Mavra almost gasped. New Pompeii! s.p.a.ce! The stars! But- "I'm a h.e.l.l of a pilot as a horse," she responded sarcastically.

Wooley showed no reaction to the comment. "We do not need you as a pilot, except, perhaps, as a backup. Do you remember Ben Yulin?"

Mavra thought a moment. The truth was, she had seen very little of Yulin-the young scientist at Trelig's test panels. Not even a picture of him came to mind. All her experience had been with Trelig, not Yulin.

"Vaguely," she responded. "Scientist who worked for Trelig. So? I know he's the one you depended on to get you to New Pompeii after the wars over twenty years ago. Kind of fizzled on that one, didn't you?"

Wooley let it pa.s.s. "We have Yulin, we can penetrate the North, we can reach New Pompeii, but it won't be easy. You are our backup. Would you you trust a former lieutenant of Antor Trelig?" trust a former lieutenant of Antor Trelig?"

She had to admit that she wouldn't. But, then again, she wouldn't trust Mavra Chang, either, who owed no loyalty to the Yaxa.

"It wouldn't have more to do with the fact that, if I'm with you, then Ortega can't use me?" she prodded.

The Yaxa's antennae waved a bit. "That is part of it, yes. However, we could kill you and accomplish that. No, we are interested in you as a check on Yulin. We want someone else who knows New Pompeii, and we want someone who can make certain he is not planning a double-cross. You are the best we can do."

"But why horses horses?" Joshi asked, a little miffed at being left out of the conversation.

"Relatives of the horse, yes," Wooley said, "but not horses. You are extremely extremely strong, for one thing." strong, for one thing."

"So we help carry the freight," Mavra noted, understanding. "I can see that."

"Also, your new bodies are not strictly herbivores. Your breed is from a hex to the east, Furgimos, and you can eat almost anything, in much the same way you could as pigs. Your water-storage capability is excellent. Two weeks or more. You can see how this simplifies travel problems."

They did. "I take it that there's a long journey after we get North, then," Mavra guessed.

"Very long," Wooley admitted. "For one thing, the rebreathing apparatus necessary is only usable in a semitech or high-tech hex, so the shortest route is out of the question. The shortest route avoiding nontech hexes is blocked because the Poorgl are extremely nasty high-tech creatures who would be death to us. That means a seven-hex journey."

The horses started doing the math in their heads, but Wooley cut them off. "It's about 2,400 kilometers, all told. A huge distance."

Joshi was shocked. "That far in the North? North? Without air, without any food or water we don't take with us? It's impossible!" Without air, without any food or water we don't take with us? It's impossible!"

"Not impossible," the Yaxa responded. "Difficult. You forget we have had a great deal of time to prepare for this mission, both diplomatically and logistically. A thousand or so of those kilometers will be hard traveling. In others we will obtain transport and be resupplied from established caches. Still, the going will be difficult, and dangerous."

"What about us?" Mavra asked. "How will we we breathe and be protected?" breathe and be protected?"

"I told you there were several reasons for your being horses. Well, the Dillians-you might remember them, they are centaurs-in whatever part of s.p.a.ce their colony began, also attained s.p.a.ce flight. We have obtained two of the suits and a spare from off-planet Dillian Entries and easily modified them," the Yaxa explained. "They are made for an equine shape, yet operate in the main as yours do-they are form-fitting when pressurized. It is all arranged."

"And when do we start this great expedition?" Mavra prodded, excited.

"Tomorrow. Early tomorrow," the Yaxa replied, and left. The door whined shut behind her.

They stood in silence for a few minutes, thinking. Suddenly Mavra became aware that Joshi was shaking his hindquarters, obviously agitated.

"What's the matter?" she asked. "Worried?"

"It's not that," he replied, certainly upset about something. "Mavra, will you look down between my hind legs and tell me what you see?"

She humored him, lowered her head, and looked carefully. "Nothing," she answered. "Why?"

"That's what I thought," he cried mournfully. "d.a.m.n it, Mavra! I think they made me a girl horse!"

Ortega's Office, South Zone The intercom on Serge Ortega's desk buzzed and he punched it.

"Yes?"

"They're here, sir," his secretary answered.

"They?" he responded, then decided quibbling wasn't worth the trouble. "Send them in."

The door slid back, and two creatures slow-hopped in. They looked very much like meter-and-a-half-long frogs, with legs in proportion, although one was slightly smaller than the other and had a lighter green complexion. On their whitish undersides elaborate symbols were tattooed.

"Antor Trelig," Ortega nodded. "And?"

"My wife, Burodir," the larger of the two frogs responded.

"Charmed," the snake-man replied dryly. He looked around. There were s.p.a.ces for Uliks to curl and some chairs and a couch for visiting humanoids, but there seemed to be nothing appropriate for frogs. "Have a seat if anything fits."

The chairs did, surprisingly. As the frogs sat, they looked almost human, curved legs slightly crossed.

"You know what's up, I a.s.sume, so I won't beat around the bush," Ortega began. "The Yaxa have Mavra Chang, and they are ready to start any moment with Chang and Yulin into the North. We have to get there-if not ahead of them, then at roughly the same time as they do. It'll be a rough trip out, and there may be a fight at the end. It's very much like a miniature replay of the Wars of the Well on neutral turf."

Trelig nodded. "I understand. You have my complete cooperation, Amba.s.sador Ortega."

"Cooperation, yes-but I think we understand each other, Trelig," the Ulik answered pointedly. "Don't cross me. I'm sending some people with you as my representatives. One is an Agitar, and you know what kind of power he he has." has."

Trelig nodded.

Ortega continued, "Also along will be a Lata, whose sting works on Makiem, and who will have flying speed on New Pompeii-and some male and female Dillian centaurs to help carry supplies. In addition, one of the Yaxa who's along with the other side, goes by the name Wooley, is a former sponge-addict Entry."

Trelig, former head of the sponge syndicate, gasped.

"She has sworn to kill you at any cost and has tried several times," the snake-man continued. "She'll try again up North. The Yaxa are among the most cunning and deadly creatures on the Well World, so you can afford no mistakes."

Trelig nodded soberly. "I have gotten this far and this high by not making any. I a.s.sure you that self-preservation is a primary objective with me."

"All right then," Ortega said. "You brought two Makiem suits?"

"Already being worked on by your people," Burodir put in. "We will be set to go as soon as they are through."

Ortega sighed. "Okay, then. Get your supplies transferred as quickly as possible, and be back here for briefing at 0400."

The Makiem rose and made for the exit. Trelig turned slightly, and said, "You won't regret this, Ortega."

"You bet I won't," the snake-man replied, and watched them go out. The door closed. "You son of a b.i.t.c.h," he added.

Two figures emerged from behind a part.i.tion. "So that's Trelig," Renard breathed. "Now he looks just like he always was-slimy. Color matches, too. He hasn't changed a bit."

"I notice you didn't tell him who who that Agitar was," Vistaru the Lata said. that Agitar was," Vistaru the Lata said.

Ortega chuckled. "No, and I think you better have an alias, Renard. Something that won't give you away-and he'd better not find out, so don't slip."

Renard's grin lent a particularly evil effect to his devil's face. "I won't slip. But nothing will stop me from electrocuting the son of a b.i.t.c.h once we don't need him any more. You understand that."

Ortega did. Trelig had picked Renard from a Com-world mental inst.i.tution, fed him ma.s.sive doses of sponge, and enslaved him on New Pompeii. More than anyone, Renard knew Trelig's basic evil, his degradation. The man was a monster. But Trelig did not know that Renard was Renard-and if there were no slips, he would not. While Trelig worried about a vengeful Yaxa, right next to him would be an enemy who knew him well, knew New Pompeii well, and hated him with a pa.s.sion that defied description.

"I just wish it'd been Mavra," Vistaru said between clenched teeth. "That b.i.t.c.h Wooley! I'll get her if it's the last thing I do."

Ortega looked thoughtful, then sighed. "Renard, will you see to some of the final preparations?" he prodded. The Agitar turned to go, and Vistaru started to follow. "No, Vistaru, not you. Stay here a minute."

She looked puzzled, and Renard left. The door hissed shut again.

"I think," Ortega said slowly, "it's time to tell you a few things you don't know. Wooley knows-I had to tell her in order to save Mavra Chang's life these many years. Now it's time for you."

Vistaru experienced a creeping dread within her, as if she didn't really want to know what Ortega was about to tell her, but dimly guessed the truth.

Ortega sighed and pulled some papers from a desk drawer, a thick file marked chang, mavra in indecipherable Ulik, but the Lata knew what it was from the photo on the jacket.

"I better start from the beginning, all the way," he said carefully. "It begins fifty-four years ago, back when you found Nathan Brazil . . ."

Yaxa Emba.s.sy, South Zone The Torshind floated a few centimeters above the floor, a pale-red cloak without a wearer, like a vision from a nightmare. Because it was essentially an energy creature, a translator had nothing to modulate, so it was also silent now as it watched the preparations underway. Yaxa guards armed with nasty weapons stood all about as insurance against attempts by Ortega or Trelig to interfere with the operation.

A drug was administered to the party; it made them sleepy, close to comatose. Because of the supply problem, the expedition was small: Wooley, of course, and Yulin and the horselike Mavra and Joshi and, of course, the Torshind. There had been some debate about it all, particularly the inclusion of Joshi and the exclusion of another Yaxa. But Joshi provided a handle on Mavra Chang and he was needed to carry supplies-and anyway, another Yaxa would consume more in food and water than he. Five were enough; none of them trusted Yulin, so that kept him in check. None trusted the Torshind either, but the Torshind could not pilot the ship. Mavra had no hands and her shape precluded her ability to activate the ship, particularly at an incline, so she would need an ally with arms-and for that Wooley was a better bet than Yulin. It wasn't perfect, but it was the best that could be done.

Most of the supplies had been shifted earlier; the suits in which the expedition would live in the North had been fitted with small but complex rebreather apparatus. For himself, Yulin adopted a "human" suit, of old design. The Yaxa had their own suits from Entries-and Mavra and Joshi used modified Dillian equipment. The Torshind did not breathe as the South understood breathing, and so needed nothing.

Transfer was simple. The Torshind simply glided up to the transferee, melted into the other's body, awkwardly took control of it, then moved down the hall and into the Zone Gate.

The drugs made the Torshind's task easier, and each transferee had undergone at least one test earlier.

Consciousness returned slowly.

Mavra Chang shook herself, stretched her limbs outward, and moved her head around as if clearing cobwebs.

They were in a strange chamber, a hall of some gla.s.sy substance. The light was poor but sufficient, and she could see the others struggling to one or another degree to regain control.

One thing seemed clear: the Well had been fooled. They were all in Yugash now, including the Torshind.

Other shapes moved about, as spectral as the Torshind but sharp and clear in the gloom. Mavra's color-blindness actually helped the contrast; to her the Yugash were sharp white outlines against a dark-gray background.

Another creature could be seen in the room, a thing apparently of the same substance as the walls, an angular crystal sculpture of a crab with gla.s.sy tentacles instead of claws. It wore an incongruous device around its midsection, a transmitter that enabled the translation device inside the creature to send to the radios in their suits.

"Welcome to Yugash," came the thin, electronic voice of the Torshind. "I shall keep to this ptir-this creature you see-for much of the trip. As soon as you all feel able, we will cross to a chamber prepared to your requirements. I suggest that we brief everyone on the route and problems and then get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow we will begin this epic journey."

They nodded in agreement. They sensed that history was being made, that they were to be the focal point for events that would shape the future.

Still slightly groggy, they followed the Torshind out of the Zone Gate chamber and into Yugash.

It was a dark hex; the sky seemed slightly overcast, the sun somehow much farther away. It was like this in some hexes, where the Well facets changed things to simulate worlds closer to or farther from primary suns. Each hex, after all, was a laboratory simulation of an actual planet onto which the creatures of the hex were to have been sent to establish, build, and develop a normal culture.

The city was built of twisted gla.s.s, or at least that was the way it looked. Huge spires rose to the sky, and even basic buildings looked melted, twisted, or otherwise malformed. Thousands of crystal creatures like the Torshind's ptir scurried to and fro on unguessable business. Grown to the specifications of their owners on great crystal farms, they were every combination of creature imaginable. Only rarely did the group see a Yugash in its natural form, though.

The large room prepared for them was extremely comfortable; rugs and drapes had been hung to mask its gla.s.sy structure, and quant.i.ties of provisions suitable for all their needs were neatly arranged. Only an occasional hiss from the pressurization system reminded them that this was a sealed room, and that here alone the atmosphere and pressure-a compromise of their respective hexes-were made sufficient for them to live without suits.

After Wooley and the Torshind had removed her suit, Mavra groaned. "I could sleep for a week," she told them. There were muttered a.s.sents.

Wooley managed to shake herself out of her stupor to inspect some of the leatherlike pouches. With mittenlike hands on her tentacles, she opened one, pulled out a large folding map, and spread it out on the floor. The others gathered around, and the Torshind took the floor.

"First of all, we have designed the breathing apparatus to work in semi- as well as high-tech hexes," it began. "That's fine-but no amount of storage will get you through even a full hex side of a nontech hex. There you would have perhaps eight hours at best. This means avoiding such hexes." It pointed a gla.s.sy tentacle at the map. "As you can see, we are only four hexes from Bozog, three from Uchjin. A direct route from here avoiding nontech hexes would be across Masjenada into Poorgl, then through Uborsk to Bozog. However, the Poorgl are not cooperative. They have refused us permission to cross and promised attacks if we try-and as a high-tech hex it's almost impossible to get by them for the distance we have to go. That means an indirect route."

The tendril shifted to the northwest. "Masjenada is easy and helpful; my people and theirs have not exactly been friends, but we have so little in common that we are not enemies, either. They value certain minerals as luxury goods, and my people were in a position to supply them from the South, thanks to the Yaxa. The Yaxa themselves have been helpful in dealing with Oyakot, which otherwise would never aid someone of Yugash. Pugeesh is an unknown quant.i.ty. We will have to tread carefully there, and we'll have to do things ourselves. Wohafa will aid us because they are friendly with the Bozog, and while Uborsk can't really help tremendously, they'll do what they can. Thus, it should be a fairly easy journey."

"Too easy," responded Ben Yulin, worried. "I can't help but think there's a joker in this deck somewhere."

"The distance is great," Wooley admitted, "and parts of it will not be easy, but it's the best route."

"What about the other party?" the Dasheen bull persisted, feeling ever more pessimistic as he looked at the distances involved.

"Ortega has his own friends among the Yugash," the Torshind replied. "We can not stop them here. But they will be at least a day behind us, and may well decide on a different route. If not, we will have to plan a surprise for them."

They understood what that meant. In totally unfamiliar terrain, with only the suits to protect them and the supplies to maintain them, both parties were extremely vulnerable. If one could surprise the other, there would be big problems for the defender. The suits were tough, but even in a semitech hex a bullet-even an arrow-might do the job.

Mavra filed that information in her mind for later. There was nothing she could do now, and she felt little loyalty to either side as long as she got to the ship. She would not like someone she knew, such as Renard or Vistaru, to be killed-but where had they been for the last twenty-two years? Did she have any more responsibility toward them than they had felt to her?

In the meantime, she would be totally dependent on these people for survival, and self-preservation was always the first priority.

Yugash, then Masjenada

Small figures traversed an eerie landscape; bleak gray-black rocks rose all around, and they made their way in, out, and around the jagged forms like ants in a granite quarry.

There were seven in the party: two Makiem frogs in stark white s.p.a.cesuits; a small Agitar in a transparent, form-fitting model; a Lata wearing a suit of her people's design; two large Dillians-a male and a female-heavy-laden, with packs on their backs and pulling a wheeled wagon with more supplies; and the crystalline crab in which the mysterious Ghiskind rode.

"How much of a start do they have on us?" Renard asked.

"About six hours," the Ghiskind replied. "Not very much, but they are traveling lighter than we-we have only two resupply points, where they have five."

"Then they'll certainly beat us," Vistaru said unhappily. "Every hour they'll get farther ahead."

"Not necessarily," the Ghiskind told her. "We have advantages in travel they do not. My own company has established some better relations than the Torshind's ilk could, and Ortega has been skillful as well. I think we have a good chance. The main danger is our running into them. We will have to be prepared for a trap."

The Lata sighed. "I wish I could fly. It would make things so much easier." As it was, she was too small to keep pace, and so rode atop the supply cart.