Jack Chalker - Shadow of the Well of Souls

Within a few hours they were approaching land, and from the darkness Gus saw that wherever it was was definitely more civilized than he’d like. It looked like the coastline of Oregon or northern California, densely populated and brightly and artificially lit.

After they had slipped into an official naval dock facility and tied up, he waited until all but the watch and maintenance personnel were off and then just walked ashore.

Beyond the buildings, piers, and guards, though, was a kind of lunatic’s seaside resort, at least to his mind. All the houses, hell, all the buildings, big and small, seemed like they’d been poured by a five-year-old out of some play-dough set. They looked, well, kind of weird, not at all symmetrical or standard but solid, colorful, and well built out of some synthetic material.

And by bright streetlights he found himself in what he thought of as the Land of the Ninja Turtles.

Well, not exactly, but they did sort of remind him of the cartoon characters. No shells, though, and no Ninja gear. And some of them had beards, of all things, and some of them wore what looked like Scotch plaid kilts, but most of them wore ugly, serviceable form-fitting plastic-type clothing.

There were big bipedal turtles and little ones and in-between ones, and except for the occasional oddball in kilts or other nonstandard clothing and the few with little goatees, they all looked just exactly alike to him.

Well, they seemed warm-blooded by their actions, in spite of looking like reptiles, and that made them somewhat akin to him, however different they really were. Maybe, just maybe, what they ate he could eat.

For a while he feared they were all herbivores, but then he discovered the refrigerated warehouses and lots and lots of meat. It was all dead, of course, and some of it might take a while to thaw out, although he wondered how long it would take anything to thaw in the waters just beyond the breakwater in superhot Dlubine. Rather than be piggy, he picked a half dozen smaller cuts, a mere six or seven pounds of meat of some kind, went down to the shore just beyond the town and waded, then floated out until he was in the warmest water he’d ever known.

The answer was about an hour a pound.

It didn’t taste the same, not without the warm blood and all the nice mushy insides and skin and all, but it wasn’t the time to be a gourmet or look gift horses in the mouth. He’d eaten a lot worse on this trip, and natural taste and instinct didn’t fill an empty gullet. All in all, it was a quite satisfactory beach picnic, even if the company didn’t show up.

The next day he tried to find out a little information about where the hell he was and what he might be able to do next.

This, it appeared, was a seaside resort in Agon, so even if the other two had failed to make the northern continent, he had, and he was the only one who didn’t give a damn if he ever saw the place or not.

He knew he didn’t like the place. It wasn’t the locals, or the climate, or even the food so much as it was the fact that it was a high-tech hex. He’d had to bypass several security systems the previous night, and even so, he knew they knew somebody had broken in. In fact, a whole damned busload of uniformed turtle cops had shown up by dawn and were busily going over the place. He decided that they must have found something, because one of the cops lit out for the naval station on a crazy kind of vehicle that seemed to float just off the ground on nothing in particular but had handlebars and a hand accelerator and a hand brake kind of like a motorbike’s. He decided to follow, mostly to see if there was any suspicion of a Dahir being involved.

The little fellow on the flying surfboard beat him there by a bit, of course, but he was there with several navy types of various races spouting off a storm. Gus moved closer to overhear.

“…definitely no race on our local registry. It has to be something from one of your crews! You had a patrol come in just last night!”

One of the crew, who looked like a five-foot-tall version of Rocky the Flying Squirrel sans goggles to Gus, who was, after all, a television person, responded, “Now, calm down. What did you say was stolen again?”

“Zlabruk!Eight prime filets! Highest quality, too!”

“I assure you we feed our men well,” responded another, who looked like a giant frog in full uniform. “And they earn more than enough to not go off after a very hot and difficult mission, break into a place, and steal a bunch of— steaks .”

“Zlabruk!That’s imported, you know! Expensive!”

“Well, I don’t think—” began the squirrel, then stopped and thought a moment. “Steaks… Who in the world would break in and steal slabs of meat? I wonder… Wait here a moment. I want you to speak to someone else.”

The giant walking squirrel vanished into a nearby building and was gone for two or three minutes while the others fiddled around and the Agonite cop kept muttering about imported filets. Finally the big gray lump of fur emerged, but he was not alone. Following him was a much more amorphous creature, a creature Gus had seen before, and when it spoke through an orifice it formed within itself, it was unmistakably the same one as well.

“I am Colonel Lunderman,” said the Leeming. “Now, what’s this about someone coming in and stealing a bunch of steaks?”

Gus wasn’t at all sure whether to be relieved or fearful at the colonel’s appearance on this side of the ocean. As much as he needed an ally, he felt he could trust this character about as far as he could throw him.

Just great!he thought to himself. So now what the hell do I do?

They awoke, chained to a wall by efficient shackles, unable to move any of their limbs more than a very short way.

It was a surprisingly modern room with a glowing ultra-modern ceiling providing more than enough light and vents feeding in air-conditioning at a reasonable level of comfort. Lori hung to the right of the entrance, Mavra to his left. Along the other walls were built-in work tables and fancy computer screens, and in the center were a number of benches with all sorts of science equipment on them, giving the place the look of a college chemistry lab.

Mavra groaned and looked around. “Lori? Are you all right?”

“I—well, if you call this all right, I guess so,” Lori groaned, then looked around and tested the chains. “Now what happens?”

“Nothing good,” Mavra responded. “You remember that I said you’d never really come face-to-face with what future technology could and would do for criminals? Well, welcome to the future. I’m just devastated to see this kind of setup here.”

“Yeah, but I thought the equivalent of the UN or something wanted you. This sure isn’t them—and why us, too?”

“Well, why don’t you just hang around and find out?” Mavra snapped with heavy irony.

Lori sighed, “I guess it doesn’t really matter much, for me, anyway. Without Alowi I’m a dead man, anyway.”

They did not have long to wait, but the creature who walked through the door was beyond anything they expected.

My god!Lori thought. It’s Daisy Duck with tits!

In fact, the body appeared more humanoid than duck-like, although it was completely covered by tiny white feathers wherever it was exposed, and the legs, slightly bowed, were of a tough-looking ribbed yellow-orange texture, and while the feet could not be seen, it was not beyond the bounds of imagination to think of two thick webbed feet somehow crammed into a pair of vastly oversized black pumps.

The arms seemed extremely thin, extending a bit out from the shoulders, with a ball-like elbow joint in the middle and ending in two huge mittlike hands, each with three nearly equal-sized webbed fingers and an opposing thumb, without any sign of nails, claws, or whatever. Extending from the underside of the impossibly thin arms was a row of feathers that might have been what remained of vestigial wings but that were now nothing more than decoration. The entire body, which stood perhaps 165 centimeters discounting the heels, was curvaceous and sported two rather ample mammallike breasts that were easily seen thanks to the rather slinky black dress the creature wore.