The Return of Nathan Brazil

In Orbit Off the Well World

It was a strange and solitary solar system; even Obie was not very clear on where it was located. He simply allowed himself to be drawn there along the massive energy force fields radiating from it to all parts of the Universe.

The system itself didn’t amount to much—a medium-yellow G-type star of no special attributes except that it should have burnt itself out billions of years earlier and burnt in fact at a precise, constant rate; some asteroids and planetoids of no consequence or interest; a few comets and other such natural debris; a lone planet circling the star at about one hundred and fifty million kilometers out in a perfect circle.

Beyond the perfection of its orbit, the planet itself was extraordinary. Not huge, not imposing, it shimmered and glistened like a fantastic Christmas-tree bulb, perfectly round, with a dark band around its center. Its period of rotation was a little over twenty-eight hours, standard, and it had no axial tilt.

The two hemispheres defined by that dark band were quite different, although both north and south reflected sunlight from hundreds of hexagonal facets. The blue and white South Hemisphere was home to seven hundred and eighty carbon-based races, each existing in its own hexagonal biosphere; the North, swirling with exotic colors, supported seven hundred and eighty noncarbon-based races that breathed esoteric gases if they breathed at all.

In the first few billion years after the creation of the Universe, a single race had evolved capable of expanding beyond its planetary bounds. Carbon-based but nonhuman, it had attained a demigodhood on planets throughout the galaxies, a state that eventually led to boredom and stagnation that the race, in its greatness, recognized. Something had gone wrong in the climb to the top; the creatures had reached god-hood and found it wanting. Somewhere, somehow they had taken a wrong turn, a turn they could not divine, and they were frustrated. So frustrated, in fact, that they had decided to give it all up, to restage the creation under different rules and circumstances. This banded, honeycomb world, the Well World, was their laboratory, where new races and biospheres were created by the best engineers and artisans and allowed to develop—up to a point. Then, using the great computer that was the planet beneath the crust, they created and developed worlds where the great drama of evolution could be replayed with different rules and a different cast. Giving their own bodies and minds to the project, the masters became their new creations, surrendering immortality and godhood in the hope that their descendants, alien and ignorant of the past, would find the greatness their creators had missed.

Over seven hundred years before the arrival of the Dreel on Parkatin, Obie had double-crossed Antor Trelig at his demonstration on New Pompeii. The computer thought everyone present would die but, instead, the Well of Souls, the great Markovian computer that monitored and maintained reality, had drawn them to the Well World.

“It has been a long time.” Obie’s voice spoke to her from the monitor.

Mavra Chang nodded absently. “A long time,” she echoed.

They paused for a few moments, thinking, remembering experiences from centuries past.

In her natural human form as she appeared now, Mavra Chang was tiny and thin, with the physique of a champion gymnast. Her face was exotic and quite Oriental. Long black hair trailed down her back. Although well over seven hundred and fifty years old, she looked about twenty—Obie’s control over the equations of reality was complete, although localized. A great computer, he easily handled complexities that had baffled the Com, yet he was quantum jumps below the Well of Souls in capacity or sophistication.

“Can you see anything wrong?” she asked him at last, breaking the introspective silence.

“No, nothing,” Obie responded. “There is evidence of a slight seismic disturbance but it did no lasting harm. I am monitoring communications between various high-tech races, but business seems to be going on as usual. The Well World is being maintained.”

On the Well World, the creators had placed limits on the technological capabilities of the hexagonal eco-spheres to simulate difficulties the races would eventually face on their “native” planets. Some could use all energy sources; some were limited to gunpowder and steam; in others no machines would work that were not powered by muscle or tension. This seemingly random system also served as a check on aggression. A high-tech civilization would be helpless in a nontech hex whose military had trained swordsmen and archers; similarly, a low-tech or no tech hex would find it impossible to invade one that had sophisticated weaponry.

“Obie—the Well World’s maintenance isn’t performed by the main computer, is it?”

“That’s correct. After all, something has to power the big machine. From all evidence, it appears that the Well World Computer is in excellent shape. That means the main computer—the one that maintains you and me and everything else—is the problem. I feel the discontinuity, the wrongness now, but I dare not open contact with the Well, you understand.”

She did. Long ago, when they had first come here, Obie had contacted the master computer and then found himself unable to disconnect.

“My analysis,” the computer continued, “based just on what energy output I can monitor, is that something terrible has happened. As you know, the energy that enforces the natural laws of our Universe originates on the Well World and it’s usually a one-way street. Not now, though. I detect massive feedbackpouring into the Well Computer. The Well is trying to correct for it but doesn’t seem quite able to do so.” That sounded ominous. “What do you think happened?”

“Hard to say. Looking at the situation, I’d guess that somebody else discovered the principles just as Zinder did, built a huge dish—which is stupid without understanding what you’re dealing with—then misused it, causing this feedback, damaging the Well of Souls. And the energy level of the feedback is increasing.”

Mavra had a queasy feeling in her stomach. “Obie, that computer is all that stands between us and total annihilation. Can it handle the problem or not?”

“I won’t know that until we isolate the cause. From the slight increases I’ve been measuring, though, I’d say not. Mavra, the Well World Computer can snuff out a white hole! What could have happened that would be beyond its power to correct?”

“Let’s find out,” she suggested. “Trace the feedback back to its source, but don’t get too close. We don’t want to be killed by whatever it is.”

“I’ll be careful,” Obie promised. As he did, the big dish on his underside glowed, a violet field enveloped the whole planetoid, and it vanished.