The Timeweb Chronicles: Timeweb Trilogy Omnibus (10 page)

Nonetheless, he shivered again.

Obidos could not get warm, no matter how high he turned up the mechanism. There was no remedy for cold fear.

* * * * *

High over the Zultan’s head, the storm clouds began to break up, revealing what looked like thousands of silver needles glistening in the sun. Ships … and several much larger vessels behind them.

A merchant prince task force!

Abruptly, the flight pattern changed in the sky, and Abal Meshdi thought he detected disarray. He heard confirmation of this over the nearby communication transceiver, as it crackled in Mutati battle language. “We broke the electronic integrity of their shield, and they are attempting to regroup.”

Over the open line he heard percussive blasts, and saw distant flashes in the atmosphere. The storm cover had been anticipated, based upon intelligence information that the Mutatis had received.

In short order, the attack turned into an epic debacle, as the Mutatis shot down everything in the merchant prince fleet except for the flagship, which they captured along with the officers and crew. They even took the Admiral prisoner, saved from his intended suicide by a fast-acting Mutati medic.

* * * * *

As he prepared to visit the captured officers in their electronic cells, Abal Meshdi wondered why the merchant princes had undertaken such a risky mission. He was about to board a lift platform, on his way to interrogate and torture the military leaders, when an aide rushed up to him, breathing hard and perspiring.

“Sire, their Admiral is dead!” he reported. He went on to explain that Obidos had taken his own life in a second suicide attempt—after obtaining poison in an unknown way.

Moments later, Meshdi burst into the cell and examined the body himself. There was no sign of life. Off to one side, a dented black mechanical man watched.

“He’s the Captain of their machines,” the aide said, pointing. “Calls himself Jimu.”

An idea occurred to the Zultan, and he acted on it without delay. Within hours he sent the robot back to Timian One, carrying holos of the humiliating military defeat and of the Admiral’s body. Jimu traveled by podship.

But that was only for entertainment, to make Abal Meshdi’s prey suffer the most possible agony. Soon he would send them something even bigger, a storm of doomsday weapons.

Demolios.

Chapter Eighteen

There is a beginning point to everything, and an ending point, but it is not always possible to identify either one.

—Noah Watanabe,
Reflections on my Life
, Guardian Publications

At sunset a brown-and-black catus, one of the thick-furred persinnians that ran wild on the grounds of the Ecological Demonstration Project, stalked a bird. The feline remained low on the dry, yellowing grass, its front paws outstretched, and pulled itself toward a fat pazabird, moving forward only centimeters at a time without making a sound. The white-breasted bird dug around the roots of grass for worms, oblivious to danger.

Thinking he felt movement beneath his feet, Noah got down on all fours and placed an ear to the ground. He heard something, a distant rumbling noise, but could not determine the source. He wondered if it could be a nuisance that had been occurring on Canopa in recent years, groundtruck-sized digging machines that were left behind by mining companies. The “Diggers,” with artificial intelligence and the ability to sustain themselves, had been burrowing deep underground and occasionally surfacing like claymoles, tearing up large chunks of real estate and damaging buildings. So far, Noah had been fortunate, but it was an increasingly widespread problem. The Doge himself had ordered their extermination on a variety of merchant prince planets, which amounted to commando raids against the machines in their burrows—going after them like pests.

The rumbling noise subsided, and he felt nothing in the ground. Looking up, he saw the catus pounce, filling the air with feathers. It was an efficient act of predation, with the kill completed in a matter of seconds. Now the catus played with the dead bird, lying on the ground and batting it around like a kittus with a ball.

With the last rays of sunlight kissing his face, he was reminded of an incident from his childhood. No more than seven years old at the time, he had been out in a forest, walking along a path that led from the village to his home. Upon hearing a repetitive thumping sound, he’d noticed a red-crested woodbird pecking away at a rotten log beside the trail. Instinctively, Noah had not moved and was careful not to make a sound. The bird seemed unaware of his presence, and the curious boy stood silently, watching it extract worms from the holes it was making in the soft wood. Presently the bird flew off, into the high branches of a pine tree. Perching there, it fed worms from its beak to hungry chicks that poked their heads out of a hole in the tree trunk.

Afterward, Noah had gone to the rotten log and pulled some of the wood away, enabling him to see many worms writhing around in their moist habitat, trying to burrow deeper into the log to escape him. He had gathered some of the wriggling creatures, taking them home to put in a jar with air holes in the lid. That afternoon, however, his sister Francella stole the worms and chopped them into pieces, just to watch the little segments keep moving. When he found out about this, Noah screamed, but it was too late.

The twins’ governess, Ilyana Tinnel, had separated them as they fought. A kindly woman, she showed Noah other worms in the rich soil of her own garden and explained how they enriched the dirt, adding nutrients to it. She told him something that intrigued him, that soil, worms, and birds were all connected and that they worked together, as other life forms did, to enhance the ecology of Canopa. In her world-view, soil was a living organism, part of the vital, breathing planet.

Though his father discounted the concept of complex environmental relationships, it was an astounding revelation to the boy, and proved to be the starting point for his life’s work. In his adulthood he extended his study to a number of planets … and the roles that Humans and other galactic races played on each of them. Noah learned about incredibly long food chains, all the predators and prey, and marvelous plants that sentient creatures could use for medicines, herbs, and food. For each planet, all of the parts fit together like the pieces of a complicated jigsaw puzzle.…

Now the catus, having grown tired of playing with the bird, devoured its prey, bones and all. It was an unpleasant sight for Noah to watch, but entirely necessary in the larger scheme of existence. He would not think of interfering.

His thoughts spun back again, to a time when he began to wonder how life forms survived in hostile environments, such as snow fleas on mountains, lichen on cliff faces, and desert succulents that stored water in their cellular structures. He had also been intrigued by chemical life forms thriving in the deepest ocean trenches where immense pressures would crush other creatures, and by alien races such as Tulyans, that did not need to breathe.

Noah had tried to put things together in new ways. He considered how seeds fell from trees and were carried by winds, so that saplings grew a few meters away, and even farther. It was a continual process of establishing new root systems, growing young plants, and then having seeds carried off again, to someplace new. When he put this information together with what he knew about comets and asteroids—heavenly bodies that carried living seeds around the galaxy in their cellular structures—he found his mind expanding, taking in more and more data. He envisioned fireballs entering atmospheres and spreading seeds … not unlike the seeds transported around a planet by its own winds.

Such theoretical linkages had caused him to wonder if planetary ecosystems might possibly extend farther than previously imagined, into the cold vacuum of space. Could each planet, with its seemingly independent environment, actually be linked to others? The seeds carried by comets and asteroids suggested that that this might be possible, as did the gravitational pulls exerted by astronomical bodies on one another, and the fact that the same elements existed in widely-separated locations. It seemed connected, perhaps, to a huge explosion long ago, the legendary “Big Bang” that split an immense mass into the planets, suns, and other components of the galaxy.

It all boggled Noah’s mind, but still another analogy had occurred to him. The galaxy was a sea of stars and planets and other cosmic bodies. A
sea,
with a myriad of mysterious interactions and interdependencies.

Now, thinking back on the events that had turned him into a galactic ecologist, Noah refocused on the grassy spot where the catus had devoured the bird. The feline was gone, and only feathers remained behind. Shadows stretched across the brown-brick and glax buildings of his compound, as if the encroaching night was a predator, sucking away the light. Guardians were leaving the offices, greenhouses, and laboratories on their way home, having completed their work for the day.

Deep in thought, Master Noah left the landscaped area and strode along a path, toward grass- and shrub-covered hills that were beginning to yellow as the summer season established itself. In waning daylight, trail lamps flickered on. He passed half a dozen workers going the other way, and barely noticed them. At the base of the nearest hill he reached a metal gate that covered a vaulted opening cut into the base of the slope. A pool of floodlights illuminated the area. A stocky little guard, armed with a puissant rifle over his shoulder, saluted him.

Passing into a plaxene-lined room beyond the gate, Noah took an
ascensore
—a high-speed lift mechanism—up to a private tram station on top of the hill. He crossed to the other side of a platform, where he boarded a green-and-brown tram car and sat on one of the seats inside the brightly-illuminated passenger compartment. The door slid shut and the vehicle went into motion, leaving the station and accelerating along an unseen electronic wire that transported him out over forested hills and small, shadowy lakes on top of the plateau.

As the car sped into increasing darkness on its invisible wire, Noah felt the buffeting effects of wind gusts. It was unusual for winds to be so strong at this time of year. Only a small event to the untrained eye, but a troubling one to him. Lately things seemed out of balance on Canopa, as if the forces of nature were refusing to continue business as usual. A steady stream of unusual occurrences were being reported by Guardian patrols … sudden storms and geological upheavals in remote regions of the planet. One of the Tulyans in his employ, Eshaz, had provided him with some of the information, but he seemed to be holding things back. The Tulyans were a strange breed anyway, but in the years that Eshaz and his companions had worked as Guardians, Noah had never seen them this way.

Just ahead, bathed in floodlights on a landing pad, he saw the orange shuttle craft that would transport him up to EcoStation, his orbital laboratory and School of Galactic Ecology. He watched a team of Guardians run scanners with lavender lights over the craft to make certain it was safe to ride. In part of Noah’s mind the need for such caution seemed preposterous. After all, the merchant princes had permitted him to operate freely for years, having done this out of deference to his powerful father. Now, though, following the attack on CorpOne headquarters, anything was possible. The feisty old Prince had tried to ruin his own son … or worse.

Noah could not believe it had all happened. Things were more complicated than ever. Sometimes he wished he was a small boy again, examining flora and fauna with fresh eyes. But the more he learned, the more he realized that he had lost the innocence of youth. His lifelong quest for information, almost desperate because of the finite term of his life, had taken him far away from those early days. Sadness enveloped him now, for it seemed to him that innocence, once lost, could never be regained.

Master Noah boarded the shuttle, and it lifted off. As he looked up at the night sky through the bubble roof of the craft he remembered lying in a meadow one evening long ago, staring in awe and amazement at the stars above him. His life had been a tabula rasa at the time, a white slate extending into the future, waiting for him to make marks upon it.

In the years since that night he had not really learned that much after all, not in the vast scale of the cosmos. Still, as he lifted heavenward, his mind seemed suddenly refreshed and ready to absorb a great deal more, and he felt a new sense of wonder and excitement.

Chapter Nineteen

Sometimes I wish podships had never shown up at all. Our access to them on a limited basis has only whetted our appetites, making us think of astonishing, seemingly unattainable, possibilities. The concept of a starliner, for example, a trainlike arrangement of linked podships … or a startruck in which a podship pulls a long line of container trailers. Alas, such ideas seem destined to remain on the drawing boards.

—Wooton Ichiro, 107th Czar of Commerce for the Merchant Prince Alliance

A dozen workmen slid the immense Aquastar Throne down a roller-ramp from the top of the dais, toward the floor of the elegant chamber. Having been awakened from his bed by the voices and other commotion in there, Doge Lorenzo stood off to one side, watching. He wore a bathrobe with the golden tigerhorse crest of his royal house on the lapel. His thinning gray hair stuck out at the sides.

Noticing him, a small man with a narrow face hurried to his side. “Is there anything you wish, Sire?” the work supervisor asked.

“No, no,” Lorenzo said, for he was anxious to get the alterations taken care of, even if these men had made the mistake of beginning work too early in the morning. He didn’t feel much like punishing anyone today.

The man bowed and was about to leave when the Doge said, “Wait. There is something. Have my breakfast tea brought to me here.”

“Right away, Sire.”

“And send for the Royal Attaché.”

“Yes, Your Magnificence.”

As his orders were carried out, the Doge’s mind spun onto other matters. In his position, he had so much to think about. No other noblemen, not even the princes on the Council of Forty, could fully understand the extent of being a leader in wartime. Foremost in his thoughts, he looked forward to the gala celebration that would occur after the Grand Fleet won its glorious victory against the Mutatis. The announcement was due at any moment, and like a child forced to wait for a present, he was running out of patience.

Although nehrcom transceivers could transmit instantaneously across space, they only operated to and from secure, land-based facilities. With the aid of relay mechanisms, messages could be sent from a planet to nearby ships or space stations, but the reception quality was substantially diminished in the process.

No one except the nehrcom inventor, Prince Jacopo Nehr, knew why such a problem existed, and he was not divulging any secrets. As a consequence, the Grand Fleet had remained out of contact for years as it traveled through enemy star systems and other regions where there were no transceiver units. Some people thought this apparent “Achilles heel” in the communication network had to do with the gravitational or magnetic fields of planets and suns. Others were not so certain, but all agreed on one thing: nehrcoms were almost as mysterious as podships.

Despite the lack of contact, Doge Lorenzo del Velli remained confident of a huge victory over the Mutati Kingdom, and had been receiving nothing but the most glowing assurances to this effect from General Sajak. At the Doge’s insistence, concise calculations had been completed by the most advanced Hibbil computers, showing exactly when the Grand Fleet should be filling the skies of Paradij … and when the rain of destruction would be complete.

A day ago he had received updated calculations, and had been thinking about them ever since. Unfortunately they included variables and a lot of double-talk from the mathematicians and military advisers who supervised the work. The attack might occur anytime during a thirty day period, beginning with the upcoming weekend.

As he stood there watching the workmen settle his throne onto the floor with a soft thump, he thought back to a decision he had announced the night before, when he notified General Sajak that he was not going to wait for word from the task force before staging the festivities. Instead he wanted them scheduled on the earliest possible day of victory—this Saturday—without revealing in advance the nature of the occasion. Lorenzo was ebullient at the decision, but General Sajak had been oddly silent.

Was the officer worried about something going wrong? Of course not, Lorenzo assured himself. The plan of attack had been worked out in exquisite detail by the best military minds in the realm, and no expense had been spared.

This Saturday the Doge would open his present; the party would be one the most extravagant celebrations in the history of the Merchant Prince Alliance, overshadowed only by royal coronations and weddings. Covering more than three hundred square blocks of the city of Elysoo, it would be more impressive than the jubilee at the turn of the last century. In fact, as far as anyone could recall, this was slated to be the biggest open-invitation party ever held anywhere. It would be an opportunity for the common people to experience the finest foods, beverages, and entertainment available. As the most successful traders in the galaxy, the merchant princes had everything that the mind could imagine or the heart could want.

The Doge’s breakfast tea arrived, and he sat upon his throne to sip it, while the activity continued around him. The workers were cutting open the top of the dais now, to install the lift mechanism that he had specified. Upon learning that an ancient Byzantine Emperor had been in possession of such an apparatus, the Doge vowed to have one, too. He had no idea how the original one operated—probably with slave labor—but he would have a mechanical system for his, and would use it during royal audiences. Up toward the heavens he would go, or down, depending upon his whim and upon the extent of awe and fear he wished to generate.

Pimyt entered the chamber just as the remaining tea was growing cold. Over the noise of ongoing work the two of them discussed the status of preparations for the celebration.

The aging, black-and-white Hibbil seemed more agitated than usual, undoubtedly because of all the arrangements he had been coordinating. His red eyes flashed with intensity. “Despite a high standard of living on Timian One,” he said in a squeaky voice, “the event is likely to attract impoverished persons from the back country and a fair share of rowdies who will drink and party to excess.”

“Well, take care of it,” Lorenzo said, with a dismissive gesture. “Assign my entire special force to work the celebration.”

“
All
of your Red Berets? I don’t have the authority to do that.”

“Stop whining. Prepare the necessary document and I will sign it.”

“Yes. Mmmm, a large number of them should be plainclothesmen.”

“Attend to it.”

“I will, My Lord.” The Hibbil concealed a scowl on his furry, graying face. Unknown to the Doge, he would have preferred no festivities at all, since he considered the whole affair a lot of wasted effort when he had more important matters to handle … things the Doge didn’t know about. Though he concealed it well behind his innocent-looking, bearlike face, Pimyt did not like Humans at all, and he had taken certain steps to make them suffer.

When the Doge had no more orders to issue, the Royal Attaché took his leave.

That afternoon, crews began setting up temporary structures and hanging colorful banners from buildings. Curious crowds gathered in the streets of Elysoo to watch, and heard the scheduling announcement. By tomorrow the people would be jockeying for the best positions to camp, and street musicians, mimes, and jugglers would accelerate their practice sessions, putting the finishing touches on their routines.

And in only a few days, brightly-colored dirigibles would fill the sky, with their telebeam messages proclaiming the epic Human victory.