Jack Chalker - Ghost of the Well of Souls

“Well, that’s the part of my job that’s both satisfying and a bit frustrating. I know if I did it right, lives are safe due to my work. Still, if I do it right, nobody ever notices the work, which is quite difficult and demanding. If you do it wrong, of course, you lose all that satisfaction and, well, you wind up heading the news in at least two hexes.”

Like the other Kalindans who worked in the hex, Mitchuk swam much faster and more confidently than they did, but they managed to keep up, going perhaps ten meters over the roofs of the tallest structures in the city and avoiding much of the mob below. The site of those vast hordes packed in and going this way and that on unknown missions reminded them less of underwater denizens than, again, of an insect colony. It was also noisy, but the din was steady and at a reasonable level. They quickly learned to tune it out.

They went right through the center of the city and found the only point where Yabbans weren’t densely packed. It was a large hexagonal building with a domelike roof. Even though they couldn’t see inside, they knew what had to be there. Just as in all the other hexes, there was a single large hexagonal opening of impenetrable dull black, made of nothing and built into nothing. It simply—existed.

The Zone Gate.

Passing through it or any Zone Gate would take denizens of the Well World to an entry point in South Zone appropriate for the life-form in terms of atmosphere, pressure, and so on. It would take them nowhere else, and the other Gates within South Zone—save the one to North Zone that only the experts dared—would bring them back home to their own hex through its Zone Gate.

They headed due south now. In the distance they could see a series of dome-shaped structures, clear as glass, even through the murk. The fact that there were several surprised them more than their existence; it might be understandable that Kalindans would be housed apart from the alien mob they did business with, if only for their own sanity, but what were the others? Most of them they couldn’t see through, and one was black as pitch.

“What are the other domes?” Ming called to Mitchuk.

“Oh, that’s Embassy Row, as it were,” their guide explained. “Most hexes don’t maintain in-hex consulates, but the Yabbans do so much business with other hexes that it is often easier to deal with basic things locally rather than go back and forth to and from Zone. It’s particularly expedient when some of the races are from far away, so that getting back here from Zone could present a real effort. In fact, we’re the only more or less local one there, thanks to the large number of people we have living here.”

It made sense, and also made them more curious about the ones they couldn’t see through. “What’s that blacked-out one over there?”

“Oh, that’s Bliston. They’re a kind of surly, paranoid bunch. I guess I would be, too, if my home were that close to Chalidang.”

Interesting. A blacked-out area controlled by somebody whose relatives were all near Chalidang could hardly be ignored. “What do they look like?” Ming asked their guide.

“Worms, sort of. Worms with hands on both ends. You’ll see. Everybody meets everybody over here occasionally.”

“What do they trade with the Yabbans?”

“I’m not quite sure. Some sort of unique chemicals that the Yabbans use for some of their agriculture, I believe. You can ask around, I suppose, if you’re that curious.”

They were, although it seemed an awful long way for Yabbo to go to get fertilizer.

Some of the other domes weren’t as transparent when they got up close. All had buildings inside them, but a few had structures that literally filled the domes so that, even though you could see inside the outer shell, you still had no idea what was going on beyond that.

There were a number of different races moving in the consulate area, none of whom looked familiar. There were large, colorful sea-horse-like creatures whose lower part ended in a kind of fanlike hand; octopuslike creatures with periscope eyes that popped up from the center of their body mass and seemed to be able to look any which way at once; and jellyfish things with semitransparent umbras showing large, complex brains as if through an X ray, and with varicolored tentacles hanging down. Ari suspected that the brain wasn’t nearly as exposed and vulnerable as it appeared, and that many of those hanging tentacles, so seemingly random, had specific purposes, from senses to defense.

Yeah, but a good bullet or spear in that brain would still do one of them in, Ming noted.

Maybe. But that can also be said of us, you know.

She hadn’t thought of that. Good to remember, if we feel the inclination to go poking into worms’ nests, Ming commented nervously.

Well, if they’re worms, they’ll probably just swallow us whole.

With hands at both ends, they’re probably master stranglers.

They now approached the largest and busiest of the domes—the Kalindan consulate—easily identified by both the home-style architecture and layout inside and the number of Kalindan shapes. The only unusual thing was the scarcity of garish multicolored electric lights; there were some, but they were muted, and powered by chemicals rather than electricity, which was not permitted here.

The fine series of mesh gates they went through served a number of purposes. The one that meant the most was that, quite startlingly, the water cleared, and much of the gunk and irritation that was in Yabbo’s seas vanished.

“We can’t do much about the infernal temperatures here,” Mitchuk told them, “but at least in here we can breathe. We had one devil of a time figuring out how to keep the water cleaned and aerated, but the system’s held up quite well. Most of our people come here as often as they can simply to get their heads cleared out.”

It was as if a tremendous tension was suddenly lifted once they were completely inside the consular dome; from breathing in short gasps they were now suddenly free to take in the water in a constant stream without getting clogged. Even their eyes no longer stung.

Inside, it was something of a mini-Kalindan town, complete with hotel, a Kalindan-style saloon, and even a restaurant, which seemed redundant, considering the nutrient-rich waters just outside. Still, they understood. Just because you could have all the plain yogurt and tofu you wanted didn’t mean you wouldn’t pay a fortune for a filet mignon. The sea life of Yabbo was the yogurt and tofu analogy, and Kalinda had something of a cuisine that dealt not only with presentation, but with spices and preparation.

Too bad we probably can’t eat in there, Ari said wistfully. I can just imagine what even a fillet of sagu on Mazurine grass costs in a place like this.

This wasn’t the first time the lack of any significant expense account got in their way, nor, they both knew, would it be the last. Still, they had a little money, and the saloon looked inviting both as a place to get something decent and also to get the lay of this new land.

“Will you join us below?” they asked Mitchuk, knowing they owed her but, financially, hoping she’d turn them down, which she did.

“No, no. I have much to do. I’ll need to be at the hotel for an appointment in less time than it will take me to do the other things. Go in, enjoy! Perhaps we’ll see each other later on!”

They watched her swim off, the long purple mane waving in the small currents.

She was never born a man, Ari commented. Not with those moves.

Yeah, I know. Bad enough to feel horny around here. Even worse when everybody’s suddenly the same sex. Frustrating.