The Timeweb Chronicles: Timeweb Trilogy Omnibus (25 page)

Chapter Fifty-One

We have been taught from birth to never trust any member of another race, not even those who profess to be our greatest, most virtuous friends.

—Hibbil Instruction

He knew he must be a comical sight this morning, a furry little Hibbil in the saddle of an immense tigerhorse, but Pimyt didn’t care.

Far ahead, at the edge of a clearing, the Royal Attaché heard barking hounds and the shouts of other riders, who were barely visible to him as they hunted an elusive ivix. Pimyt sat sidesaddle on a magnificent bay steed at the rear of the pack, thinking about how much he hated having to get up so early, without time for a civilized breakfast. Hunger pangs gnawed at his stomach.

He tried to put such thoughts aside, knowing that his opportunity to get even for such discomforts would come. Very soon.

An ivix? Who cared about running one of those tiny horned creatures to ground and taking it home to stuff as a trophy? Pimyt had much more important prey in mind.

Purportedly, his own people were to Humans what Adurians were to Mutatis—allies, advisers, and legitimate business associates. But none of that was really true. It was all a deadly ruse. The extent of the treachery was immense and so cleverly fabricated that it spanned an entire galaxy.

The web of deceit permeated both Human and Mutati society at the highest levels.

As the Doge Lorenzo del Velli’s most trusted associate, Pimyt exerted a great deal of influence over affairs of the realm. In the past, the furry, innocent-looking little fellow had even been appointed temporary Regent of the entire Merchant Prince Alliance, until the princes decided upon a new leader.

But Hibbils had never been loyal to Humans, nor had Adurians ever been allegiant to Mutatis. The Hibbils and Adurians were, in fact, secretly allied with one another in what they called the HibAdu Coalition, and for centuries had developed a diabolical scheme to overthrow both the Merchant Prince Alliance and the Mutati Kingdom.

Lorenzo was somewhere up ahead with most of the other riders, on the heels of the barking hounds and the little ivix that they all sought. It hardly seemed worth the effort to Pimyt. But he participated anyway, as he was expected to do. Not being of noble blood himself, some of the riders resented his presence, but he didn’t care about any of that, the petty politics of Human society.

To his credit, Doge Lorenzo didn’t care much about the pedigree of noble blood, even though it coursed through his own veins. Rather, he preferred to promote people on the basis of merit, regardless of the circumstances of birth. But that was not enough to redeem himself in the eyes of Pimyt or his Hibbil brethren. No Human could ever do that, and especially not the leader of their damnable kind.

In his years as a trusted confidant of Doge Lorenzo, Pimyt had accomplished a great deal, and in the process he had learned not to trust anyone. The downside of a lapse or oversight was too great. Better not to rely on anyone except his own people. Promises made between races were notoriously unreliable. Even the alliance between the Hibbils and the Adurians had its dangers, which his people were monitoring carefully.

Abruptly, Pimyt noticed that the hounds were running toward him, barking loudly, and the rest of the hunters were following them. Then he noticed something running low to the ground just ahead of the daggs, a little horned creature with fur that glinted gold when morning sunlight hit it.

Concealing himself and his mount in a thicket of leyland maples, he waited until the ivix ran by, then fired a shot from his vest-pocket gun at it, hitting the animal square in the side of its body. This was not a proper thing to do, so he quickly rode away through the trees, to avoid detection. Coming around behind the hunters again, he sat atop his tigerhorse, looking down at the fallen ivex.

“Looks like it’s been shot,” said a fop from the royal court.

“Who would do such an unsportsmanlike thing?” Lorenzo asked, looking from face to face. Since he trusted Pimyt explicitly, however, his gaze hardly touched the Hibbil.

No one seemed to know the answer.

As they rode back to the stables together, Pimyt felt very pleased. Now that this consummate waste of time was over, he could sit down for a decent meal. Despite his small stature, he had a voracious appetite. All of his people were this way, so it was a wonder that they didn’t grow any larger.

* * * * *

That evening at his private apartment in the capital city, Pimyt received a coded message chip, containing very interesting information from his Adurian co-conspirators. With information from an unlikely source—Jacopo Nehr’s own brother Giovanni—the Mutatis now had the secret of the nehrcom cross-space communication system. This was highly useful information to Pimyt. Not for the technology, but for the
lack
of it
… and the leverage this gave him. Jacopo Nehr had always been so secretive about the workings of the device, and now it turned out that it was not so complicated after all. With the message, Pimyt received a holo replica of the entire nehrcom transceiver, showing its simple inner workings.

* * * * *

The following afternoon, Pimyt plodded into Jacopo Nehr’s private offices for an appointment he had requested, ostensibly to discuss details of their new working relationship. Behind his gleaming sirikan teak desk, Nehr looked more rested than usual, perhaps reflecting his contentment at having been selected as the top military officer in the Alliance.

“Congratulations on your appointment, General Nehr.”

“Thank you.”

“I would have thought you’d be out drilling your officers on your new programs,” Pimyt said, as he climbed onto a chair that was too large for him and plopped himself down.

Nehr beamed. “As a businessman, I’ve learned how to delegate.”

“I see. And how to manage crises, I presume?”

The man’s eyes narrowed, just a little. “Of course. That comes with the territory.”

“We’ll see how good you are at it, then.”

Leaning forward nervously, Nehr asked, “What do you mean?”

At a snap of his fingers, Pimyt produced a holo-image of the nehrcom transceiver, showing all of its inner workings. Like a bubble, it floated in front of the startled inventor, whose eyes looked more like an owl’s now than those of a Human. The Hibbil suppressed a smile.

“W-where did you g-get this?” he stammered.

Ignoring the question, Pimyt said, “So, your famous transceiver is only a box of piezoelectric emeralds cut precisely and then arranged and linked in a specific way to open up the cross-galactic transmission lines. Interesting, isn’t it, how the most important ideas are often so simple?”

“But h-how?.… w-where did you … ?” Undoubtedly envisioning his galactic corporation crumbling around him, Nehr could hardly complete a sentence.

“I have my sources, shall we say? Let me caution you, before we go any farther, that I have given copies of this holo to certain key … associates for safekeeping. And if anything were to happen to me … “ He smiled. “I need not go into detail, do I?”

Astounded, Nehr stared at the holo of precisely-arranged gems inside its box.

The Royal Attaché smiled, and said, “
Great
inventor! What a joke that is. As a Hibbil, with a long tradition of innovative manufacturing and development techniques, I know the difference.”

“I’ve had my suspicions about you for a long time,” Nehr muttered.

“And you consider yourself a fine judge of character, I presume?”

“What are you driving at?”

Rubbing his furry chin, Pimyt decided not to reveal what was on the verge of passing over his lips, that Nehr’s own brother had betrayed him. No need to reveal that yet. There might be an opportunity to gain an advantage over the brother, too.

“Well?”

Delaying his response, Pimyt studied his new captive, considering how best to leash him and prevent him from biting. Nehr was red-faced. Perspiration trickled down his brow, into his eyes.

“If you don’t cooperate with me,” Pimyt said, “I’m in a position to ruin you. If I reveal your nehrcom secrets, you will no longer have a monopoly on instantaneous communication across the galaxy. There’s also the little matter of your machine-manufacturing plants on Hibbil worlds. They could easily be nationalized, taken away from you.”

“Get to the point. What is it you want?”

“Not so much. Just a little arrangement.” Again, he hesitated, this time for dramatic effect. Nehr was getting more red-faced, sweating more.

“Here is what you will do,” Pimyt finally said. “Periodically, I will give you communiqués, which you are to transmit to all planets in the Merchant Prince Alliance.”

“Concerning what?”

“You are in no position to ask questions. And do not discuss this with anyone but me, in private. Not even Doge Lorenzo. Understood?”

The inventor nodded, reluctantly. He looked displeased and trapped.

Pimyt smiled. Unrevealed to Jacopo or any other Human, the Hibbils and Adurians had a military agenda of their own, and were now in a position to influence the placement and strength of Human forces. Some of the messages, in the midst of innocuous ones, would involve military matters.…

Chapter Fifty-Two

People change, and so do worlds. The universe remains constant.

—Saying of the Sirikan Hill People

Inside an oval chamber on the lowest level of EcoStation, Noah stood at the most powerful magnaviewer window aboard, providing him with a high-resolution picture of the planet below the geostationary orbiter. Once, Canopa had been his world. He had known it well, and especially his beloved Ecological Demonstration Project there.

Subi Danvar wanted him to leave the orbital platform and seek refuge on some distant planet. But that was against Noah’s nature. He didn’t like to run away from anything, no matter how much sense it made to do so. Earlier, when he’d been caught in the surprise attack on CorpOne headquarters, he’d only been accompanied by a small entourage, and it had seemed prudent to escape quickly and analyze the situation. Now he hesitated, searching for alternatives.

Having received telebeam reports from the ground, and having watched through his magnaviewer, he knew that his security force had fought valiantly, and still held tenuous control over the southwest corner of the compound. But they had been unable to defend the main buildings, which had fallen to superior Red Beret and CorpOne forces. Such a disturbing alliance between his own sister Francella and Doge Lorenzo, and Subi had intercepted reports that more of their forces were on the way. It was only a matter of time until the brave Guardian defenders lost what little ground they still held.

And EcoStation would be next. The orbital platform had armoring and other defensive features, but could never hold out against a full-scale onslaught.

Several days ago, Noah had relayed an urgent nehrcom message directly to the Palazzo Magnifico, demanding an explanation for the attack and an emergency meeting with the Doge. So far there had been no response, but he continued to hold out hope.

He had not anticipated his sister’s military aggression, nor her devious strategy of aligning herself with the man whom Noah had thought was no longer her lover. Those assumptions seemed to have been entirely wrong, and were costly mistakes. She might have stepped up the Lorenzo relationship with her lies and tricks, falsely accusing Noah of killing their father. Or perhaps she and the Doge had collaborated from the very beginning in the murder of Prince Saito, to take control of his business empire and blame the death on Noah.

He wanted to believe the best about Lorenzo del Velli, that the powerful leader had only been duped after the CorpOne attack, and that he and Francella had not collaborated in the murder. Lorenzo had been a patron to both Saito Watanabe and Jacopo Nehr, neither of whom had been noble born but whose careers had been advanced because of the support of the Doge.

Gazing down through the magnification window at his besieged compound, Noah felt rage and confusion, seeing the Doge’s elite Red Beret soldiers setting up their own military installations. Some of the Doge’s long-range artillery pieces were pointed up, aimed ominously at the orbiter. Nonetheless, Noah did not order an emergency change in the orbital path.

No matter the lies Francella told him, he couldn’t believe that Lorenzo would try to blow him out of space. Not after what the Watanabe family had done for the Merchant Prince Alliance, far beyond the munitions plants that were part of Prince Saito’s diverse corporate empire. Noah himself had contributed substantially to the war effort, restoring the ecology of the formerly worthless planet of Jaggem, so that it could be used as a key military outpost by the Alliance. The Doge had even visited Jaggem during the final stages of the reconstruction, to commend Noah and his Guardians for their excellent work. Noah always wanted to believe the best about people.

Suddenly, he saw a flash on the ground. One of the artillery pieces!

Then a flash from another gun, and an explosion in midair.

* * * * *

Having gotten into bed with Francella Watanabe in more ways than one, Doge Lorenzo del Velli had ordered the stationing of his elite Red Beret troops at her brother’s ecological demonstration compound. Military personnel worked all around him now, setting up a command center in Noah Watanabe’s former office. Lorenzo had stopped by to inspect the facility.

He had been frustrated by the holdouts in the southwest corner of the compound. Noah’s security forces still held onto the maintenance and warehouse building there, but they wouldn’t last long. He had more troops and weapons on the way.

As for EcoStation orbiting high overhead, the Doge had initially ordered its destruction, as Francella had demanded. She wanted him to “blast it out of orbit” with one of the big artillery pieces, and the final countdown had been initiated.

At the last possible moment, he had received an intelligence report that contained startling information. Lorenzo had shouted to stop the firing of the weapon, but he had been too late, and it had gone off. Thinking quickly, he had ordered an immediate intercepting shot, which followed in seconds, at an even higher velocity. The two projectiles had exploded in midair.

Now, breathing a heavy sigh of relief, the Doge reread the report. So perplexing. Supposedly his illegitimate son, Anton Glavine, was on board EcoStation … a son he didn’t even know he had, and Francella Watanabe was the mother. The report contained purported evidence of the parentage, which would still require confirmation. If accurate, though, Francella would have a lot of explaining to do.

Could it possibly be true? Lorenzo had been told by a doctor that he could not father any more children, and had given up hope. But somehow, miraculously.…

He caught himself, didn’t dare hope, not without confirmation. But if the young man really was the only male child sired by Lorenzo the Magnificent, that was not something to be destroyed easily.

The Doge would have to take other measures to kill Noah Watanabe, no matter what Francella wanted.