She had spoken in English, and Alper said quickly, “I’ve got a hunch that the dark place you mention was the Under-Shell. The Goddess told me a good deal, you know. She was desperate to find out all she could about Nethe, and I pumped her. I think the Gateway’s a circular process, which may—”
“How about the Goddess?” Sawyer asked. “If she’s that desperate, couldn’t we do business with her, somehow?”
“No. Why should she bother? I sounded her out on that, and I know. Remember, to the Isier we’re so many uninteresting animals. They’re immortals. But the Firebird is the—the keystone of their immortality. Don’t you know what it must be, Sawyer? I’ll give you a hint. You can buy variations of the Firebird for three for a dime, back on Earth. But—not the Firebird.”
He drew a long breath.
“The Well of the Worlds is miraculous enough,” he said, “and I have no idea how that works, though I’ve guessed a little. It’s a link between Khom’ad and Earth now, bonding the two worlds together—but it was also the channel through which the Isier got their energy from other dimensions, other continua. It’s a—a tube that must be made of a form of matter that isn’t really matter at all. Unstable, dynamic matter. Here at this end, in Khom’ad, it’s Khom’ad matter, but the other end of the Well—that’s Earth-matter, right now. The other end of the Well can flux into whatever type of matter it touches in the non-Khom’ad plenum. It must be simply an absolutely adaptable form of matter, capable of instant adaptation to whatever type of matter exists in whatever other-space Khom’ad drifts through. How else could the contact be made at all and the channel for the energy maintained? That’s half of it, Sawyer—only half, the material half, the oil-bath in an ordinary fluid clutch. But the other half is the matrix of magnetic particles that saturates the oil, the vital other half that makes a fluid clutch work.
“The Well of the Worlds is a perfectly adaptable type of matter. But the Firebird is simply this.
“It is the perfect conductor.
“It must be. What else fits? It gave me energy—life—and that energy had to come from somewhere. And it could have come from anywhere at all, from space itself, from the uranium in the mine, from—anything. What the Firebird does is form perfect conductivity between whatever it touches and whatever energy-source is nearest. That’s how it opens the Gateways between worlds, I suppose. Conductivity—matter to energy—how can I tell? Perhaps it acts as conductor, under certain circumstances, to the wave-motions of Khom’ad when you’re on Earth, so that your physical body—made up of wave-motions—is altered to the Khom’ad wave-motion, and we see that alteration as a Gateway, whereas the metamorphosis is simply in us.
“Perhaps that’s why only an Isier can open the Gateway. The Isier aren’t entirely matter, as we know it, any more than the Well is. Didn’t Nethe say they’d made themselves into isotopes? What they did, of course, was to alter the wave-motion of their physical bodies, so that they changed into a form of matter which could receive energy directly from the Well, as the new dry batteries can use oxygen from the air instead of depending on their own chemicals.”
Alper smiled a little. “Back on Earth, every house wired for electricity uses something like the Firebird. Remember, the Firebird’s built to open and close. It’s a safety fuse, Sawyer. A perfect conductor that’s also a safety fuse. That’s why it was able to shut itself off when Khom’ad drifted in contact with the Earth and the uranium mine. The other end of the Well adapted to Earth-matter, and all the tremendous energies of the uranium would have come pouring through into Khom’ad if the Well had been able to conduct it. But when the Firebird closed, the Well became inert, as far as energy-conductivity went. The physical bond between Khom’ad and Earth still exists, but that’s all. I suppose that’s why the Firebirds don’t appear in Khom’ad, though they’re glimpsed down in the Well sometimes. If they’re energy-forms, how can they pass through a nonconductor?
“But if the Firebird is dropped open into the Well, I don’t know what might happen. It’s a safety fuse, but there’s such a thing as a proximity fuse too. And there are perfectly unimaginable energy-sources all around us now, and perhaps only non-conductivity saves us from—I don’t know what. Even the Isier might be vulnerable to perfect conductivity, if enough energy poured into them. Now they get only the energy they gain from the sacrifices that go down the Well of the Worlds. And it isn’t enough.
“For they disappear, whenever they’ve discharged enough energy. Where do they go? Somehow, somewhere, they regain their lost energy and return, through the ice-hall. Suppose they gained more energy than they could hold? The Goddess is afraid of something, Sawyer. I think there’s a safety factor involved, just as the Firebird’s ability to shut itself off is a safety factor. The Isier may be isotopes of matter, but remember it isn’t a form of matter we know anything about—matter like the Well, for all I know. How can I tell what kind of unknown safety factor might have come into action when the Isier first turned themselves into gods? There must have been one, and when the Firebird was stolen perhaps a different one became necessary. I don’t know what. But I do know the Goddess and Nethe are both afraid of something, and that’s why, if Zatri will only cooperate, we can all get away safe. You tell him that, Sawyer!”
Klai had again been translating the essentials in a quick murmur as Alper spoke. Now Zatri looked at Sawyer with a steady gaze through the eye-holes of the mask.
“Ask this man,” he said, “why he does all this.”
“To get the Firebird, of course,” Alper said impatiently when this was passed on to him. “I want to get to Earth with the Firebird. What more do I need?”
“And what will the Firebird give him?” Zatri asked.
“Immortality,” Alper answered after a pause. He shook his ponderous head. “What else would I want? Youth, strength, immortality. Isn’t it enough?” Klai translated.
Zatri said in a quiet voice, “Why should I loose on your world, your Earth, a new immortal who might begin another Isier race? Your people are like mine. Human, not gods. No, there must be no more immortals! I am an old man too. Tell Alper this—that I know it is right to grow old. To see death coming as a welcome rest. No man who strives like a child after eternal youth is fit for immortality. Oh, no! I’ll not see this Earthman gain the Firebird and grow immortal! I will not guide him to the Temple!”
Sawyer laughed in sudden, relieved delight. “Good for you, Zatri!” he said. “I don’t trust him either! And he can kill me with the transceiver if he wants to—” Here he swung around toward Alper and stared defiantly at him through the mask “—but I won’t help you either! If you want the Firebird, you’ll have to take my orders, not—”
Alper swung his arm up with violent impatience.
“That’s enough!” he said. “I expected it. Now take the consequences, and remember, you asked for it!”
While they all stared, Alper lifted his heavy voice and shouted. From just outside the door the deep, belling Isier voices answered. Before anyone in the startled group could stir, the door crashed open, torn from its hinges by the casual sweep of an Isier arm, and in the opening two tremendous robed gods stood, with a third looming behind them, looking in casual contempt at the stable and all inside it.
With one quick snatch Alper tore the mask from Sawyer’s face. The world went back to normal color and scent and sound. It was like a film, Sawyer thought, changing from technicolor to drab black and white. He jumped just too late to get the mask back. Alper clapped it over his face and spoke through it, muffled but distinct. And it seemed that the Isier understood, though their own masks clung to the backs of their godlike heads, not the faces.