Webdancers (33 page)

Chapter Sixty-Three

The Sublime Creator designed life and death to go in a circle, a never-ending dance of birth and death. But something has interrupted the sacred process. None of the races—not even Tulyans—are supposed to be completely immortal.

—Report to the Council of Elders

He lived in a universe of strange, mind stretching possibilities.

Master Noah entered a large chamber of the orbiter, a room that had once been Lorenzo’s Grand Ballroom, a separate, private area of the Pleasure Palace Casino. Now it was a shambles, with wrecked furnishings and shattered plax on the floor, crunching under his feet. A broken mirror showed a distortion of his half-Human form as he walked by.

Almost a year ago, Eshaz had healed Noah by connecting his injured flesh to a defect in the galactic webbing, at a point where a timehole was just beginning to form. Afterward, Noah had displayed miraculous physical capabilities, an ability to recover from traumatic, even grisly, injuries by regenerating the cells of his body. Since then, more things had happened that were even more remarkable. Thinking back now, Noah was coming to believe that he had visualized healing himself, and that it had happened. Somehow, in his intense pain—especially from being hacked up by his sister—he had seen his way through a narrow, treacherous path, and had survived.

It had been a learning experience on an extrasensory journey.

But had he actually risen from the dead, like Lazarus of Lost Earth? He was not sure, but knew that stories about him had gotten out, and had contributed to the fear and awe with which many people looked at him, especially those who didn’t actually know him personally. It would be even worse from now on because of Noah’s appearance, though he knew he could modify his skin to make it look Human. He could visualize it, and it would happen.

Clearly, this ability to imagine and shape went beyond the creation of physical changes in his own body. He had proven that when the cocoon was under attack by HibAdu forces, and he’d transported the space station across the galaxy to the Tulyan Starcloud, after envisioning that heavenly realm in his mind. There had also been times in the past when he had intermittently been able to enter and control podships in a paranormal manner. He presumed that he could do that now if he wished, on an individual podship basis, but he felt no need or desire to do so.

He could even control multiple podships, as he had proven by moving the cocoon through space. It might just be possible for him to gather every podship in the whole galaxy, making him like another version the Eye of the Swarm, but on a much more grand, and potentially powerful, basis. Noah suspected that his abilities went farther than he dared imagine, and the very thought of the possibilities made him want to slow down. He did not want to leap forward too rapidly, before he was ready.

But the galaxy was in chaos. He could not ignore this fact, could not hide from it. There was no formal training facility where he could learn and polish his unusual craft. He’d had to discover and perfect the highly specialized skills on the job, during times of crisis. Noah had escaped to the starcloud without a moment to spare. But he had been unable to stand and fight, a situation he had found frustrating.

Now the injured portions of the cocoon were healed, though as he looked around the space station itself, he saw that a tremendous amount of restoration work remained to be done. The robots had patched some of the breaks in the hulls, and had completed some basic repairs to the gravity generators, plumbing system, electrical connections, and air circulators. The bodies had been taken away and buried, but on the floor of the Grand Ballroom he still saw splotches of dried blood in both red and purple, evidence of the traumatic deaths that had occurred here.

Peripherally, he noticed Thinker enter the chamber, moving more smoothly and quietly than before. He seemed to have repaired his own loose parts. “I was looking all over for you, Master,” he said.

“And Tesh?”

“I escorted her back to
Webdancer
. She’s very determined to continue her piloting duties, even with the news of her pregnancy.”

Noah bristled. “There are no secrets from you, are there?”

“As your authorized biographer, I require such information. I think Tesh rather likes me, and I feel the same about her. I asked her if everything was all right, and she told me about the baby.”

“Maybe you’d like to marry her and take my place.”

“Oh! I could never do that, Master.” He paused. “I just came to let you know she is safe.”

“Thank you.”

“Would you like me to leave you alone?”

“No, you might as well observe what I’m about to do firsthand. I thought I would do a little cleaning up around here.”

“You mean for exercise? Wouldn’t you like me to send for robots to do it?”

“We’ll see,” Noah said.

The windows of this ballroom had once looked out on the planet Canopa, and on the twinkling vastness of space. Now they were covered by the podship skin of the cocoon. Noah found a place where the windowplax had been broken away, and which was now sealed by the amalgamated Aopoddae. Walking over there, he looked more closely, and touched the mottled gray-and-black skin. This time, he did not seek or permit the inflow of raw Aopoddae data. Instead, he had something else in mind, something he hoped would help him on the journey to understand the podship race.

The cocoon flesh softened to his touch. He let go, and the flesh oozed back into the ballroom in a thin film, flowing down the outer wall and onto the floor, where it pooled around Noah’s feet. With his free hand, he pointed to the overturned and broken furnishings, to the dried blood, to the dents and breaks in the walls and windows. More alien cellular material flowed out of the break in the plax where he had touched it, and covered the floor. Thinker scrambled out into the corridor, but kept looking in through the doorway.

All around Noah, objects began to change as they were touched by the podship flesh. Everything became gray and veiny black, and just as he had anticipated, new forms began to take shape—a central platform, and rows of chairs extending outward from it. He had always wondered how podships altered the internal configurations of their vessels, and now he was experiencing it directly as the amalgamated creature created an auditorium for him. It looked like another version of a room that might be onboard a podship.

“Marvelous!” Thinker exclaimed from the corridor.

“You’re witnessing the rebirth of EcoStation,” Noah said. “In the future it will again be a school for galactic ecologists, but on a much larger scale than it ever was before, as an inspiration for all races to restore and maintain the ecological health of the galaxy. Like me, the space station is evolving.”

“Don’t forget me,” Thinker said, as Noah freed himself from the liquefied flesh and joined him in the corridor. “I’ve evolved too,” the robot insisted.

“We’re all doing it together,” Noah said. He strode to the next large area of the space station, Lorenzo’s former Audience Chamber. Utilizing podship flesh from another break in the hull, Noah soon created an Astronomical Projection Chamber, in which he would demonstrate the motions and connectivity of star systems, planets, and other cosmic bodies. Compliantly, the Aopoddae formed the basic enclosure according to his specifications, and much of the furnishings—all attached to the expanding cocoon. When circumstances permitted it, Noah would later bring in the technological devices. But this was the framework he wanted, the canvas on which he would paint his eco-picture.

For the rest of the day, he and Thinker moved from module to module and chamber to chamber, where Noah put himself in direct contact with the podship flesh and made the alterations he wanted. In the process, he was restoring EcoStation, bringing it back from its own near-death. He realized as he did this that he might have just envisioned the whole project at once, but he didn’t want to speed it up. There were subtleties in the control he exerted over the alien flesh. He and the cocooned Aopoddae were getting to know one another, learning how to work together, making the procedures more efficient.

When the work was nearly complete, Noah and the robot stood inside one of the new classroom modules, where Noah had set up the raw framework of learning stations for his students. Looking around with a degree of satisfaction, he realized,
I am learning at my own school.
And he knew this was as it should be. Even the wisest and most accomplished people still had many things to learn. That held true for robots, too, as they continually updated their data banks, always advancing their operating systems and memory cores.

During the restoration of EcoStation, Thinker had been adding what he observed to his data banks. Noah had kept the cerebral robot with him for this, and for other reasons. This intelligent machine was the smartest of all of them, an excellent and faithful adviser. And, though Noah was not intentionally allowing new Aopoddae data to flow into him, he remained concerned about making a serious mistake, perhaps through some communication problem. At least Thinker was always nearby if necessary, to relieve any overload on Noah’s brain. But would that be enough? He wasn’t sure, but it gave him concern. Maybe something like that, the overwhelming power of the psychic flow, could actually kill him. And if Noah died, he could not advance, could not achieve what he needed to do.

Sensing something, he touched the podship flesh at a learning station desk, then used the multiple eyes of the creatures to gaze far out into space. Something was approaching fast, bearing down on the Tulyan Starcloud. He looked closer. It was a Parvii swarm, the biggest one he had ever seen. Somehow, they had regenerated and were coming back in force.

He sensed a disturbance in the starcloud as the mindlinked Tulyans detected the approaching danger from their mortal enemy. The immense swarm neared at high speed, and split into divisions that veered out to the sides, to attack from different directions.

They struck with stunning speed. Blue bursts of energy came from the center of each swarm. Telepathic artillery. Some of their shots hit the thick skin of the cocoon, and Noah heard the pain of the amalgamated podships.

He turned the unarmed cocoon around and retreated into the starcloud. Mindlink opened and let him in, like a cosmic gate. It shut behind him, then guided him to a safer position. Moments later, he saw comets and meteors streak by him in eerie silence, heading out against the swarms. Hundreds of armed Liberator podships also surged out to join the battle, ships that had been assigned to protect the starcloud and the caretaking crews that came and went. Noah wanted to contribute to the effort, but could only watch.

Frustrated, he turned to Thinker and asked, “How are you coming in deciphering the Aopoddae data? It’s important.”

“I know, and I have been able to decipher a few additional fragments,” the robot said. “In the midst of all the other data, I found an even more heavily encrypted section, like an armored core of data. I don’t know if I can ever get into that part. The podships still harbor doubts about you concerning the release of this particular information, uncertainties about whether or not you are a person they can fully trust.”

“Keep trying to find out what it is,” Noah said.

He touched a nearby bulkhead, and through a Timeweb link he saw the raging battle. At least he could access the paranormal dimension at will now. He watched the swarms dive forward into the onslaught of defensive weapons that the Tulyans threw at them. To his dismay, he saw mindlink seem to weaken. Holes in it opened up, and tiny invaders surged through.

But Noah soon saw that it was a Tulyan trap. Any swarms that got through mindlink soon detonated in puffs of white, while other swarms beyond the starcloud fled from the pursuing comets and meteors. Noah estimated that the Parviis lost half their force before they turned and retreated into space.

He knew they would be back, and probably in even greater numbers the next time. Somehow they had regenerated their population at an incredible rate.

Chapter Sixty-Four

Most legends are designed to fit the needs of those in power. But there have been notable historical exceptions, and they can be the most significant of all.

—Finding of the Galactic Study Group, subcommittee on religion

A bleak, gray sky hung over the Golden Palace.

In the medical room on the top floor, Hari’Adab’s mood matched the weather. When not attending to his duties as the Mutati ruler, he spent every available moment at Parais’ side. It occurred to him now, as he looked at the quivering mass of flesh and dark feathers on the bed, that this remarkable aeromutati was really his top
professional
priority. It wasn’t just personal, because he was nothing as an Emir without her guidance and love. Now and then he’d been attending the military strategy meetings with Mutatis, Humans, and Tulyans, but he had not really been
there
. He had not been all that he should be in the high position he held, all that his people deserved.

As Parais faded, so did he, along with all of his abilities to lead and inspire others. He knew he should step aside, and in effect he had done exactly that, because he had been turning over more and more command duties and decisions to Kajor Yerto Bhaleen. It seemed ironic to Hari that he—always a pacifist at heart—would come to rely so heavily on a military officer. At one time, he never would have considered such an action. But that had been before he faced the stark realities of command that were arrayed before him now, with the extreme pressures of political and military responsibility weighed against his personal and emotional needs.

I am only a Mutati
, he thought.
A bunch of feelings and desires in a cellular package.
As a shapeshifter, Hari knew he could alter his appearance, making himself look carefree and happy, but it would only be the thinnest veneer. He wouldn’t waste his time doing that, so he’d only been modifying his cellular structure occasionally in small ways, to keep his same basic appearance while not permitting the cells to lock into any one position. His mind and heart, though, the engine of his soul, were shutting down, preparing to lock everything into death.

On the surface, he was dressed differently today. For the strategy meeting he’d just left, he had worn a gold-and-black dress uniform, which he still had on. Having received intelligence information on the location of the main HibAdu fleet, Doge Anton and the officers were planning a major military assault. The meeting was still going on, down the corridor. He heard the clamor of their voices, through open doors. That morning there had been some disagreements—different war philosophies between Humans and Mutatis. But Hari expected the participants to iron them out. The spirit of cooperation among all of the allies—Human, Mutati, and Tulyan—was very strong.

For some time now the Liberators had been sending podships to neutral worlds around the galaxy, rounding up Humans and Mutatis who happened to be living there … calling for volunteers and specialists. Many of the Mutatis were proving to be particularly valuable, since they could disguise themselves as any race, even as Hibbils and Adurians. That was how the Liberators had now learned the location of the enemy fleet—in the distant Kandor Sector.

Hari knew his ceremonial uniform gave him a more official and commanding appearance, and in part he had chosen it today for that very reason. But he had another. The costume included a ceremonial sword—the same one he’d almost used after the disastrous destruction of Paradij, when he had intended to kill himself for his culpability in that matter. He’d placed the point of the weapon against his belly, and had been ready to fall on it. But Parais had knocked the sword away, saving his life and telling him he needed to live for the sake of the Mutati people, preventing another fanatic like his father from ruling.

This time, she could not save him. The sword and its scabbard lay on the table by the bed, beside Parais’ personal copy of the sacred Mutati book,
The Holy Writ
. After his failed suicide attempt, the two of them had placed their hands on that very book and shared a prayer.

But this he had not shared with her, his vow: If she died, he would follow her soon afterward.

Hari knew he could only lead his people with Parais at his side, and he had only continued to hold the titular title of Emir in the hope that she would recover. Gazing upon her now, feeling the faint, weakening pulse of her skin, he was losing all hope. Increasingly, he found himself unable to think of anything but a bleak future.

With each passing day, Parais looked less and less recognizable. Only when she occasionally emerged from her pain and looked at him with her gentle brown eyes could he ever confirm it was her. She had done that the evening before, but now the eyes had sunken back into the flesh, and he only had a vague sense of where they were. Tragically, she was almost entirely unidentifiable, with only a ghost of her facial features remaining, as if they had been scoured off.

Removing the sword from the scabbard, Hari touched his finger to the sharp blade. Purple blood trickled from his skin and dripped on the floor.

In a few seconds he could be dead. So easy, so inviting.

But he almost heard her scolding words. That would be the easy course, she’d say, the coward’s way out. Death was always easier than life from a personal standpoint, but for those who remained behind after the event, it was much more difficult.

Hari’Adab rose to his feet. Ponderously, he resheathed the sword and clipped it onto his belt.

For Parais, I will take the more difficult path. I will live
.
For her, and for my people.

And he vowed to never again reach this state of personal despair, not even if she died. If Parais’ life ever meant anything—and it
did
—he had to follow her wishes. She would want him to be strong.

On the bed, he saw the hulk breathing, but barely. He tried to distance himself from his darkest feelings, told himself that he had to.

I shall not be selfish
, he thought.

Then he realized that he was still, in a way, actually being selfish, since he was also concerned about his legacy, what future generations of his people would think of him. He had already killed billions of Mutatis, the unwanted collateral effect of assassinating his own father. His people had died accidentally, to be certain, a terrible mistake. But in the process—and Hari struggled once more to convince himself of this—he had saved trillions more across the entire Mutati Sector. His father had been a complete madman. Everyone with any brains knew that.

Feeling stronger now, Hari returned to the meeting. The participants fell silent as he entered. Holding his head high, the Emir strode across the room and sat next to Doge Anton.

“How is Parais?” Anton asked.

“The same. Thank you for asking.” Looking around the room, Hari added, “I’m sorry if I was distracted before. I’m ready to perform my duties now. Parais is with me here.” Fighting back his emotions, he patted his own chest, over his heart.

“That’s good,” Anton said, “but know this. We share your pain.”

“Thank you.”

The military discussions resumed. General Nirella and Kajor Bhaleen got into a disagreement over military strategy, over how much force should be applied in the initial assault against the HibAdus. Nirella wanted to keep major assets in reserve, to protect the planets and star systems they now held, but Bhaleen disagreed.

“What use is it to hold onto what little we have?” he asked. “Two Human planets, plus Yaree and the Tulyan Starcloud. The Tulyans just held off a large Parvii assault, so they’re proving their own defensive capabilities. If only their mindlink was strong away from the starcloud, we could spread them around. But mindlink weakens dramatically in other galactic sectors, so I agree that the Tulyan defenders are most effective remaining where they are. But if we’re ever going to succeed in this war, we need to hit the enemy with all the other forces we have, and make them hurt. At last, we have solid information that the main HibAdu fleet is in the Kandor Sector. There is not a moment to spare.”

“For what it’s worth, I agree.” The rotund Subi Danvar, one of Noah Watanabe’s representatives at the meeting, stood up. “I’ve spent my life thinking about security, trying to protect what we have and where we are. But what point is that if our diluted forces cause us to lose everything anyway? I say we throw everything we have at the bastards, and not to just hurt them. We need to
annihilate
them!”

A clamor of disagreement arose in the room. Gradually, the advocates of a more aggressive approach drowned out the others. Doge Anton and Hari’Adab both stayed out of it, watching and listening.

Then Anton rose and stood by Subi and the other officers, Human and Mutati, who had gathered around Kajor Bhaleen, to support his position. “What is a military force for, if not to attack?” the Doge asked.

The rationale of his words still left room for debate, but the opponents of massive force had no more wind in their sails. Grudgingly, General Nirella stood and went to her husband’s side.

“There is one thing more,” Hari’Adab said. He remained seated. “From now on, the forces of the Mutati Kingdom will be named the Parais Division. She will be the inspiration for me, and for my fighters. I’m going into battle with them.”

“She will be an inspiration for all of us,” Doge Anton said. “Before we’re finished, we’ll emancipate
all
Human and Mutati planets, and free our people that have been enslaved. The Hibbils and Adurians will regret ever turning against us with their traitorous schemes!”

Clapping and cheering carried across the floor. Hari hoped that Parais could hear it, and that she would find the strength to hold on.