Jack Chalker - Exiles at the Well of Souls

She made the guard quarters without incident, but here was where things would get rough. Two guards would be on duty here, and perhaps four more, relaxing, on call. They had all been processed by Obie, unbeknown to them, and so she recognized them all, knew their looks, strengths, and weaknesses.

They were all sponge ODs, kept that way carefully. There were three males—two with physical characteristics of overdeveloped females but with their genitals intact, one that the sponge had made into a gorilla-like muscleman, hairy and with muscles like rock. The others were females—three with totally male characteristics except in the important place, the rest with totally exaggerated female characteristics. Those like Nikki, who reacted to the overdose differently, were not considered for guard duty.

As guards they accepted their lot; they hated Trelig, yes, but they knew the hopelessness of their position and they had plenty of models around them of what would happen if they incurred their master’s displeasure and their dosages were dropped to a fraction or none at all. They were loyal to the man who controlled the sponge, and they lived fairly well because of it.

They would be dangerous.

At the guard building, Mavra’s newly acute hearing told her that there was no one near the entrance. She went inside, descended to the ground-level laundry room, and slipped in. Although she now knew the code for the elevator, she decided not to risk using it unless she had to. The building had three underground floors, each story ten meters high—not enough distance to matter.

There were pressure-sensitive treads on some of the stairs, though, and she carefully gripped the rail and lifted herself past them. She had always been a good gymnast, and the lighter gravity and Obie’s toning made doing so as easy as taking a step forward.

The sensors would be the main line of defense for the building; cameras were positioned only inside the secured weapons locker and in the prison rooms themselves.

That last was what worried her. There would be no way to fool the camera that watched Nikki Zinder, for the girl had no devices to deceive it as Mavra did. It might not notice the intruder, but it would certainly notice Nikki walking out.

Mavra took time to check out the rest of the building. Two guards—whom she didn’t recognize—were inside the weapons locker with the camera monitors. Armed to the teeth, they would respond quickly. Two others, it appeared, were sleeping on the second level. They were unarmed, but formidable enough, and, once the alarm sounded, she would have no way of knowing where they would be. She decided to take the risk.

Flexing her new poison apparatus, she saw the conscious muscle movement necessary to allow a tiny drop of the fluid to reach the point of the nails. Satisfied, she crept into the room where the two guards, both females like the one she had hypnoed the night before, were sprawled on bunks, sound asleep. One was snoring loudly.

Mavra acted quickly, almost without thinking, releasing venom concealed in the fingers of her right hand in the one that was quiet first, then turning and puncturing the arm of the snoring guard. Incredibly, neither woke up, even though there was a tiny spot of blood where the sharp nail had penetrated.

Professionals they weren’t, she decided with some relief. That ought to teach Trelig not to be so cheap and so confident with his security.

She bent over one and whispered: “You will sleep deeply and restfully, and dream happy dreams, and nothing, no person or sound, shall waken you.” She did the same to the other.

That would hold them until the venom wore off.

Next she set out for the third-level weapons locker. Trelig thought he was smart putting the duty office inside the locker; an outer office, really. It made them unassailable.

The vault door would take a ton of explosives to blow, yet it could be opened by a safety lock on the inside in seconds. But vaults were designed to keep people out.

Mavra drew her purloined pistol and fired at the lock junction, a continuous burst that caused the hard surface to start to bubble, slightly deform. It was designed that way; the strongest energy weapons would only reinforce the door by causing a more malleable outer layer to seal the locking mechanism. Great for storing jewels and art; terrible if someone was inside.

Before those two could get out or anyone else could get in, Trelig would have to blow his own safe.

Confident, almost cocky with her success, Mavra Chang went down to the other end of the hall and punched the code for Nikki Zinder’s room.

The door slid open. Nikki was there all right, sprawled out on the bed.

Mavra hardly had time to react before a stun bolt froze her stiff.

Trelig’s communicator buzzed. He reached under the folds of his white robe and unclipped it from a little stretch-belt, then held it up to his mouth and pressed a stud.

“Yes?” he snapped, annoyed. This close to his triumph he did not like interruptions.

“Ziv, sir,” a guard reported. “We awakened the representatives as you ordered. One of them is not in the assigned room.”

Trelig frowned. Even less than interruptions did he want complications, not now. “Which one?” he asked.

“The one called Mavra Chang,” Ziv replied crisply. “It’s simply amazing, sir. There’s a holographic projection of her on the bed so real it fooled even us—let alone the camera. And it had no apparent generation source!”

The master of New Pompeii didn’t like what he heard at all. He tried to remember which one she was—oh, yes, the real tiny woman with the strong Orchi features and the silky smooth voice.

“Find her at all costs,” he ordered. “Shoot to stun if you can, but if there is any blatant threat to life or property you have my permission to kill her.”

He reclipped his communicator and looked around at the master control board. Gil Zinder, sitting in a folding chair, noted Trelig’s worried expression and smiled a bit. This irritated the councillor all the more—Zinder should not be so bold on this of all days.

“What do you know of this?” Trelig snapped angrily at the little man. “Come on! I know it’s some of your doing!”

Gil Zinder hadn’t the faintest idea what the man was talking about, but he couldn’t help a touch of satisfaction at seeing that something was obviously wrong.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Trelig. How could I have anything to do with anything, kept cooped up here and away from the controls?” Zinder responded with a trace of amusement.

Trelig towered over the small scientist, face becoming red. For a moment Zinder was afraid that he was about to be torn limb from limb. But Antor Trelig had not gathered his power by losing complete control, ever. He stopped, held back for a moment in frozen fury, and gradually normal breathing and color returned to his face. His expression, however, was still dangerous. “I don’t know, Zinder, but you and that brat of yours will pay dearly if anything goes wrong,” he warned.

Zinder sighed. “I’ve done everything you want. I’ve designed and built your big dish and massive storage, linked it, and checked it. Your creature Yulin has kept the only controls, and I see my daughter only under guard. You know full well I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

That last remark triggered something in Trelig. He stood dumbstruck for a moment, then snapped his fingers.

“Of course! Of course!” he mumbled to himself. “It’s the girl she’s after!” He grabbed for his communicator.

“Cameras in full deployment,” Obie’s voice came to them. “Asteroid target in position in seventy minutes.”