Though nearly helpless, Mavra struggled to rise as she saw two eerie forms, like women but green and grassy, step into the elevator and pull the boy in after them. As they started to change to match the elevator ulterior, the wall solidified.
Renard regained consciousness quickly and got unsteadily to his feet. Mavra managed finally to pull herself to her feet.
“Who the hell was that?” he gasped.
“The savages—Belden’s people,” she replied. “Probably all of them, I’d say. Snatched right in front of us.”
“But why?” he asked, still holding his head. “And who was it? Yulin? There were definitely at least two.”
She nodded. “Two, and both female. I saw them, briefly. They have a way of fading into the background, like two creatures I once knew—but far different. I don’t know who they are—but Yulin’s obviously being creative with Obie. We’ve been suckered under our very noses.”
“I still don’t get it,” Renard persisted. “Why the savages?”
“Here!” she said. “Get up on me. Ride me in. You’re still groggy.”
He was too woozy to resist her suggestion, and mounted her with difficulty. It was the first time a human being had been on her back, of whatever race. It was uncomfortable, but the Agitar was experienced and clung to her professionally. She slowly walked back, taking care not to throw him off.
“Well, Yulin needs or wants people, that’s for sure,” she said. “We know from Obie that he can’t materialize thinking beings out of thin air. The savages were the easiest to get—just hypno them and carry them down. If he runs them through, he has at least nine slaves that we know of, with whatever powers he wants to give them.”
“Whatever they were, one took a full jolt with no effect,” Renard noted glumly. “But why so many?”
“Us,” she replied. “Remember, he is trapped down there until he deals with us. He’s a very clever and devious man. He knows there’s nothing he can offer us, and certainly nothing he can do whereby we would trust him or he would trust us. Would you step under Obie’s dish with Yulin at the controls?”
“Hell, no!”
“So, what does he do? I’m sure he doesn’t want to risk feedback on Topside. The last time that was tried, Obie transported New Pompeii to its present place. So, he has to capture or kill us. For that he needs others—he can’t do it himself and risk leaving the controls. See?”
Renard whistled. “So our time’s even shorter than we thought,” he said nervously. “It’s nine to six now.”
“And you can bet that if he’s got them immune to your electric personality he’s got them guarded against the rest of us,” she pointed out. “I’d say we have to blow that charge quickly or it’s all over.”
“I think—” Renard started, but he was suddenly cut off.
The whole world was cut off.
There was only blackness and the sensation of falling. No sight, no sound or other impressions, nothing. It was as if all but their minds had simply ceased to exist.
It lasted for a long time, then, suddenly, they were back to normalcy again.
Renard had fallen off Mavra’s back and she’d stumbled herself. Now, for the second time they picked themselves up.
“Now what?” Renard groaned.
Mavra got shakily back to her feet and looked up.
“Events are quickly overtaking us,” she said quietly. “Look up. No Well World. Just a distant sun up there, and a more reasonable amount of stars.
“He’s done it, Renard! We’re back! Back in the human sector of space! Back in New Pompeii’s original orbit!”
“Oh, boy!” Renard said sourly. “And I told the breeding farm I was taking a short vacation…”
Underside
Ben Yulin was pleased with himself as he looked over his troops. He had changed all of them into his dream women, even the two boys. Each had a distinct hair and skin tone; but nine new names were a bit much to remember, and aside from the first two, Nikki and Mavra, he just decided to settle on numbers for a while.
The savages were really that, too, not very smart and at about an ape’s level of experience. Each retained the horse’s tail, as Ben Yulin thought they were kind of sexy, and they served to further distinguish the first two from the rest.
Obie did not give them a past, of course, but he provided language ability, demeanor, and all the other things necessary. Effectively, they were amnesiacs with needed skills, but that was fine. They too were love-slaves of Ben Yulin. All lay prostrate before him at his feet.
“You are my herd, my hareem,” he told them. “You are a part of me and I of you. You are the most honored of women, and will sit at my feet as I sweep away the old order and establish the new.”
“Yes, My Lord Yulin,” they responded sincerely in unison.
He looked at them in extreme self-satisfaction. In truth, a new order, he decided. Long ago, in lands lost in time and space but alive in the tradition of Yulin’s people, his ancestors had lived amid desert wastes in tent cities that followed the water and the blowing sand. Then great lords had grandiose hareems. Some of this would be restored, he told himself.
He would create human beings in all ways so close to perfection that clothing would be a sin except when needed for protection. Powerful Lords would rule not desert wastes but bountiful planets, holding sway over their own herds of beautiful, powerful, and adoring woman. Yet all would be subservient to him, the Supreme Caliph from whom all blessing and curses would flow, and for all time. A land of artisans, scientists, and engineers pushing back the ultimate frontiers.
A race to fulfill the Markovian dream of Utopian perfectionism, a race to become gods.
All this was within his grasp, right now, here, today!
“Arise and go about your duties,” he commanded, and they did so. Thanks to Obie, their living quarters were already quite comfortable, with great soft beds covered in silk and satin. Obie had also provided exotic fruits, vegetables, and meats indistinguishable from the originals. Though it was true that Yulin and his harem could now eat anything organic, even grass, there was no reason to.
Yulin returned to Obie and sat at a control console, flipping the transmitter switch.
“Obie? Have you plotted our position exactly?” he asked.
“Yes, Ben. We are back in the original New Pompeii orbit, along with the robot sentries. No sign of anything within a one-light-year scan. I suppose any curious investigators would have given up by now anyway. It’s been over twenty-two years.”
Ben Yulin nodded. “What about our movement capability, Obie? Can you move us to a different point, even a different sector of space?”
“Any area whose coordinates are precisely specified in my memory. That includes, of course, all Corn-worlds and frontiers as of the time we were last here.”
Ben Yulin nodded in satisfaction, then shifted his thoughts. Only a few things now stood in his way. Six things.
“Obie, is there any way you can change the atmospheric content Topside?” he asked. “Alter the balance, drain it, or introduce a toxic substance?”
“Those areas are controlled by totally involuntary circuits,” the computer reminded him. “I can’t do anything about them at all. You should know that. Antor Trelig didn’t want you or Zinder or anyone else to have that kind of power—and particularly not me. For some reason he never really trusted me.” There was a hurt tone in that last.
Yulin chuckled. He trusted Obie himself about as far as he could throw the thing.
“All right, then,” he sighed. “I’ll have to deal with the Northerners as best I can. Right now I need good knockout substances that will affect Agitar, Yaxa, and Lata.”