The Timeweb Chronicles: Timeweb Trilogy Omnibus (7 page)

“Intriguing,” Abal Meshdi exclaimed, as images floated and gyrated in the air before his eyes like organisms under a scientist’s high-powered magnifying glax.

The Adurian looked on, and finally said, “You are seeing Mutati cells. A precise mixture of them, including all three variations of your people—those that walk upon the ground, fly, and swim.”

“
Cells
?” The pitch of the Zultan’s voice rose in alarm. “But how did you acquire them? I thought they were too complex to extract.”

“One of your own companies has developed a method.” He smiled. “Quite expensive, I must say. It’s one of the matters I would like to discuss with you. Perhaps you can help us obtain better prices.”

The Zultan nodded as he continued to watch the dance of the organisms before his eyes, projections that came from inside the housing of the minigyro. He felt his thoughts merging with the mechanism, sorting themselves into categories that he could analyze in the same manner as the much larger gyrodome.

It was quite ingenious, really, which he came to realize when he used the thought-enhancement quality of the minigyro to determine some features of its design. As the Zultan removed the mechanism from his forehead and felt the effects diminish, he asked how many units had been manufactured.

With an enigmatic wink, the Adurian said, “The production lines will start soon, but I wanted to meet with you first to go over … details.”

“Yes, that is wise.” After a moment, Meshdi added, “I wish to be your only customer for the product.” He turned the unit over in his hands, studying it from every angle. Through a clear plate on the underside he saw multicolored swirls, which Uncel explained were the Mutati cells, going about their tasks without complaint.

“You want our entire production?” Uncel said, after a moment of silence. “But we had hoped to export them all over the galaxy. The demand for something like this could be enormous.”

“But you need my cooperation in order to obtain the most essential ingredients. At a word from me, I could put you out of business.”

“That may or may not be true. We are talking about cells, after all, and the ones we have could be divided.”

“Without a loss of quality? Remember, Mutati cells are unique in the galaxy, and very sensitive.”

“Perhaps you are right. To be honest, I am not certain. In any event, I wish to be cooperative.” The Ambassador narrowed his eyes. “But must you have
all
of our production?”

With a firm nod, the Zultan said, “I can arrange for excellent wholesale prices and I will pay you fairly. You deserve to be rewarded, but all minigyro manufacturing must be performed on Paradij, or on another planet in the Mutati Kingdom.”

The Adurian’s insectoid eyebrows arched. “Why, if I might ask?”

“We are concerned about security.”

“With all appropriate respect, sir, I do not understand. You permit us to develop and manufacture Demolios on one of our own planets, but not minigyros?”

Meshdi nodded energetically, causing his many chins to quiver like the layers of a trifle. “The idea of extracted Mutati cells troubles me a great deal. It is no reflection upon your people, for I trust them completely. It is just that our cells are … sacred … and I do not wish to have them or your interesting product fall into the wrong hands.” He spoke with all the solemnity of his high position. “There is tremendous potential for harm here as well as for benefit.”

Abal Meshdi did not really trust the Adurians that much. With their permission he had stationed his own military forces on the industrial world where Demolios were being developed. Since it was well-known that Mutati forces were far superior to those of the Adurians, the conspirators agreed that it would be best to have the Mutatis provide security for this highly important, ultra-secret project. Still, the Adurian military had made significant advances recently and would need to be monitored, even if they were an ally.…

VV Uncel hesitated, and considered the situation. He thought it would be better to do the work on Adurian property, but didn’t envision problems doing it the Zultan’s way. The Adurians were so adept at their biomanufacturing processes that they could keep certain information secret from the Mutatis, even if the shapeshifters were watching them all the time.

With authority from the Adurian Council to make his own decisions in this matter, the Ambassador proceeded to reach an agreement with the Mutati Zultan. The diplomat-salesman accepted a large order for the new minigyros, which he knew Meshdi would distribute to his own people, despite his professed security concerns. The gyrodome and minigyros would suggest this course of action to him subconsciously, and he would not be able to resist.

This Adurian was much more than a diplomat, or a salesman. As VV Uncel departed, he was exceedingly pleased. Soon a large segment of the Mutati population would be influenced in their decision-making processes by the minigyros.

The Zultan was not going to get what he expected.

Chapter Twelve

The love between father and son should be simple, but the reality is far different.

—Prince Saito Watanabe

On the grounds of his Ecological Demonstration Project, Master Noah Watanabe knelt in a meadow and dug his hands into soft, loamy soil around the roots of plants. The sun-warmed Canopan dirt had a calming effect on him, especially now, shortly after a warm summer rain. The muscular man wore a khaki, sleeveless tunic and short, matching breeches. His knees were damp, but he hardly noticed.

This planet is alive
, he thought.
Just like the back country people say.

He was thinking of a superstitious legend, one found all over the galaxy, among various sentient races. On Canopa the primitive people called their planet “Zehbu,” while on other planets the living entity was referred to as “Gaea” or other names, but always in conjunction with a similar story. So-called intellectuals dismissed it as a commonly held myth, but Noah believed it was much more than that. Millennia ago there had also been a legend of a great flood that swept across the planet Earth, and another story about a race of sentient spaceships that traveled the galaxy at tremendous speeds. Both “myths” proved to be accurate, so he was confident that one day everyone would also come to accept the fact of living planetary organisms. He could only hope this would be the case. His entire environmental movement was closely allied with the concept.

Zehbu. The people living on your surface are only as healthy as you are.

A tiny yellow field sparrow swooped low, and landed on the grass a couple of meters away. As Noah watched from his kneeling position, the bird looked up at him, tilting its head comically.

Noah smiled softly, then gazed at the distant blue-green hills. Philosophically, he believed that all galactic races, as well as every genus of flora and species of fauna, functioned best if they worked in harmony, filling ecological niches. He loathed the rapacious industries of his father and the other merchant princes, valuing profits above all else. They were ruining every planet where they were involved, stripping minerals and polluting the air, water and ground, caring nothing of the future generations who might live in those places. Most Human businessmen took the short view of events, doing whatever it took to fill their purses with money. Noah, also an entrepreneur but with environmentally friendly operations, took what he considered to be a much longer view.

He had attempted to contact a number of third world alien races to enlist them into his activist organization, but the vast majority of them were suspicious of him, and preferred to keep to themselves. With the exception of the Tulyans, they scoffed openly or paid no heed when his representatives told them that his beliefs were similar to theirs, that all planets needed to be treated with respect and preserved for future generations. As far as most of them were concerned, no matter the promises or assurances of Noah Watanabe, he was not worthy of trust.

He was, after all, the son of a greedy merchant prince.

Something touched the back of Noah’s shoulder, and he straightened. The little yellow bird came into view again, perched close to his face. After a few seconds, it chirped and flew away.

Noah heaved a sigh, and prepared to catch a shuttle. In less than an hour he would be inside EcoStation, his laboratory complex in geostationary orbit over Canopa, always directly above his unique wildlife preserve and farm. Up there he conducted genetic studies on exotic plants and animals under strict, uncontaminated conditions.…

Just before boarding the shuttle, he received word about his father’s grave injuries, and that he had fallen into a coma. Hearing the news, Noah went cold inside. Prince Saito Watanabe had betrayed his own son, and had somehow been caught in his own trap. It seemed fitting.

Nonetheless, a small part of Noah grieved.

* * * * *

Tesh no longer had feelings for him.

For almost a week, her former boyfriend had not returned to the country estate that was his principal residence. Instead, Dr. Bichette stayed in a CorpOne apartment near the Prince’s cliffside villa, where his important patient lay, gravely wounded. According to a telebeam message that the doctor sent to Tesh at the estate, he wanted her to join him at the apartment.

But she wasn’t interested.

His first message had arrived three days ago, and she had not responded to it yet. Additional demands arrived each day, and this morning he had sent her two more … each more importunate than the one before.

Since Bichette’s departure, Tesh Kori and Anton Glavine had spent a lot of time together, but had remained in separate quarters. There had been no sexual intercourse, but not due to any reticence on her part. She had tempted the young man in every way she knew (short of disrobing), and he
had
shown considerable interest. He did not appear to be a homosexual in any sense, either, but for some reason he was resisting his own natural urges, holding back and not saying why. Perhaps he wanted to get to know her better before committing himself; he certainly asked her a lot of questions about her background.

But Tesh felt she was making progress anyway. They had taken walks together through the forests on Dr. Bichette’s property, and Anton had kissed her once on the mouth for a few seconds before pulling away, revealing in his demeanor that he was struggling with his own willpower. Soon he would come to her; she sensed it.

In response to Anton’s queries, Tesh had provided him with creative answers, fragments of truth painted on wide canvases of lies. She couldn’t possibly reveal her real identity to him, for that was beyond the comprehension of a
humanus ordinaire
.

The Parvii race, like its distant Human cousins, required regenerative sleep, but not nearly as much. That night as Tesh slept alone, she remembered … and remembered. Her unconscious thoughts seemed to drift off into deep space, to a far-away galactic fold where her people swarmed by the millions whenever there was trouble.…

She awoke with a start and opened her eyes. The images had seemed so real, as if she were again with all of her companions in their hidden sanctuary, responding to the commands of Woldn, their revered leader.

From her bed she heard a noise, and saw a crack of light at the doorway that soon widened, as illumination streamed in like yellow sunlight. A shape filled the doorway, profiled against the brightness.

Anton Glavine.

He closed the door, and she heard him moving around inside the room, without seeing him. Moments later he crawled into bed with her, and she felt the warmth of his body against hers. She had been hoping for this, and had kept her physical magnification system in operation, making her appear to be a normal-sized woman. Otherwise, she thought with a smile, he might not have been able to find her tiny body under the bed coverings.

Soon Tesh forgot about her dream, and about everything else. Except for her mounting passion.

Chapter Thirteen

Tulyans and Parviis pilot podships in different ways. In both methods, it involves telepathic control over the Aopoddae, but Tulyans—unlike Parviis—actually merge into the flesh of the pods, changing the appearance of the spacefaring vessels so that they develop scaly skin, protruding snouts and a pair of narrowly slitted eyes. Why, in view of that remarkable symbiosis, are we Parviis more dominant over podships than Tulyans? This is a great enigma, and a blessing from the Universal Creator.

—The Parvii View of Divinity

A creature with bronze, reptilian skin piloted a grid-plane low over the surface of Canopa, a small aircraft that bore the green-and-brown markings of the Guardians. From the air Eshaz surveyed conditions below, blinking his pale gray eyes as he searched for subtle signs on the ground, for even the smallest indications of trouble. Like all of the people of his race he was extremely old, dating back to a time when Tulyans were stewards of the entire galaxy.

Those times were long gone. Now the Tulyans filled in where they could, performing their specialized, unselfish tasks … even if they had to work for others. Eshaz’s Guardian superior, Noah Watanabe, had complete faith in him and in scores of other Tulyans in his employ, permitting them to operate unsupervised on a number of planets, monitoring ecological conditions. In the process, the reptilian men and women submitted regular reports to Noah … but they also performed other tasks on their own that they could never reveal to any Human.

Wherever possible, Tulyans tried to meld into society, be it Human or otherwise. In the process, they visited planets, asteroids, moons, and mass clusters, and in some of those places they found environmental protection measures already in place. None, however, were as extensive or as well thought out as those instituted by Noah Watanabe and his Guardians. That one man had, to his credit, found a way to enhance and restore natural systems while making a great deal of money.

How odd Humans are
, Eshaz thought.
The worst polluters imaginable, and the most careless, but
they are the most creative, too.

For a moment the Tulyan had an unexpected thought, that Humans, despite their glaring flaws, could possibly be the greatest hope for the salvation of the cosmos, for the restoration of Timeweb. How ironic that would be, if it proved to be true. But every Tulyan knew differently. Only Eshaz’s own people could save the web, through the caretakers they sent out on clandestine missions.

As Eshaz flew over a dry river bed at the base of a cliff, a cloud of glassy dust rose from below and blocked the large front porthole of the grid-plane. The normally quiet engines whined and sputtered, and the craft spiraled toward the ground. He fought desperately for control, jabbing his fingers against the touch pads on the instrument panel.

Tulyans could live for hundreds of thousands, even millions of years, but were subject to accidental death. Eshaz bore the scars of countless injuries, yet he had been fortunate, exceedingly fortunate. He and his kinsmen were immune to disease or any form of bodily degeneration, and had remarkable powers of recovery from injury. But they were not immortal.

At the last possible moment, just before it touched the ground, the grid-plane pulled up and then swooped back into the sky, rising above a looming, rainbow-crystal cliff face. Eshaz went higher this time, to avoid whatever was occurring down there. Moments later he brought the plane around, circled the glittering cliff, and descended toward the riverbed. He saw the swirling dust again, but this time he remained at a safer altitude.

A small golden circle adorned the lapel of his Guardian uniform, which had been custom-fitted by a Human tailor to conform with the unusual contours of his alien body. The golden circle was the sigil of the Tulyan race, representing eternity. It was a design found everywhere in their arcane society: on their clothing, on the hulls of their ships, and on the sides of their buildings.

Today the mission of this highly intelligent race was much more limited than it had been in ancient times. Now a comparatively few Tulyans traveled the galactic sectors, performing fine ecological adjustments wherever necessary, trying to restore delicate environmental balances that had been disturbed by the careless practices of the galactic races. Humans were not alone in the damage they caused.

He brought the grid-plane as low as he could over the trouble spot, for a better look. Below him was a wide, dry riverbed with a rough, disturbed surface of crystalline soil and black volcanic rock. The disturbed area was pulsing, surging with ground and air action and then diminishing … as if breathing. He had seen this before, and needed to wait for just the right moment.

Most of Eshaz’s people remained back at the Tulyan Starcloud, their home at the edge of the galaxy. In that sacred place they thought of the old days … or tried to forget them. His brethren harbored secrets that could never be discussed with any other race, things known only to the Tulyans since time immemorial, and perhaps even before that. Much of the highly restricted information had to do with Timeweb, the way everything in the galaxy was connected by gossamer threads that were only visible to certain sentients, and then only during heightened states of consciousness.

There had been signs of increasing problems on Canopa and in other sectors of the galaxy, causing the Tulyans great concern. Handling the touch-pad controls of the grid-plane expertly, Eshaz watched the swirls of glassy dust diminish. He would have to move quickly.

Without hesitation he set the aircraft down, off to one side of the broad riverbed, a couple of hundred meters from the debris. He didn’t like to think about what would happen if Timeweb continued to decay.

It would mean the end of everything.

He stepped from the craft and made his way across the rough, rocky terrain. Every few steps Eshaz knelt to examine the ground, touching its disturbed surface, studying stones, small broken plants, and dirt. He moved closer, and confirmed his suspicions. This was no ordinary debris field, nothing that had been caused by the natural geological or weather forces of Canopa itself. He studied a blast-pattern of dirt and fragments that had been broken away from the planetary crust, and shook his head sadly. It was exactly as he had feared, a very serious situation indeed.

He watched as a patch of crystalline soil and debris began to swirl only a few meters from him, then faded from view. Unmistakably, he was looking at the early stage of a timehole, a defect in the cosmos through which matter could slip between the layers of the web and, for all practical purposes, disappear from the space-time continuum.

Bringing forth a sorcerer’s bag that he always carried in a body pouch, Eshaz stepped forward carefully, until he reached the edge of the flickering area. He sprinkled a handful of green dust on it, raised his hands high and uttered the ancient incantation that had always been used to ward off Galara, the evil spirit of the undergalaxy.

“
Galara, ibillunor et typliv unat Ubuqqo!”

Now the Tulyan bowed his scaly bronze head in reverence to Ubuqqo, the Sublime Creator of all that was known and all that was good, and uttered a private prayer for the salvation of the galaxy.

“Ubuqqo, anret pir huyyil.”

This was the strongest form of invocation that he knew, for it did not request anything for himself, and not merely for this small section of Canopan crust, either, only a pinprick in the cosmos. Rather, Eshaz’s prayer stretched and stretched along the cosmic web … the miraculous filament that connected everyone, ultimately, to the Sublime Creator.

But agitated by the Tulyan’s magic, the timehole grew larger, and Eshaz felt the ground crumbling beneath him. Bravely, he held steady and refused to retreat. Each timehole was a little different, and all shared something in common: unpredictability. But this one seemed to be in its beginning stages.

Debris swirled all around him, and he felt a powerful force tugging at him, drawing him toward a realm of existence where he would no longer have thoughts and would no longer experience independent movements. It was not entropy, for that natural force of cosmic decay did not waste matter by discarding it into another realm. Entropy did not waste anything, and instead reused every little bit of matter in some other useful form.

No, this was something else … the eternal, unyielding and opportunistic force of the undergalaxy, working on every weakness, trying to exploit it for its own voracious purposes. He had no doubt that the undergalaxy—like the galaxy that he wanted so desperately to save—was a living entity, with a powerful force that drove it. And this timehole, like so many others, threatened to cast the galaxy into oblivion.

The ground cracked and shook, and the heavy Tulyan fell to one knee. He felt aches and pains in his joints and muscles, something he had never experienced before in his long life.

Timeweb’s pain is my pain
, he thought, since his own condition seemed to run parallel with the recent precipitous decline of the web.

He repeated the invocation.

“
Galara, ibillunor et typliv unat Ubuqqo! … Ubuqqo, anret pir huyyil!”

A rift opened beneath him, as deep as a grave, and he tumbled into it. As he struggled to climb out, the ground rolled and knocked him back in. Swirling dirt piled on top of him, and though Tulyans did not breathe, he knew what might happen next. The hole could open up completely, and send him hurtling through into the stygian oblivion of the undergalaxy. Still, like an insect struggling to make its way through a storm, he fought to stand up and free himself.

Fumbling in his pocket, he located the sorcerer’s pouch, and scattered its entire contents around him. A thunderous noise sounded, followed by a cacophonous grating sound, like huge continents rubbing together. He felt warm air.

Suddenly, with a flash of green light, he was tossed out of the hole and onto the rocky ground. The air was still, and there were no sounds. The rift had disappeared and the land looked almost normal, with hardly any sign of disturbance. Even his grid-plane, which he had parked away from the center of the disruption, appeared unharmed.

Eshaz rubbed a sore shoulder, and felt the pain diminishing already. With his recuperative powers it would not last long. He tested the surface of the ground carefully by putting a scaly foot on it, and then taking a step. It felt solid. Presently he walked on it, toward the waiting aircraft.

As he entered his plane to leave, worries assailed him like a swarm of insects. There had been too many timeholes appearing … and too many missing Tulyans, who presumably were being sucked into the openings. Symptomatic of the heightening crisis, fifteen of his people had disappeared in the past year … and hardly any before that.

The grid-plane lifted off, and he looked out through the window. Amazingly, the ground hardly looked disturbed at all, and even had wildflowers and small succulent plants growing on it. He clutched the empty sorcerer’s pouch in one hand, and wondered if he had actually repaired that timehole, or if it had just shifted position in relation to the strands of Timeweb. He had ways of finding out, and would do so.

Eshaz tapped the touch pads of the instrument panel, causing the aircraft to accelerate along the planetary flight control system. With a little stretch of his imagination he could see similarities between this airgrid, with its unseen web of interlocked electronics, and Timeweb, which encompassed so much more. In each case, ships traveled along strands that guided them safely. Where Timeweb was the work of the Sublime Creator, however, the airgrid networks on various Human planets had been invented and installed by much lesser beings … and the equipment operated on infinitely smaller scales. It could not be overlooked, either, that Timeweb was a
natural
system, while airgrids were not; they were intrusions. Airgrids were, however, ecologically benign, and not known to cause damage to plants, animals, or other aspects of nature.

The Tulyan wished he could do more for the empyrean web, that his people were again in control of podships as they had been in the long-ago days when he had been a pilot himself—before Parvii swarms came and took the pods away. At one time, Tulyans could travel freely around the galaxy, performing their essential work on a much larger scale.

An entire sorcerer’s bag expended for one timehole. It would take him nearly a day to restore the ingredients in the repair kit. For a moment he despaired, as the efforts of the Tulyans seemed so inefficient. But in a few moments the feeling passed, and he vowed to continue his work for as long as possible.

He was fighting more than timeholes, or the inefficiencies of dealing with them. On top of everything else, Eshaz and other Tulyans had been experiencing bodily aches and pains … for the first time in the history of their race. This suggested to them that their bodies might be undergoing a process of disintegration into homogeneous chemical soups and dust piles … along with every other organism in the dying galaxy.