Which required the synergizer…
If they could get it to Karres -
“How vulnerable is Moander to an outside attack?”
“Its defenses are those of Manaret.” Cheel, formidable individual though he appeared to be, was allowing discouragement to tinge his thoughts, now that his excitement had abated somewhat. “Additionally…”
View of a massive structure with down-sloping sides affixed to a flat surface of similarly massive look. “Moander’s stronghold on the outer shell of Manaret,” Cheel’s thought said. “Every defense known both to the science of the Great People and to the science of your kind on the worlds the Nuris have studied appears incorporated in it. And deep within it is Moander. The monster, for all its powers, is wary. All active operating controls of the ship are linked through the stronghold, and from it Moander scans your universe through its Nuris.”
“It has us in a death-grip, and is preparing to close its grip on your kind. If we — and you — are to escape, then haste is very necessary! For the Nuris have built new breeding vats and are entering them in great numbers. It is their time…”
“Breeding vats?” interjected the captain.
The Nuris — pliable and expendable slaves of whoever or whatever was in a position to command them — were bred at long intervals in the quantities required by their masters. Such a period had begun, and it was evident that Moander planned now to multiply the Nuri hordes at his disposal a hundredfold.
“In themselves the Worm People are nothing,” said Cheel’s thought. “But they are Moander’s instruments. As the swarms grow, so grows the enemy’s power. If Moander is not defeated before the worms have bred, our defenses will be overwhelmed… and your worlds, too, will die in a great Nuri plague to come.”
“Restore the synergizer to its place in the central instrument room, or break Moander’s stronghold and Moander — those are the only solutions now. And we cannot tell you how to do either—”
The thought-flow was cut off as Cheel and the great chamber suddenly blurred and vanished. The captain’s wraith-shape drifted again in featureless grayness.
He relled vatch, faintly at first, then definitely.
I HEARD ALL, the vatch-voice came roaring about him out of the grayness. A MOST BEAUTIFUL PROBLEM!… WAIT HERE A LITTLE NOW, GREAT PLAYER OF GREAT GAMES!
Its presence faded. At least there was nothing to rell any more. The captain drifted, or the grayness drifted.
A beautiful problem! Something new to entertain the vatch, from the vatch’s point of view… But a very terrible and urgent problem for everyone else concerned, if the Cheel creature had told the truth.
What could he do about it? Nothing, of course, until the vatch returned to get him out of this whatever-it-was, and back into his body and the rest of it.
And there probably would be very little he actually could do then, the captain thought. Because whatever he tried, the vatch would be looking over his shoulder, and the vatch definitely would want the game played its way. Which might happen to be a very bad way again for everyone else involved. There was no counting on the vatch.
How could you act independently of an entity which not only was able to turn you inside out when it felt like it but was also continuously reading your mind? He thought of the Nuri lock Goth had taught him to construct…
If there were something like a vatch lock now -
The thought checked. In the grayness before him there’d appeared a spark of bright fire. It stayed still for an instant, then quiveringly began to move, horizontally from left to right. It left a trail behind it — a twisted, flickering line of fire as bright as itself. It was -
Awful fright shot through him. Stop that! he thought.
The spark stopped. The line of fire remained where it was, quivering and brilliant. It looked very much like one of the linear sections of the patterns that had turned into the Nuri lock.
But this was a far heavier line — not a line at all really but a bar of living fire! Klatha fire, he thought… It had stopped where it was only because he’d checked it.
He hesitated then. If this, too, was part of a potential lock pattern, then that lock must be an enormously more powerful klatha device than the one which had shut the Nuris out of his mind!
Well -
“Are you certain,” something inside him seemed to ask very earnestly, “that you want to try it?”
He was, he decided. It seemed necessary.
He did something he couldn’t have described, even to himself. It released the klatha spark. The line of fire marched on. From above, a second line came trickling down on it — a third zigzagged up from below…
It was awesomely hot stuff! There was a moment when the universe seemed to stretch very tight. But the fire lines crossed, meshed, froze; there was a flash of silent light, and that was it. The pattern had completed itself and instantly disappeared. The ominous tightness went with it.
It was not, the captain decided, the kind of pattern that needed to be practiced. It had to be done right once, or it would not be done at all. And it had been done right.
He waited. After a while he relled vatch. That strengthened presently, grew fainter again, almost faded away. Then suddenly it became very strong. Old Windy was with him, close by.
And silent for the moment! Possibly puzzled, the captain thought.
Then the wind voice spoke. But not in its usual tumultuous fashion and not addressing him. The vatch seemed to be muttering to itself. He made out some of it.
Hmmm?… BUT WHAT IS THIS?… MOST UNUSUAL… IT APPEARS UNDAMAGED, BUT -
SMALL PERSON, the familiar bellowing came suddenly then, CAN YOU HEAR ME?
“Yes!” the captain thought at it.
HMMM?… COMPLETE BLOCK! BUT NO MATTER, the vatch decided. A MINOR HANDICAP! LET THE GAME GO ON -
A momentary sense of rumbling through icy blackness, of vast distances collapsing to nothing ahead of him. Then the captain found himself lying face down on something cool, hard, and prickly. He opened his eyes, lifted his head. He had eyes to open and a head to lift again! He had everything back! He rolled over on rocky ground, sat up in a patch of withered brown grass, looked around in bright sunlight. A general awareness of windy autumn scenery, timbered hills about and snowcapped mountain ranges beyond them, came with the much more important discovery of the Venture standing some four hundred feet away, bow slanted towards him, forward lock open and ramp out. He scrambled to his feet, started towards it.
“Captain!”
He swung about, saw Goth running down the slope of the shallow depression in which he and the ship stood, shouted something and ran to meet her, relief so huge he seemed to be soaring over dips in the ground. Goth took off in a jump from eight feet away and landed on his chest, growling. The captain hugged her, kissed her, rumpled her hair, set her on her feet, and gave her a happy swat.
“Patham!” gasped Goth. “Am I glad to see you! Where you been?”
“Worm World,” said the captain, grinning fatuously down at her.
“Worm — HUH?”
“That’s right. Say, that crystal thing of Olimy’s — it’s still on the ship, isn’t it?”
“How’d I know?” Goth said. “Worm World!” She looked stunned. She shook her head, added, “Ship came just now, with you.”
“Just now?”
“Minute ago. I was headed back to camp—”
“Camp? Well, skip that. Hulik and Vezzarn are with you?”
“Both. Not Olimy. I relled a vatch. Giant-vatch — you don’t do things small, Captain! Turned around, and there the Venture was. Then you stood up—”