Webdancers (31 page)

Noah heard a clapping sound in the air, but didn’t see anyone moving their hands to do this. Telepathic clapping? Yes, he decided as he watched the faces of the Tulyans.

Then, looking down at his own hands, which were clasped in front of his body, he saw the gray-black flesh encroaching, moving onto the tops of his wrists. As he absorbed the ongoing ceremony and looked inward at the same time, Noah felt his own self dying. The
old
self. He continued to become something radically different, and found the possibilities both exciting and terrifying.

Whatever was happening to him, Noah wondered how much of it he controlled himself. Earlier, the podships had moved close to the space station without cocooning it at first, making him aware that they were available for him to direct. He had responded by drawing them in around him in a protective fashion, and they had completed their amalgam around EcoStation. It seemed to have been a cooperative, collective effort between himself and them. Now he wondered how much of the changes to his body were of his own volition, and how much could possibly be caused by outside influence.

Focusing hard, he saw the encroaching skin retreat a few centimeters. This told him something. A piece of the puzzle, but not the answer. He allowed the metamorphosis to continue.

I want it
, he thought.
With all of its unknown dangers, I want it
.

But for the moment he resisted the urge, and caused the encroaching skin to retreat back under his clothing. This was not the time, or the place, to permit it to flow over his entire body.

“Please say something now,” Kre’n said. Placing a hand on Noah’s shoulder, she guided him to the spot where she had been standing.

Noah took a deep breath and said, his words carrying out to the assemblage, “Thank you for sharing this special place with me, and with those who are being honored here today. On behalf of the families of the loved ones we are laying to rest, I express their appreciation. By courier, I have also contacted Doge Anton, and he wants me to pass on his heartfelt gratitude to you as well.”

Pausing, Noah looked around, to the gnarled mountain peaks and down to the magical lakes in the valley. Then he said, “Being here, I could almost imagine that there is nothing wrong in the galaxy, that all is in perfect order. But all of us know that this not the case. Sadly, these dead are the proof of it.”

To close the ceremony, Noah asked for a moment of silence. When it was completed, he nodded to Kre’n, who in turn gave a signal to the Tulyans at the gravesites.

Simultaneously, the Tulyans raised their hands, and with their collective psychic energy they lowered the coffins into the ground.

Chapter Fifty-Nine

There are more roads to tragedy than to happiness.

—Ancient observation

As Hari’Adab strode through a corridor on the top floor of the Golden Palace, he hardly noticed the opulence around him, the gilded walls and furnishings, the infinity mirrors, the priceless paintings and statuaries. He had seen such finery before in the Mutati Kingdom, in the palatial residences of his own family. Often in the past he had felt considerable embarrassment for living in luxurious surroundings, considering the impoverished conditions suffered by many of his people. His father (and some of Hari’s advisers) had pointed out to him the necessity of a leader acting and looking like a leader, and of displaying the trappings of success to the populace.

So they said, and Hari had essentially gone along with the role-playing they espoused, but he had also instituted more programs to help the poor than any leader in Mutati history. And he’d done it with layers of anonymity that prevented most people from knowing his involvement. To him, it made no sense to do things for people and then ask for their adoration in return. He didn’t like the equation, just as he’d never liked the thought of praying for himself. For Hari, it was far more important to pray for someone else, just as he had been doing for his beloved Parais.

The Mutati doctors had set up a medical room for the injured aeromutati on the top level of the palace, and they had been tending to her with all known treatments and technology. Since learning of the terrible injury to his lover, the young Emir had been at an emotional nadir. To the extent possible, trying to be vigilant but not interfering, he had overseen her medical care. For two straight days he had hardly left her side, and he was only away briefly now, while they administered treatments that they said would be difficult for him to watch. Parais was experiencing cellular complications that were unique to Mutatis, and she needed surgical procedures to improve the flow of medicines through her body. Hari had tried to stay, but the doctors had prevailed on him, insisting it was best for him, and for the patient. They needed to focus on her, not on his reactions.

Now Hari couldn’t wait to get back inside the room. He came to a stop just outside her door, waiting for it to open. They’d said it would only be a few minutes, but now it had been nearly half an hour. He heard them inside with their instruments and machines, chattering in their arcane medical language. The tones were urgent. Hari felt like bursting inside, but worried about causing harm to Parais.

The HibAdu weapon used on her had been insidious, sending an energy pulse into her body that had expanded and wreaked havoc on her internal organs. In reaction to the violent intrusion, Parais’ cellular structure had gone into retreat, fleeing inward to a place where it thought it could best restore the body. Hari only understand this in generalities, but it had long been known that shapeshifter cells had a racial brain and survival instincts that were not under control of the mind of any individual. In taking control away from Parais, the cells had reverted to a state that was even more ancient and basic than the natural fleshy appearance of a typical Mutati. They reverted to a primitive core, which scientists said was similar to the primordial matter that generated the first Mutati life millions and millions of years ago.

Slowly, hesitantly, Hari walked away from the door. Two uniformed MPA soldiers hurried by, carrying message cubes. They entered a room that Hari knew was one of the offices used by Liberator military commanders, including the remaining officers of the Mutati High Command. The day before, Hari had met briefly with them to discuss how they might allocate their combined military assets to recover the conquered worlds of the Mutati Kingdom. They were considering a military offensive that would start with the Emir’s own planet Dij, and if success was achieved there, they would move on to others.

Heightening the need for this, there had been sickening rumors of atrocities committed against the Mutati people by the invaders, including gruesome public displays in which Hibbils and Adurians had eaten the flesh of their shapeshifter victims. He hoped these were only rumors, the sort that were common in times of war, but a little voice inside told him they were true. He’d long sensed the resentment felt by Adurians toward Mutatis, and Hibbils were known to be vicious little carnivores. Unfortunately, it all added up.

All of the allied officers and political leaders—including Doge Anton, Hari’Adab, and First Elder Kre’n—wanted to rescue and recover every Human and Mutati planet, but they were also worried about the strange absence of large-scale military activity by the HibAdus against Canopa and Siriki. There had been skirmishes and the recent, relatively small battle in the Sirikan back country, but not much other than that. The two MPA planets were like beacons of hope in the bleak war against the HibAdus. Some of the officers, particularly Subi Danvar, thought that the galactic instabilities that had occurred on both Canopa and Siriki were preventing the HibAdus from mounting full-scale attacks there. There had been extensive geological damage to the Valley of the Princes on Canopa and to remote sections of Siriki.

There were so many immense concerns going on simultaneously that Hari felt the limitations of anything he could do to improve conditions. According to all estimates, the HibAdus had much larger military forces than the Liberators and their Human, Mutati, and Tulyan elements. In addition, the Tulyans—who were heading up the other “war” against galactic disintegration—were not able to keep up with the deterioration that was continuing.

The Emir heaved a deep sigh, trying to calm himself, and returned to the door to Parais’ room. The voices and equipment noises seemed unchanged, a sense that the doctors and their aides were taking efficient, urgent actions.

This section of the Golden Palace was the most heavily fortified, and constituted the keep that had been designed and built to protect its royal inhabitants against outside attack. As far as Hari was concerned, it housed the most important person of all now, Parais d’Olor. But the vicious assault on her had already been made, and he had not been there to protect her.

For that, he had initially blamed Doge Anton, who had kept them apart. But ultimately, Hari came to the realization that it wasn’t the Doge’s fault after all. There really was no one to blame—at least not anymore—for the long history of enmity between the Human and Mutati races, and the deep distrust that resulted. Even now, with close cooperation between the races, some of the old feelings lingered. There had been fights and name-calling among the soldiers, but cooler heads always prevailed. During moments of frustration, Hari had experienced such feelings of antagonism himself, but had kept them in check.

He felt overwhelmed by all of the details surrounding him, and longed for the halcyon times he had spent with Parais, flying on her avian back to a retreat where they could enjoy each other’s company in private. On Dij, they had frequented an isolated beach, where the sun warmed the sands. In his mind now, he tried to remember how it used to be with her, particular details that he wanted to relive and push aside the cold realities of the moment. He shivered.

The door to her room opened suddenly, and Hari got out of the way of two Mutati medical attendants who hurried past him and down the corridor. Their faces were emotionless, but he knew this was the way of their profession, the need to suppress feelings and keep doing their jobs. A Human doctor followed them, an elderly man who had been allowed to observe, and to offer what limited assistance he could.

“You may come in now,” another doctor said from inside the room. A small Mutati male with a narrow mustache, Dr. Wikk motioned toward the bed where Parais lay. Two other doctors left the room.

Summoning his courage, Hari entered. “How is she?”

“The same. We’ve adjusted her medications slightly, to reduce the pain. I’ll leave you two alone for a few minutes.”

Fighting back tears, Hari stood by the mass of quivering flesh and dark feathers on the bed. A copy of
The Holy Writ
—the sacred book of the Mutati people—sat on a table beside her. Unable to speak, Parais barely clung to life. Her facial features were puffy and horribly contorted, and almost unrecognizable. From a medical treatment, her brown eyes had reemerged from the fatty cellular structure of her face, but they were closed now.

“It might be kinder to put her out of her misery,” the doctor said, as he departed.

“What?” In sudden fury, Hari almost lunged at him. Then, in a menacing tone, he said, “You’d better not try anything like that. If you do, I … Look, I’m sorry. I know you’re just doing your best, and thinking of her suffering.”

“I’m sorry.” The doctor left, and the door slid shut behind him.

Hari’Adab was alone with Parais again, but not in the way he’d been remembering. The contrasts were so far apart, and the prospects so dismal. As he had done after killing his father, Hari’Adab again contemplated suicide. It would put an end to his suffering. But what about Parais? He couldn’t just leave her, and couldn’t bear the thought of euthanizing her. At his previous low point, despite the loss of Paradij and all of its inhabitants, she had insisted that Hari live and make himself strong for the sake of the Mutati people. With her loving influence, she had convinced him to spend the rest of his life doing what was right, not only for his own followers but for other galactic races as well.

Now he placed a hand gently on her face. In his mind’s eye, Hari envisioned Parais clearly in her various mutations, the way she used to be when she morphed from one beautiful flying creature into another. She favored white feathers then, unlike her present disarrayed condition. The memories were so clear that he could almost imagine the lovely aeromutati back to normal at this very moment. In his memory, they spoke again of having children, and of their many other dreams.

He felt movement under his fingers. Parais opened her eyes and looked at him with her brown eyes, so filled with suffering that it ripped apart his emotions. He was at least heartened to see a glint there, and she seemed to recognize him. But she couldn’t speak or hold her eyes open, and soon faded back into her universe of pain.

Chapter Sixty

The Human brain is a gold mine of wondrous possibilities … and a cesspool.

—A saying of Lost Earth

Noah stood by himself in one of the larger chambers of EcoStation, examining a section of bulkhead where podship skin had filled what had once been a large, jagged break in the module. It was his third day back at the Tulyan Starcloud. He detected the approach of visitors through the linked corridors of the cocoon and the space station, and he knew their identities: Doge Anton and a small entourage.

The leader of the Liberators had flown here after the Battle of Yaree, and had announced that he wanted to meet with Noah. But not wanting any interruption, Noah had sent no response. At least the Council of Elders seemed to already know that Noah wanted privacy, from their earlier telepathic probes, and—from a linkage with them—Eshaz had known as well.

He heard Doge Anton enter the chamber behind him, along with Tesh, Thinker, and two Tulyan caretakers. Noah did not have to turn around to see them, but he did so anyway. It would reduce the number of questions they asked of him. For now, in his white, long-sleeve tunic and dark trousers, the rough skin that covered most of his body was not visible to them. His hands, forearms, and head remained normal in appearance.

Tesh stood silently on one side, looking anxiously at Noah.

“I’ve called a meeting to assess everything,” Anton said. The blond man wore a red-and-gold MPA uniform, decked with ribbons. A weapons belt circled his waist. “It will be held on General Nirella’s ship this afternoon. I have also have a request from Tesh to discuss something with you. She says it’s important.”

“I am unable to attend your meeting,” Noah said. “I’m not feeling up to it at the moment, and don’t think I can contribute. At least not yet. I have experienced many changes, many pressures on my mind and body, and I need to recuperate.”

Scowling, Anton said, “Very well, but let me know when you are ready. Nirella and I would like your input, your suggestions.”

“I can contribute more if you permit me this time alone.”

“All right, Noah.”

“With no interruptions. Please don’t ask me for an explanation, because I’m not sure if I can provide one anyway—but I can see and hear everyone in EcoStation and everyone in the passageways and chambers of the cocoon. Please order them to leave.”

Puzzled thoughts played across Anton’s face. “You want the Tulyan pilots to leave, too?”

“They are without employment here. The cocoon does not respond to their commands.”

“But it does to yours?”

“Yes.”

“There is much to grasp here, Noah, but I will defer to your wishes. I will take care of it.”

“Thank you.”

Then, looking at the Parvii woman, Noah felt a tug of emotion. The cast of her green eyes and the slight trembling of her lips told him she had something important to discuss with him. At least, it was important to
her
. He didn’t like having such a thought, because at his core he didn’t feel superior to Tesh at all. But he could not take the time or energy to talk with her yet.

“I need more time,” Noah said to her. “I will inform you when I’m ready.”

Her face showed her displeasure, but she said nothing, and left with the others.

Afterward, Noah stared at the podship skin on the bulkhead, and knew the flesh was connected to the cocoon. Reaching out and touching the wall, he felt the regular pulse of the living creature.

In images before his eyes, he also saw Doge Anton and his entourage striding away through a corridor, and saw the evacuation of the space station and of the cocoon—Humans, Tulyans, and robots streaming out into waiting transport ships. With one exception. In what had once been an education module of EcoStation, a solitary figure stood immobile, with the lights around its face plate glowing softly. Thinker.

So, the official historian of the Guardians, and the trustee of my life story has decided to defy me.

From his vantage, Noah sensed Thinker going almost entirely silent inside his robotic mechanisms, leaving only a sentry program operating. And, though he had not expected to feel this way, the presence of his friend gave the Guardian leader some comfort.

He thought of concentric circles around him, starting with the toughness of his own body, the way it could heal and regenerate itself after injuries. Beyond that, he saw the cocoon drifting in the protective mindlink of Tulyans in their sacred starcloud. As another layer of personal security, he had Thinker, Tesh, and Subi, and everyone else who cared about him.

Am I truly the Savior they speak of in Tulyan legends?

He still did not think so, though he had no evidence one way or the other. Noah suspected, however, that it was not a provable thing, that it might be argued one way or the other.

Maybe I’m just helping the Tulyans save themselves. Maybe they are their own Savior, in a collective sense.

Gods and prophets—they didn’t have to be what they were commonly believed to be in Noah’s opinion, did have to look like their universal depictions. As just two examples among many, he doubted if he would ever see (in any form of sight that he possessed) a bearded old man in the sky or angels with wings. Maybe the supreme deity was more of a collective entity that stretched across the cosmos, like Noah’s own concept of galactic ecology.

And, though Noah did not consider himself the center of the universe or even the galaxy, he nonetheless saw himself as the hub of
something
, with those concentric circles around him, radiating outward. At last, he could enter and leave Timeweb of his own volition. This enabled him to remain connected to the galactic web, and to the podship flesh he was touching now.

At his fingertips, Noah felt his own energy flowing outward into the amalgamated Aopoddae flesh, probing all of the arteries, organs, and cells that made up the ancient creatures. They were so complex, and yet so primitive. It made him realize how far afield many of the galactic races had gone with all of their details and complexities, all of their branched-out, hedonistic, disoriented priorities that caused them to wreak such havoc on the galaxy.

He saw that the battle-injured portions of the cocoon had not yet completely healed themselves, that their connection to their brethren and to Timeweb had helped them, but had not been quite enough. And it never would be enough without his involvement.

Noah didn’t hold anything back from the Aopoddae. He allowed his energy to flow into the primitive flesh, as if he was Timeweb himself, providing healing nutrients to injured creatures. Once, Eshaz had done that for him, and Noah had made a miraculous recovery. Now, moment-by-moment, the alien flesh of the cocoon fused and healed at an accelerated rate. All the while, Noah probed and tested carefully, and perfected the cellular repairs. There was no question of trust anymore, no doubts of any kind from the Aopoddae about Noah’s motivations. No fear of him. They needed him, and he needed them. It was a symbiotic relationship of extraordinary proportions.

He realized as well that the cocoon protected not only himself, but EcoStation. If Noah’s plan unfolded for the space station, the enhanced facility would become an inspiration for all galactic races, a beacon of hope and more of a teaching facility for ecology than he had ever envisioned before.

Noah felt the podship skin tremble against his own flesh, as the cocoon anticipated what he was going to do next. He allowed the strengthened energy of the cocoon to flow back into him. Noah had healed the collective creature, and at this moment—in its fortified form—he anticipated that it would return the favor. Ultimately, Noah knew he was much more than a human being—physically and spiritually—and he sensed that the Aopoddae could guide him, could enable him to discover the path he should take with his remarkable life, and perhaps give him the tools that he needed.

The inflow was tremendous, and he struggled to absorb it and comprehend. Much of the new Aopoddae data, the vast majority of it, was indecipherable to him. But a limited amount of information, as if passing through a filter system from the Aopoddae language to something he could understand, reached his consciousness.

Noah realized that he was all of the galactic races, inextricably linked to them. He saw the history of sentient life as multiple paths spreading out in his wake, and found the broad routes he had taken in his own genetic history and life that brought him to this exact place and awareness. Countless other events could have occurred instead, events that would have prevented Noah from ever existing, or from ever being needed at all. Events that would not have led to the state of galactic decay in which everyone now found themselves trapped.

And, though Noah could not see the future with any degree of certainty, he was able to envision multiple paths of unfolding galactic possibilities extending into future time, radiating outward from him. He could only try to nudge the various races to take the proper paths. He could never force them to do so.

Opening the synapses and paranormal elements of his mind, as if they were pores that he was unplugging, Noah tried to let more data flow in, everything the podships knew. He hungered for all of it. In response an overwhelming surge of additional information flowed in, a tidal wave of data—much of it in raw, indecipherable form.

Pain!

It was too much, too fast, and the Aopoddae didn’t seem to realize it. Or did they? Were they trying to kill him? Was that a last bit of data they would inject into him through the connection? Their confession of guilt, or even a gloating?

He screamed from the unbearable pain. It was not just physical. It went way beyond that.

Parallel realities surrounded him, like the concentric circles. In one of them, he realized that he had fallen to his knees, and that he was still trying to maintain physical contact with the Aopoddae cocoon. In his agony he lost contact, and slumped to the deck.

* * * * *

Noah became aware of needles in his brain, and of data flowing outward, like something removing poisons from his body. Bringing him back from the brink, rescuing him from his foolishness.

Opening his eyes, he saw Thinker kneeling over him, with a tentacle containing an array of needles linking the robot to Noah’s skull. An organic interface, Noah realized. The robot had used it on him previously, to download information on Noah’s life and genetics. Now he was doing it again, but for a different purpose. Gradually, Noah began to feel better.

“You saved my life,” Noah said, as the pain faded. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“Perhaps not,” Thinker said. “As we speak, I am analyzing limited elements of the Aopoddae information, even as it is being downloaded into my data banks and sorted. Contrary to your suspicion, the podships did not wish to do you harm. They made a decision that you could handle the flood of information, and that you would heal mentally from any adverse effects of it—just as you have proven yourself able to recover from physical injuries.”

“But you had to intervene.”

“Because I didn’t know what else to do. I don’t think I caused any damage, and you can certainly reconnect to them and get the data again. However, I have an alternative that might be of use to you.”

The robot disconnected the interface, and it snaked back into his metal body. Noah sat up on the deck, noticed that his hands were different, entirely gray and rough-surfaced now, with veins of black. He felt his face. It had changed as well. He felt ready for the complete metamorphosis. The time had arrived.

“What alternative?” Noah asked.

“I expected you would ask,” Thinker said. He straightened, looked down at Noah. “Consider me your portable backup. I can adjust the interface, enabling you to search through my data banks at will, making the Aopoddae information available to you in a more palatable form.”

“An intriguing offer,” Noah said. “Yes, I want you to do that.”

“I hasten to add, however, that most of the data is incomprehensible, even to me.”

“I found the same thing. If that is true, though, how can you be certain they don’t want to do me harm?”

“Good question. My only answer beyond what they have revealed to us is that I do not sense they have aggressive intentions toward you. I know, however, that my instincts in this regard are only programmed into me, and thus are by definition inferior to yours.”

“I sense the same thing. The Aopoddae are essentially gentle souls, but dangerous when threatened, if they perceive enemies. Once, they considered me a possible enemy, but that has since been worked out between us. You notice I said between. I believe they are a single organism, a collective organism.”

“Each species, each race is like that,” Thinker noted. “I think you’re saying that the Aopoddae are more closely linked to one another than other galactic races are?”

“That is my belief, but I also believe, in my heart of hearts, that all sentient life forms in the galaxy are ultimately linked. It is a matter of definitions and semantics, and of filters on our thought processes. But it makes sense to me. It’s tied to galactic ecology, to the interdependence of all matter in the galaxy, whether sentient or not.”

“And tied to the concept of God.”

“Not a typical comment for a robot,” Noah said, with a gentle smile.

“I am not your typical robot.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“I will run decryption programs on the Aopoddae raw data and see what more I can discover. It will not be easy, but … Hmmm, just a moment, please.” Thinker whirred, and his body jerked, as if in pain. Noah heard something clank inside the mechanism.

Presently, however, the orange lights on the robot’s faceplate blinked cheerily, and he announced, “I was overloading too, but I connected to a series of reserve memory cores. It is better now.”

“There is probably more that we didn’t absorb yet,” Noah said. “I broke off the connection.”

“Based upon what I’m seeing, Master Noah, I think we’d better try to figure out what we have first before obtaining more.”

Noah nodded.

Thinker blinked his metal-lidded eyes. “Why don’t we work with the information, sir, and see if we can handle it more safely? Maybe the Aopoddae didn’t properly anticipate the danger to you, and we should set up safeguards.”