“Will this Hain stay loyal to you?” The Rel asked, apparently using its chimes to form the words, which gave it a total lack of tone or coloration.
“My technicians assure me so,” replied Azkfru confidently. “Although I fail to see why she is necessary to us in any event. I feel uneasy trusting everything to someone so new and unknown.”
“Nevertheless,” replied The Rel, “it is necessary. Remember that The Diviner predicted that you would receive one of the outworlders, and that the solution to our problems was not possible without an outworlder present.”
“I know, I know,” Azkfru acknowledged, “and I am grateful that it was me who was contacted by your people. We have as much stake in this as you, you know.” He fidgeted nervously. “But why are you sure that this one is the outworlder needed?”
“We’re not,” The Rel admitted. “The Diviner only knows that one of the four who came in that party is needed to open the Well. One was destined for Czill, one for Adrigal, one for Dillia, and one for here. Of the four, yours was known to be psychologically the most receptive to our offer.”
“I see,” Azkfru said, uncertainty mixed with resignation in his tone. “So twenty-five percent was better than zero percent. Well, why not just grab the others so we’re sure?”
“You know the answer to that one,” The Rel responded patiently. “If we missed just one of these Entries, it would hide and we couldn’t monitor it. This way, we will know where they are and what they are doing.”
“Um, yes, and there’s the second prediction, too.”
“Quite so,” The Rel affirmed. “When the Well is opened all shall pass through. Thus, if we keep one of them with us, we will stand the best chance of going through with them.”
“I still wish I were going with you,” the baron said. “I feel uneasy that the only representative of my people will be a conditioned alien of known untrustworthiness.”
“One of you is going to be conspicuous enough,” The Rel pointed out. “Two of you is an advertisement for hundreds of other uneasy governments. Right now, neither of us knows if our agreement is duplicated by others with any or all of the other three.”
That idea made Azkfru more uncomfortable than ever.
“Well, damn it, you—or half of you, or whatever—is The Diviner. Don’t you know?”
“Of course not,” replied The Rel. “The present is as closed to The Diviner as it is to you. Only random snatches of information are received, and that in rather uncontrolled fashion. Getting this much is more than we usually get on anything. Hopefully more pieces will fit together as we progress.”
Rather than disturbing him further, this news reassured him instead. So the damn thing wasn’t omnipotent, anyway. Still, he wished he knew more about the creature that stood before him. What were its powers? What tricks did it have up its sleeve?
The fear that most consumed him was of a double cross.
The Diviner—or The Rel—seemed to sense this, and it said, “Our hexes are as alien as can be. We have no commonality of interest or activity. You are an incomprehensible people to us, and your actions are equally so. Never would we be here, in peril of our sanity, were it not for the urgent single commonality our races share: survival. We are satiated in the summing process, and active in the coefficient of structure. Our sole object is to keep everything just the way it is.”
The baron didn’t understand any of it, but he did understand that mutual survival was a common bond, and the assurance that they wanted to preserve the status quo. The trouble was, he could say exactly the same thing and not mean a word of it.
And now all of his future rested on Datham Hain.
The baron gave the Akkafian equivalent of a sigh of resignation. He had no choice in the matter. That conditioning must hold!
“How soon do you wish to begin?” he asked the Northerner.
“A lot depends on your end,” The Rel pointed out. “Without Skander the whole scheme falls apart, the sum clouds and changes to an infinite number.”
“And you can point him out, only you,” the baron replied. “I’m ready when you are.”
“No more than a week, then,” The Rel urged. “We have reason to suspect that Skander will move out of reach shortly after that.”
“Very well,” the baron sighed, “I’ll condition two of my best Markling warriors. You don’t need Hain for this part, do you?”
“No,” responded The Rel. “That will do nicely. We’ll have to work at night and hide out during the day, so it will take a good day to set us up once there. Another two days to get there, inconspicuously, if possible. Can you be ready within a day period from this moment?”
“I think so,” the baron replied confidently. “Anything else?”
“Yes. While you prepare the two assistants I should like to talk to one who understands structures and electrical systems. Is that possible?”
“Well, yes,” the baron affirmed with some surprise. “But why?”
“It will be necessary to perform some minor sabotage to ease our task,” The Rel explained enigmatically. “Although we have studied it, we want to confirm our necessary actions to be doubly certain, hopefully with one who comprehends such things.”
“Done,” Azkfru told the creatures. “Now I must attend to other matters. Go out the side there and an assistant will take you to a room that will be private. I will send the technicians to you.”
“We go to prepare,” intoned The Rel, and floated out the designated exit.
Azkfru waited several minutes until he was certain the Northerner was well away, then went over to the doorway to his main waiting room and pressed the opening stud with his right foreleg.
“Enter, Mar Datham,” he said imperiously, and quickly got back to the dais that served as his work area. He struck his most awesome pose.
Datham Hain entered on the words, a shiver going through her at their majesty. Almost hypnotically, she entered the office.
She stopped as she saw him, and bent down automatically in a gesture of extreme subservience. Orgiastic spasms shook her, and she cowed in awe and fear.
He is God, she thought with absolute conviction. He is the epitome of greatness.
“My Lord and Master, I am your slave, Datham Hain. Command me!” she intoned and meant every word of it.
The sincerity carried over to Azkfru, who received it with satisfaction. The conditioning had stuck.
“Do you give yourself to me, Mar Datham, body and soul, to do with as I would, forever?” he intoned.
“I do, Master, my Lord God, I do! Command me to die and I shall do so gladly.”
Great now. Forever, if she was around all the time. But she would have only a few interviews until he had to trust her with all he had. Well, here goes the kicker, Azkfru thought.
“You are the lowest of the low, Mar Datham, lower than the fikhfs that breed to be eaten, lower than the defecations of the least of those fikhfs,” he intoned.
And it was so, she realized. She felt as low and as small as she could ever get. She felt so tiny and unimportant that she found it hard to think at all. Her mind was a complete blank, yet basking on pure emotion in the presence of Him who was All Glory.
“You will remain lowly scum,” the Master pronounced, “until I have other use for you. But as you are the lowest of the low, so can you be raised to the heights by my command.” Now came the clincher. “A great task will be placed in your hands, and your love and devotion to me above all else will determine all that is in your future, whether it be the mindless cleaners of the defecation pits or,” he paused for added emphasis, “perhaps even the chief concubine of a king.”