in the distant sky. Watching the aerodynamics of the thing, though,  Julian had to wonder if under these conditions a skilled and highly trained  pilot might not be able to stay up there for hours and possibly cover a fair  distance. 

Even Mavra, who piloted spaceships and other craft far more sophisticated than  anything Julian had ever more than dreamed of, was impressed. Even with the  level of automation in her day, there were minimal atmospheric flying skills  that had to be learned before one was allowed to pilot a massive spacecraft. There was another kind of flier as well. This was an oblong gondola supported by  a matching hot air balloon suspended over the top of it. One Verionite was in  the gondola, controlling the flame, although it was unclear just what the source  of that heat might be or how they managed to get a sufficient amount of it in a  controllable and obviously compressed form to allow for the level of controlled  blasts he could give it. 

And then there was the bigfoot pedaling the bicycle. It was an absurd sight, but  its logic was pretty clear. Once the gondola lifted off-with the bigfoot,  obviously trained to do this without panicking, sitting strapped in the seat at  the front-the man at the flame gave a command and the creature began pedaling.  This in turn started a large propeller at the rear, sheltered in a frame with a  vertical rudder that the man at the flames appeared to be able to control using  a long pole. 

Once aloft, with these winds, the balloon would have been at the mercy of the  currents and would have picked up speed; the bigfoot, however, was able to  overcome this, and its energy and the prop in the back provided a forward  momentum that looked as if it might reach, oh, three or four kilometers per hour  in the face of the wind. Altitude was controlled by the fire and the master gave  the craft direction by manipulating the rudder poles. The thing could actually  travel. Julian suspected that the winds blew at different speeds and levels at  low altitudes and that, again, an expert pilot could find the right one for  wherever he wanted to go, attaining maximum speed. At that rate, he could make  the equator in just a couple of long days or almost anywhere in this land in  four. Not fast, no, but that thing could carry a limited cargo, such as mail,  packages, and news, at a speed that a nontech civilization could hardly match on  the ground. Such a system would be vital for emergencies and would make  communication practical. It bound the hex together, she guessed. It also meant that if there was a wanted poster out on them, as there almost  certainly was on Lori and Mavra, the odds were that there weren't many in Verion  who didn't know about them. 

It also made travel by night a good decision, virtually essential, as they were  clearly moving toward a denser population center. 

On day five they were on the outskirts of a major city, where the skies were  filled with flying pigs in variations of the two devices they'd seen at the  airport but with such a variety of color and design that it was clear that the  Verionites had a far different aesthetic sense than Julian. 

More dramatic, off well beyond the city on the farthest horizon, was a solid  dark line, easily seen through the more prairielike and less obstructed land  that the hex was becoming. It wasn't much, but it was too regular and too  consistent to be either natural or an optical illusion. Still forty or fifty  miles from them, it was nonetheless visible. The equator! 

The position of the sun told them that they had been heading more or less true  northwest, which meant that as of now, they were less than a week away from the  Avenue. Mavra had given up trying to explain or describe the Avenue to Julian in  scratch writing. Apparently she would just have to go there and see it for  herself. The only thing Julian got was that it was sunken, like a very broad  culvert, flat on the bottom, smooth on all sides, and that it led to one of the  doors into the Well. 

That meant no cover and low ground at a point when forces could be all along  both sides shooting down at them. All kinds of technology would work there, but  it wouldn't matter. When they were exposed on the floor of the thing, Julian  knew that rocks could get them, never mind bullets. Nor, Mavra informed her,  could one just enter the Well even if one made it to the doorway. "Automated. Opens only at old shift change," she told Julian. "Midnight." "Can anybody enter it at midnight?" 

"No. Only authorized. You come in with me. I am authorized." 

"How long does the door stay open?" 

"About fifteen minutes unless I close it first." 

Julian sighed. "So we have fifteen minutes to get down there, run a gauntlet,  and somehow get inside without them killing or capturing us. It's impossible!" "See layout, defenders first. Then we'll see. I think I may have a way." "You want to give me an idea of how you're going to do it?" 

"Wait. When I know it is possible, then I tell you." 

Julian shook her head, wondering if any of this was worth what she'd gone  through the past couple of weeks. If it was anything like it was described, it  was absolutely insane to even attempt to enter. Even if Mavra Chang were who and  what she claimed, it made no difference. Until she was inside, she was just a  big, heavy helpless bird who couldn't outrun a child. This whole business had to  have driven her insane; that was the only explanation for why she even could  think that she might get in there. 

Mavra understood Julian's attitude, but she could feel the Well, feel the  contact with its power and even some of its knowledge at this point. The Well  knew where she was, knew that she was close. 

And the Well had gone to a great deal of trouble to get her here. With Nathan  out of it in some southern hospital and Mavra this close, it wasn't going to let  her get away now, of that she was certain. 

The Avenue  

CAMPOS AND THE COLONEL HAD TRIED EVERY MEANS THAT they could think of to find  some sign of the missing trio in Leba, even bringing in expert trackers from  other hexes that the colonel knew about, but to no avail. 

The Lebans themselves had seemed singularly unimpressed by their problem and had  declared themselves neutral and uninterested in the affairs of other creatures.  Not even Campos or the colonel could think of anything to offer them that might  tempt them into cooperation. 

There were times when some of the animals brought in seemed to pick up a scent,  but it always led to a dead end, with the creatures going around in confused  circles. At one point the colonel swore that if he didn't know better, he'd  swear that someone was pulling a drag over the "foxes' " trail, confusing the  scent and leading them away, but he couldn't imagine why anyone would do that or  how he could without betraying himself. He finally decided that the land was  just not conducive to finding the fugitives' trail. 

Score one for the prey, they both were forced to admit. On the other hand, the  endgame was what counted. 

The colonel had hoped, though, to avoid the endgame simply because he was none  too secure about showing up in his old role. Kurdon had certainly put out the  word on his betrayal at the complex; it was unlikely that he'd have real  authority even if his friends in Zone were able to keep the law off him with  some cover story. 

More than that, they would have to deal with armed soldiers whose loyalty was to  their own hex and then to the Zone Council and not to any third parties. And  there was always the chance that in spite of threats with real teeth in them,  their captives might be able to betray their real status as prisoners to the  army personnel at the Avenue. 

Campos, too, wasn't pleased with that prospect. "I think perhaps we should get  rid of them now, before they can cause trouble later," she suggested. "All  except the girl, of course. If we cannot control the likes of her, no matter  what her wishes, we do not deserve to be in this game in any case." The colonel, however, didn't like the idea of finishing them off. "We can't do  it here," he explained. "The executions would be witnessed by Lebans no matter  where we did it, and the Mixtim are under their protection as well. I don't know  what all those tentacles could do, but I do know that if we got out alive at  all, a message would somehow be sent to Zone, and we would be as wanted as the  ones we chase. This isn't Clopta, after all. There are times when diplomacy and  a light touch might yield better results than the heavy boot. Bring them along.  If they cause trouble, we can dispose of them when we get to Verion. But  consider this: The Dillians and the Dahir still have the official weight of the  Zone Council on their side. They can legitimize us with the army. So long as one  or more of their companions are within easy range of either of us, I think they  will go along." 

Campos frowned. "You are not playing both sides again, are you, Colonel?" she  asked suspiciously. 

"I took an oath and I meant it! This is not some sordid drug business here; it  is for the highest of stakes! This will be very, very tricky no matter what we  do!" 

Campos thought it over. "All right, Colonel, I will play it your way for now.  Please just make certain that I do not see you changing sides once again." "I swear to you ... !" 

"Never mind. We have wasted far too much time here. Let us get the party  together and head out for this Avenue, whatever it is. But remember, Colonel, if  they betray us at the last moment, they have nothing on me at all of a criminal  nature. What have we done? Fled a drug baron and defended ourselves against a  monster and the baron and his henchmen? Gone where I have a right to go? Taken  these people where they wished to go, anyway? You see?" 

"You are forgetting that the condition those two are in was your doing," the  colonel pointed out. He did not point out that the only witness to his treason  was Gus, who could hardly afford public charges and testimony in Zone because it  would mean leaving Zone and exiting in Dahir, a place that very much wanted him  back to ensure that he would not leave again. 

"So? Even if they can prove that, which is not a certain thing, how could the  poor mistress of a gangster have such authority in the gang in so short a time  here on this world? It is hardly an international crime like the running of  drugs. Even kidnapping is a local crime here, did you know that? Had I kidnapped  or held prisoner a fellow Cloptan, that would be a different story, but these?  No, I think not. And as I am certain that you. as usual, always have a way out  of a tight situation, the fact is, the way this world is set up, neither of us  has committed crimes for which anyone is looking for us other than those we  directly committed crimes against." She considered that and found it highly  amusing. 

"Come, come! My friend and son of my patron!" the colonel said. "What are we  doing, passing blame back and forth to one another? I believe there were 160-odd  nations back on the Earth we left, perhaps a few more. There are 780 sovereign  and independent nations here, each with its own unique race and needs. Consider  how little could get done back on Earth and you have only a shadow of how littLe  can truly get done of an international nature here. Without this unpleasantness  with Brazil and Chang, they could not have even touched the cartel! What have  such as we to fear from such as them?" 

"Yes, you are right," Campos said after a moment. "Well, we will let them live,  at least for now. As you say, what can they do?" She paused a moment. "Of  course, if those army people get our birdie, then we might just have to commit  one of those crimes, you know." 

'True," the colonel agreed, "but if that happens, we'll have Mavra Chang, so  what difference does it make? If the king-or queen-is the state, can that person  commit a crime against themselves?" 

It was a most amusing idea, and both of them laughed. 

For the first time on the journey Terry felt really frightened. The images in  that Juana's mind about her were bizarre and nightmarish. She couldn't imagine  what she might have done to deserve such complete and utter hatred, but Juana  Campos was scarier than anything she could imagine, even in her surface  thoughts. They were also so inconsistent as to be totally crazy. How could  Campos on the one hand imagine blinding and maiming Terry and treating her like  an animal and at the same time look upon her with genuine concern? It took a couple of days before she realized that Campos's gentler nature, what  there was of it, was directed not at her but at her coming baby. Gus was improving but still in no condition to do very much, and the travel  didn't help his healing at all. There were times when the pain was such that he  was very much afraid that he was going to die and other times when it was even  worse and he was afraid he wouldn't die. Still, Terry's presence kept him from  giving up and provided the determination to heal no matter what. He had never expected to still be here this close to the birth and headed away  from the kind of medical help that she might well need. He knew of women who  still died in childbirth, particularly in Third World countries, and he'd seen  too much infant mortality for one lifetime already. He cursed himself for ever  agreeing to leave Agon with her as well as for being stupid enough to get shot. Now it was clear that Kurdon had wanted her handy as bait in case Campos had to  be lured out of some underground hiding place in Clopta. Well, Kurdon joined a  lengthening list of people, including Gen Taluud and himself, who had  underestimated Campos. Trouble was, it was no skin off Kurdon's ass what  happened; Gus had paid with a painful, debilitating wound and capture, and  Taluud had paid with his life. But it was Terry who might well pay the biggest  price unless somehow he could get well enough to save her.