Jack Chalker - Midnight at the Well of Souls

“But we now know that the entrance is at the end of The Avenue,” The Rel said suddenly. “And, from Skander, I perceive that the time of entry is midnight.”

“Right on both counts,” Brazil admitted. “However, that knowledge alone won’t get you in. You need the desire to get to the Well center, specifically, and a basic equation to tell the Well you know what you’re doing.”

“The Varnett relationship,” Skander said. “The open-ended equation of the Markovian brain slides. That’s it, isn’t it?”

“Sure,” Brazil acknowledged. “After all, it wasn’t supposed to keep any Markovians out. The conditions of this world are such that the relationship is simply indecipherable. It’s only one in a million that the two of you discovered it, and almost one in infinity that you’d get to where you could use it. You could never have used it on Dalgonia since it requires an answer for completion, an addition. It’s sort of ‘What is your wish?’ and you have to give that wish in mathematically correct form. In this case, though, the simple completion is done by the brain if you ask the question—the reverse.”

“But if he is a Markovian, why could he not just contact the brain and save himself all the problems he’s had here?” the Slelcronian asked.

Brazil turned to the plant person, a puzzled tone in his voice. “I thought you were Vardia—but that tone just doesn’t sound like her.”

“Vardia merged with a Slelcronian,” The Rel explained, telling of the flower creatures and their strange ways. “It is possessed of a good deal of wisdom and some fairly efficient mental powers, but your friend is such a tiny part of the whole that the Czillian is essentially dead,” The Rel concluded.

“I see,” Brazil said slowly. “Well, there were too many Vardias here anyway. Ours is the original—back to human, again.” He turned to Serge again. “So are Wuju and Varnett.”

“Varnett?” Skander sat up suddenly, spilling water. “Varnett is with you?”

“Yes, and no tricks, Skander,” Ortega warned. “If you try anything on Varnett I’ll personally attend to you.” He turned back to Brazil. “That goes for you, too, Nate.”

“There will be no problems, Serge,” Brazil assured him tiredly. “I’ll take you all inside the Well, and I will show you what you want—what you all want. I’ll even answer any questions you want, clear up any uncertainties.”

“That suits us,” Ortega responded, but there was a note of caution in his voice.

The journey up The Avenue had been without event, and none had tested Ortega’s defenses. They were all going where they wanted to go, and, as the Ulik had said, each one had his own selfish interests at heart. All during the journey Brazil had been talkative and friendly, yet there was a sadness deep within him they could all feel, although he tried to laugh it off. The four members of Brazil’s party kept to themselves. Hain kept looking at Wuju strangely, but bided her time, and Skander seemed resigned to Varnett’s existence in the party.

And now, in the afternoon’s waning sun, they stood at the Equatorial Barrier itself, imposing and seemingly impenetrable.

It was like a wall, partially translucent, that rose up until it merged with the deep blue, cloudless sky. The barrier itself didn’t look thick, and felt smooth and glassy to the touch, yet it had withstood attempts by many races on both sides to make as much as a mark on it. It went off to each side of them from horizon to horizon, like a giant, nonreflecting glass wall.

The Avenue seemed to merge into it, and there was no sign of any small crack, fissure, or even juncture of the odd paving of The Avenue with the surface of the barrier. They seemed to become one.

Brazil went up to the wall, then turned to face them. They waited expectantly.

“We can’t enter until midnight, so we might as well be comfortable,” he told them.

“Do you mean twenty-four hundred?” the real Vardia asked.

“No, of course not,” Brazil replied. “For one thing, the Well World’s days are about twenty-eight and a quarter standard hours, as you know, so the time twenty-four hundred has no meaning here. Midnight means exactly that—the middle of the night. Since a total day is exactly twenty-eight point three three four standard hours, and since the axis is exactly vertical, that means the light period is fourteen point one six seven hours, and so is the darkness. Midnight, then, comes seven point zero eight three five hours after sunset. The figures were determined by physical necessity when building the place. They just came out that way. Believe me, Markovian clocks were quite different from ours, and the time could be precisely determined.”

“Yes, but how will we determine it?” The Rel asked. “There are a couple of timepieces here, but they are by no means that exact.”

“No need,” Brazil assured the Northerner. “Hain, fly up to the surface there and watch the sun. When it vanishes to the west, then tell us immediately. Be conservative—err on the side of sunlight. We’ll check watches for seven hours from that point. After that, we can simply wait to open the wall. We’ll have only about two minutes, so it’s important that everyone goes as soon as the wall opens. The ones who don’t will be left out here.”

“What about the atmosphere inside?” Skander asked. “We have only a few pressure suits here.”

“No problem there, either,” Brazil responded. “All of us are compatible with the oxygen-nitrogen-carbon mix that’s common, in one sense or another, with the sectors on both sides of The Avenue. There will be a compromise adjustment, but while the mixture might make a few of us temporarily light-headed, it shouldn’t pose any problem. This system will automatically follow us, section by section, as we go down. The only problem we might have, and it’s minor, is some strongly differing gravitational pulls due to the lines of force flowing from here. None will be a real problem, just uncomfortable occasionally.”

His explanation seemed to satisfy them, and they sat down or otherwise relaxed, waiting for the proper time.

“Are you really—really me?” Vardia hesitantly asked the Slelcronian, who was awake only because of a small, lamplike gadget fastened over the headleaf.

The Slelcronian paused and thought carefully. “We are you, and we are more than you,” it replied. “All your memories and experiences are here, along with the millions of the Slelcronians. You are a part of us, and we are a part of you. Through the Recorder, you are a part of the total synthesis, not just the isolated portion in this body.”

“What’s it like?” she asked.

“It is the ultimate stage to which any can aspire,” the creature told her. “No individuality, no personality to corrupt. No jealousy, greed, anger, envy, or those other things that cause misery. All alike, all identical, all in communion. As plants we require nothing save water and sunlight, and carbon dioxide to breathe. When another is needed, we make a seed and mate it to the Recorders; it grows, and immediately after bloom becomes as we. The Recorders do not think, and get their food from our bodies.”

“But—what do you do?” she asked curiously. “What is the purpose to your life?”

“Universal happiness in a stable order,” the Slelcronian replied unhesitatingly. “Long have we yearned to spread the synthesis. Now, through this body and your experience, we can return to Czill and multiply. We shall work with the devices of Czill to create a synthesis of animal with plant. We shall expand, eventually, to the Well World, and, with the aid of the Well, to the corners of the universe. All shall become one with the synthesis, all shall enjoy perfect equality and happiness.”