The Return of Nathan Brazil

South Zone

“They’ve been coming through steadily,” ortegasaid to the Southern ambassadors and the representative from the North. “So far we’re processing about one hundred an hour and there’s no sign of stoppage. In fact, the number continues to grow. Already we’ve called upon some of you to supply extra manpower, even army units, to keep everything orderly—but that won’t last. We’re literally being flooded with people!”

“What about simply leaving them in the chamber?” an ambassador asked. “Won’t that block the arrival of newcomers?”

“For a time,” Ortega acknowledged. “But the place isn’t set up as a living area. We have no way to feed them or eliminate their wastes.”

“You say it’s an entire planetary population?” another voice chimed in. “Good heavens, man! That could mean billions! Do you realize what that will do to us? The world can’t support such a population! It’ll be chaos, social, political, and economic. It could destroy us! Something must be done!”

The massing of mutterings indicated that this ambassador had a lot of support.

“In all the history of the Well World,” one said, “there has never been such an event. An entire planetary population! It’s like the Markovians all over again, but the planet is already populated. Many of our ecosystems are in a very delicate balance, which this influx will tip. I say we have no choice. For our own well-being, we must kill these newcomers as they arrive.”

His conclusion shocked a lot of them. Silence reigned for a moment, although Ortega knew that many of the ambassadors would overcome their shock and start thinking just that way.

“This isn’t a random occurrence,” Ortega suddenly announced. “It is deliberate. You all know that there is a surviving Markovian technician, Nathan Brazil. He is behind this. I think for a particular reason.”

There was quiet on the other end. They were listening.

“You all know the standing rule if Brazil were to appear today. His mental state wasn’t all that great the last time. I know—I was there. Even then he was claiming to be God, the one creator of the Universe, Markovians, and all. We don’t know what another thousand years have done to his mind. Should he get into the Well of Souls again he might take a different course. Suppose his god complex has grown? Suppose he decides to play god for real next time? You know the fear is a real one. You know that once inside he could do anything he wants. Procedures have long been established to stop him and keep him captive should he arrive.

“Well, colleagues, I believe the time has come. Brazil is going to appear again, this time deliberately, and all this confusion is but a smokescreen. He may be mad, but he’s not stupid. He knows we’re laying for him. What better way to mask his coining and increase his chances of success than by camouflaging his actions in this way? By finding a planet in trouble, dying, and running its population through. He knows what chaos the overcrowding will cause. And while we’re coping with total disruption, he’ll try to sneak past us. Kill them? No, I don’t think that’s the solution. What would we do with the bodies? Better we cope with the mob, for the moment putting up the newcomers in our home hexes as local conditions allow. The genocide option is open to us at any time as long as we keep track of these Entries. Right now let’s just concentrate on orderly processing—but send in some really good troops to guard the Well Gate. He must go through it. Once he’s through I’ll wager the flood of new Entries will slack off. But he must not pass!”

All present murmured agreement to that.

“For now I’ll set up what procedures I can,” Ortega told them. “I hope all you air-breathers will cooperate by sending whatever personnel in whatever quantities are necessary. Troops will be posted with adequate weapons. If Brazil tries to sneak through, they will be instructed to shoot to kill.”