The Timeweb Chronicles: Timeweb Trilogy Omnibus (12 page)

At that moment, two security men burst into the classroom, apologizing profusely. Seeing the screen dark, one of them said, “We don’t know how he got through, sir, but it won’t happen again. We’ll make sure of it.”

Noah didn’t see how they would accomplish that if they didn’t know what had happened in the first place. He told the men to have their commander submit a full report to Subi Danver within the hour. Nervously, the pair saluted and hurried away.

Refocusing, Noah saw his nephew standing with Tesh Kori, waiting for a response. He met their hopeful gazes, then looked away for a moment.

Francella had become pregnant after one of her trysts with the Doge Lorenzo himself and had kept the information from him—for reasons that she never revealed. After she gave birth, Noah learned about her indiscretion and insisted upon making certain that the child was cared for properly. Reluctantly, she had given Noah the responsibility of maintaining contact with her son, while she paid the bills for the child’s support. It was one of the few things on which she and Noah had ever agreed.

Knowing what he did about his sister’s nature, however—her cruelties and selfishness—Noah always wondered why she had not just aborted the fetus. It had given him some hope that she might have a modicum of humanity after all. But Francella always had a way of dashing such sentiments.

Out of concern for the safety of his nephew, Noah had discouraged him from joining the Guardians, and now it was more dangerous than ever. Still, the organization was in desperate need of good people, and Anton certainly qualified. He was a hard worker, honest, and resourceful.

During several moments when Tesh Kori was looking in another direction, Noah studied her exquisite profile, the way she stood tall and proud and beautiful. She glanced at him before he could look away, and he felt drawn into her hypnotic, emerald green eyes.

Finally he looked at Anton, and met the young man’s anxious gaze. With a smile, Noah shook his hand briskly and said, “Welcome to the Guardians.” He then shook Tesh’s hand. “Both of you. It won’t be easy. You’ll have to undergo a rigorous training process. Some make it, and some don’t.”

“We will,” Anton said, in a determined voice.

Chapter Twenty-Two

How many aspects of love are there? How many people have ever lived? These are the questions, and the answers.

—Princess Meghina of Siriki,
Critiques of a Courtesan

Princess Meghina hardly thought of her magnificent Golden Palace on far-away Siriki. Instead, she spent sixteen hours a day at Prince Saito’s bedside in his villa, and took surreptitious steps to obtain the best medical care for him. Inside the elegant, mural-walled reception room that had been converted to a hospital room, two doctors stood behind her, looking at the patient through a clearplax life-support dome and whispering between themselves. In order to avoid a confrontation with Dr. Bichette and Francella, she had identified them as friends, and they were dressed in common daysuits. Now they were alone in the room with Meghina and the ailing Prince.

On the staff of the renowned Nottàmbulo Hospital of Meghina’s homeworld, these men were specialists in comas induced by head injuries. The Sirikans had studied the Prince’s medical charts that Meghina obtained secretly, and had told her that Bichette, despite bringing in high-priced specialists, had not selected the best people.

One of the Sirikans, Dr. Woods Masin, was a tall black man with a square jaw and gray hair. His companion, Dr. Kydav Uleed, had primitive, rough-boned features like those of a back country Human, with a high, sloping forehead and large, protruding cheekbones.

Unable to hear everything they were whispering behind her, the blonde noblewoman stared sadly at the simoil murals on the walls, depicting the fascinating life of the man she loved. A breeze rustled the curtains by an open window, and out beyond the high cliff she saw one of the Prince’s flying yachts anchored in the air.

Meghina shifted uneasily on her feet. She wished she had met this great man earlier, and that they might have married. Instead she had been required—for political reasons—to become the wife of Doge Lorenzo del Velli. Her dual life, as royal spouse and courtesan to many of the leading nobles of the realm, was not easy for her. It also made her husband a cuckold, but he didn’t seem to mind. He had his own stable of women to satisfy his physical needs, and sometimes he even dangled Meghina’s favors in front of influential princes in order to obtain what he wanted from them. It was one of the most unusual marriages anyone had ever heard of, and was conducted without any pretenses.

She gazed at the comatose form of Prince Saito on the bed, which was oversized to accommodate his bulk. It seemed unfair to her that this vital, very
alive
man had been stricken down and reduced to such a sad state, dependent for every breath upon the medical technology that was connected to him. Much, but not all, of the equipment had been provided by the medical division of his own corporation.

At least I’ve had time with you, my love. For that I shall always be grateful.

“May we open the dome?” It was Dr. Masin, leaning close to her and speaking in a low tone.

“No one is around,” Dr. Uleed added.

Nervously, Princess Meghina looked behind her. The main door and a side door were closed. “Be quick about it!” she husked.

The tall, gray-haired Masin swung the life-support dome open and checked the Prince’s eyes with a small silvery medical tube, while Uleed held another device on the patient’s temple. “He needs to be moved to a hospital,” Uleed announced.

“Preferably Nottàmbulo,” his companion added.

Suddenly the side door crashed open and Dr. Hurk Bichette burst in. “What is going on here?” he demanded.

“These are specialists from Siriki,” Princess Meghina answered, almost shouting at him in return. In a near-breaking voice she introduced them by name, and added that the Prince’s condition had worsened. Whereas earlier he had been semi-comatose, with brief periods of enigmatic conversation, now he was trapped in a full coma and had not spoken for more than a week.

“Get away from my patient!” Dr. Bichette roared. He closed the lid of the life-support dome and physically pushed the other doctors away. Bichette’s face was flushed, and a large vein throbbed at his temple.

“I want all of you to leave,” he insisted. “You are interfering with my medical procedures, and I want this room cleared immediately.” He waved his hands at the other doctors and at the Princess.

“How dare you speak to me in that manner?” Meghina exclaimed. “I am of noble blood, the wife of the Doge, and the … “ Her voice trailed off, since the rest of her résumé could not be put into words that sounded dignified. “I am the … favorite … of Prince Saito,” she added, softly.

For a moment Bichette glared defiantly at her. Then, belatedly, he looked down at the floor and bowed slightly. “I apologize, My Lady. Perhaps the stress of the occasion and the long hours I have devoted to Prince Saito have dulled my manners.”

“Step aside, please,” Meghina said in a firm tone, “so that my doctors may continue their examination.”

With a scowl, Bichette moved away from the bed.

As the Sirikan doctors resumed their work, one on each side of the Prince, Bichette said, “You will find that I have done everything possible.”

“You are a general practitioner,” Dr. Uleed said, with a quick glance at the target of his words. “This case appears to be beyond the scope of your knowledge.”

“A specialist performed the surgery, and I have experts advising me.”

“We are familiar with their names … and
credentials
,” Uleed snapped. “Let’s just say that their reputations are rather limited.”

Bichette chewed at his lower lip, and muttered something unintelligible in return.

Hearing a noise behind her, Princess Meghina turned and saw Francella Watanabe standing just inside the main doorway. She appeared to have been observing for a while. Francella’s shaved brows had been tinted cherry red, matching her lipstick and her sleeveless damask dress, a garment that featured a plunging neckline, exposing her naval. She wore white gloves that extended to her elbows.

“You should have obtained my permission before bringing these men here,” Francella said, locking gazes with Meghina. “In my father’s diminished state, I have complete power of attorney to make decisions about his medical care.”

“I also have a special relationship with your father,” the blonde Princess retorted, “and I have certain rights.”

“You are his wife in name only, with limited rights. Nonetheless, out of courtesy for you, I will not banish you from his presence. You are never again, however, to bring anyone in here to examine my father without my permission. Is that understood?”

In low tones, Meghina conferred with the Sirikan doctors. Wrinkles of concern etched her heart-shaped face. Finally she said to Francella, “Your father needs specialized care at a facility such as the Nottàmbulo Hospital.”

“He will not be moved off-world!”

“Don’t you want the best for him?”

“I resent your tone.”

“This is not a time for petty feelings. We must consider the welfare of Prince Saito.”

“It is probable that he will never awaken,” Francella said. “Sadly, I must say this.”

“You base that statement upon the opinion of a general practitioner.”

“And his specialists.”

“Who happen to belong to his own drinking club.”

“See here,” Dr. Bichette interjected. “I will not have my integrity impugned in this manner.”

“Be quiet,” Francella snapped. “I will take care of this.” She pointed at Masin and Uleed. “Leave this room immediately and don’t ever come back.”

Meghina nodded to them, affirming the command. She would make an attempt to discuss the matter with Francella at a later date, after tempers had calmed.

The Sirikan doctors departed, while Meghina remained behind. She went to the bedside and held Prince Saito’s hand. Across the room, beyond her hearing, Francella and Dr. Bichette conferred.

The Prince’s hand was cold to the touch, but he clung to life, his chest rising and falling regularly. With a wistful smile Meghina remembered some of their favorite times together, and how startled he’d been upon discovering she was a Mutati. They’d already had sexual relations dozens of times, so he could hardly believe it when she admitted her true physical form to him. She had never, however, shown her Mutati body to him, fearing his revulsion. “I would rather be Human anyway,” she had whispered to him.

After that, she had not changed back, and in a matter of weeks, remaining in that state for too long, she no longer had the cellular flexibility to metamorphose at all. She had never felt comfortable as a Mutati anyway, and ever since her childhood had preferred the beauty and functional utility of the Human physical form.

Her decision had not been without its sacrifices. Despite her rank as a Mutati princess, it had rendered her an outcast among her people, preventing her from ever assimilating with them again. In losing her ability to shapeshift, she gave up an act that was extremely pleasurable, even to her. It provided a Mutati with the highest form of bliss—higher even than sex, and left the Mutati in a state of satiated euphoria for an extended period. (A potentially dangerous time, since it made the shapeshifter vulnerable to attack).

Now Meghina looked Human, and would for the rest of her life. She had not contemplated all of the problems that this would entail, such as the signs of aging that had a way of creeping up on this race. Mutatis, in contrast, went at full-vitality through old age, until the moment of their death. In her present form she had to think about face creams and laser treatments in order to remain youthful in appearance, something she would never have bothered to consider in her original bodily structure.

Come back to me, my love
, she thought. A tear ran down her cheek as she gazed at the nearly lifeless form of her lover.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Dying is easy. Life is infinitely more difficult.

—Prince Saito Watanabe

As Francella left the room where her father lay and strolled along a loggia, she concealed a smile. The confrontation between Dr. Bichette and the two Sirikan doctors had not disturbed her in the least. Oh, Bichette was upset about his competency was being called into question, but that fool didn’t matter to her. No criticism could possibly be directed at her for leaving him in charge. After all, he had been Prince Saito’s hand-picked personal physician, and an important director of CorpOne’s Medical Research Division. On the surface, Francella could not have selected a more appropriate person.

Her father’s cliffside villa, with its red tile roof and white stucco walls, overlooked the Valley of the Princes, with the office and industrial complexes of some of the wealthiest corporations in the Alliance. His regal dwelling had been styled in the manner of an ancient Earthian home found in the ruined town of Herculaneum. Roman emperors had enjoyed walkways like this one, with its open-air gallery of imperial statues. The eagle fountain in the terrace courtyard, visible to Francella now through ornate columns lining the loggia, had actually been brought back from Herculaneum, and so had the mosaic tile floor in the opulent private bath building.

As for Meghina, she would bear watching. Hidden camviewers recorded her every move at the villa, and Francella had been monitoring the medical confrontation from another room, until deciding it was time to intervene.

Noah’s fraternal twin waved a hand across a pale yellow identity beam that protected a doorway. After a momentary pause, a heavy alloy door slid open with a smooth click, revealing her father’s study—a place he called “the inner sanctum.” This room had always been off-limits to Francella and her brother when they were growing up, so it gave her special pleasure to be here now. It was from this study that she had been watching the confrontation in the other room.

No Roman emperor had ever been in possession of the technology that was arrayed on exquisite teakoak and marbelite tables and desks. Tiny computer monitors—each looking like a small electronic eye on the end of a long flexible neck—stood on one side. At a voice command the units were capable of filling the air with holo and telebeam images. This was a data and communications nerve center, not only of this house but also of her father’s mega-company, CorpOne. Because of her position as Corporate Security Chief, he had provided her with access codes.

What he’d failed to notice, though, was her dissatisfaction over the way she had been treated in comparison with Noah, and how her resentment had built up over the years into a deep-seated anger. Francella now had an intense and all-consuming need for money, power, and prestige, and wanted to enjoy it all before she grew too old to appreciate such things. In her late thirties, with her vitality enhanced by CorpOne medical products, she was in perfect physical and mental condition to assume control of everything right now—including this study and villa. Her father was too elderly to enjoy such things anyway, so she was doing him a favor by rushing things along. What could be wrong with speeding up the timetable a little?

Glancing at a bank of camviewer screens on the wall, she satisfied herself that Princess Meghina was no longer causing any trouble. Unaware of the surveillance equipment himself, Dr. Bichette sat in a large chair, scowling as he concentrated on the blonde courtesan at the bedside.

Francella sighed. Unfortunately, her father still clung to life like an injured spider on a web, and Dr. Bichette had no idea how long he might continue in that condition. It could go on for years, the nervous doctor had said … or the old mogul might just give up and die at any moment. One of Meghina’s specialists said that the patient’s mind, even in its damaged condition, was making decisions about whether to live or die.

Somewhere in Prince Saito’s subconscious he fought on, perhaps out of a powerful desire to be with his courtesan harlot again, or to make decisions about his vast riches. He even had an ultra-high-security treasure room in the villa, where he kept priceless jewels, manuscripts, and artworks. Undoubtedly part of his mind wanted to go in there again, and wallow in his wealth. The way he had it piled up in there, he probably swam in it.

One day the treasure room, like everything else, would belong to her, so she ignored it for the moment. There were easier riches to take. Her father had done exceedingly well as a merchant prince; few had ever done better. Francella only had one regret: she wished she could bottle him up and let him continue making business decisions for her—perhaps as a sentient robot that was completely under her control and had her father’s mind. Or a disembodied brain that did what she told it to do and just kept making more and more money for her. Yes, that would be perfect.

Men should do that for women anyway, whether they were fathers, husbands, or lovers: providing money for ladies to spend. Even her brother should get in on the act and send her a steady stream of funds. He was prosperous enough. In fact, it surprised her how he did so well himself; like a junkyard king he made money from dirt, minerals, and plants, performing ecological recovery operations on various worlds and selling environmentally friendly products. In effect, Noah had squeezed money out of nothing.

She had to admire both her father and her brother for their business acumen. They were more alike than either of them realized. And she hated them, with every breath she took.

Keeping them apart for years had been a major victory for her. After the attack on CorpOne headquarters she had leaked phony evidence that it had been committed by Noah and his Guardians, without ever letting anyone know—not even her closest associates—that she was the source of the information, and of the attack itself.

Francella crossed the large study and stood at one of the computers, a segregated unit that kept track of CorpOne’s off-planet holdings. Earlier that morning, data in another segregated terminal had referred her to this one, stipulating that it contained information that would enable her to shift assets around. Even with her father’s injury, Francella wasn’t sure how long he would live, and she wanted to get her hands on as much as she could, as fast as possible. Things could still go wrong, and Noah—against all odds—might still worm his way back into the old man’s affections, drastically reducing her share or even cutting her off entirely.

Now she would begin with the saphonium mines of the Veldic Asteroid Belt, where Prince Saito had a subterranean storehouse of uncut gemstones that were among the rarest and most precious in the Merchant Prince Alliance. Delivery of the hoard had been held up by unexplained changes in podship schedules; only recently had the strange vessels resumed calling on that region.

Francella had only to shift the destination codes to her own warehouses on Timian Four, and the treasure-trove would be hers. In anticipation of this (and a lot more), she’d hired private construction crews to work on her property for some time now, putting up more buildings and beefing up the security systems. According to an encrypted nehrcom message she had just received, the job was almost complete.

She kept her plans completely secret, because as far as she was concerned, no one could be trusted. Relationships always had a nasty habit of changing, and if that happened here, if the wrong people learned too much about her operations, she would have to take drastic action. So, by keeping her activities secret and working anonymously through intermediaries, she was actually committing a kindness, making it unnecessary for her to commit violence.

It all made perfect sense to her.

Not that it was unkind to kill. In fact, she would soon do her father a favor by putting him to rest. At his age, it was too difficult for him to control such a huge empire anyway. One or more of his employees—or a corporate competitor—would take advantage of him sooner or later, and that would only upset him. She was avoiding the inevitable unhappiness for him, doing a very nice thing for her aged father.

Without question, it all made perfect sense.

Casually, she nudged the long neck of the computer terminal, and heard the internal whir of the machine. In a moment the eyelike monitor would flash on and project a telebeam, allowing her to review the data as it danced in front of her vision.

At this terminal, however, the tiny screen was illuminated red instead of the normal amber, and did not project at all. Francella caught her breath. None of the other data processors had done this. She took a step back just as the eye changed to bright green and began to project something.

A serpent with glistening fangs lunged at her, coming out of the screen.

Since this had to be an electronic image, Francella felt intuitively that it could not possibly harm her. But she tumbled backward anyway, and scrambled for safety.

The green snake grew longer and chased her, hissing through the air.

She rolled under a table with the mechanical creature right behind her. On the other side she leaped to her feet, changed direction, and tumbled over the top of a desk, scattering a dictocam machine and shiny silver tubes of cartridges that had been stacked there.

The fangs were only centimeters from her. The jaws snapped, but missed.

Desperately, she grabbed one of the tubes, which was heavy from all of the cartridges it contained. Whirling, she slammed it down as hard as she could on the snake-head, expecting her blow to pass through the air without hitting anything. But to her surprise the tube struck something and the creature recoiled, as if in pain.

The serpent turned sickly yellow and crashed noisily onto the tile floor. Tiny metal parts sprayed through the air, and one glanced off Francella’s browless forehead, drawing blood. Finally the reptile went silent on the floor. Its shattered carcass did not move.

Confused, Francella went to one of the other computer terminals, and took the tube, now dented, along with her for protection. Carefully, she nudged the neck to turn on the machine. The computer spun through its cycles normally. This time she went through a deep search mechanism, using her passwords to look for all security systems in the room. She should have done so before, but had assumed that her identity would allow her to do anything.

Finally, she set the makeshift weapon aside.

In a few minutes, she found what she was looking for in the database. The snake had been one of several deadly traps in the room, activated under certain circumstances. She shuddered as she looked down at her feet. One of the large tiles to her right was a trap door that would cast her into a drowning pool beneath the villa if she stepped on it. She had narrowly missed it several times.

The tricky old man was even dangerous on his death bed.

Death bed.

She had not used this term previously because of the way her father kept hanging on, but now she did, and liked the sound of it. One way or another, even if it involved additional risk to her, she would finish him off.

With her adrenaline surging from the close escape, Francella spent the rest of the day and night in the study, without eating or drinking anything. After disabling the traps, she used her access codes to divert the Veldic saphonium and rifled his corporate bank accounts, even pilfering tax account funds that had been earmarked for the Doge. She proceeded to steal more assets than the value of an industrialized planet, and covered her trail expertly, so that it looked as if the holdings were still there.

When it was finished, she sat at her father’s desk and grinned. He had always encouraged her to excel at data processing.

Her gaze lifted to one of the camviewer screens on the wall. Prince Saito lay alone in the room, sleeping with an almost serene expression on his face. Obviously the old tycoon thought he had taken care of every necessary detail, but he was wrong.