Timeweb Trilogy Omnibus (134 page)

Now, standing on the asteroid, Eshaz opened his hands and scattered green dust onto the problem area. Then, extending his clenched fists upward, he uttered an ancient incantation designed to cure this defect.

As he waited to see if the treatment would work, Eshaz felt like an artist on a scaffold, a Michelangelo of sorts, but working on the ceiling of the galaxy instead of in the Sistine Chapel. Moments passed, and to his satisfaction the asteroid began to break free, and with his alternate vision he saw the web strands reattaching themselves, healing. One task completed among many.

Agryt drifted close by, parallel to the motion of the asteroid. Eshaz leaped onto the back of the podship, and then dropped down through a hatch.

These were days without end, of moving from one crisis spot to the next, for as long as the Tulyans could sustain themselves to complete the immense tasks they had undertaken. Eshaz felt part of a larger whole, and a larger importance. He felt no fatigue and knew he never would, not as long as he maintained his focus.

Like a patient on a vast hospital bed, the galaxy kept breathing fitfully. Eshaz only hoped it was not a deathbed.

Chapter Thirty

Many take credit for successes, but are nowhere to be found when it is time to assess blame.

—Anonymous

The Eye of the Swarm could not determine when or where his race had slipped onto the path of disaster, or how much he might have contributed to it personally. After the initial shock of realization, he had tried to diminish his personal responsibility for what had gone wrong, convincing himself that he had only done what other leaders had done before him.

But he realized quickly that this was utter foolishness. To correct the present situation, he first had to fully admit his own culpability, and then find a way to resurrect ancient Parvii glories. As long as his people lived and were capable of breeding, the restoration of the fallen race remained a possibility, albeit a faint one.

The after-effects of the cataclysm were all around him now, and apparent to anyone. His once magnificent Parvii swarms—decillions of individuals—now amounted to less than one hundred and ninety-four thousand.

But after creating the telepathic bubble in which the remaining population could huddle without detection from outside, there had been some welcome signs of improvement. The death rate had slowed, and inside the comparative warmth of the invisible enclosure one of the latent breeding specialists was returning to consciousness at this very moment and was expected to join Yurtii, the latent war priest who had recently become aware of his ancient identity. In these two and in the five remaining latents, the future of the Parvii race hung. His people needed to fight back, but to accomplish that they first needed their numbers to increase dramatically.

And something more occurred to him now. It was important.
Next time, I will divide the swarms into independent telepathic divisions,
Woldn thought.
That could help prevent the massive die-off that we experienced. Of course, it will mean sharing my power—or at least delegating some of it—but perhaps that is important to do.

Increasingly, it seemed to him that the old ways, while revered and magical in the collective memories of his people, might not always be best. The Parviis, he realized, had been in a long and gradual decline, and the results of their cumulative weakness now placed them on the brink of extinction.

Like a parent observing the birth of a child, Woldn watched a naked boy emerge from the protected cluster of Parviis at the core of the swarm. It was not a new birth, at least not in the physical sense, but mentally and spiritually it was entirely new. And entirely old. Though their telepathic linkage, Woldn learned the ancient name of the breeding specialist that was coming back to consciousness:
Imho
.

Again, as with the war priest Yurtii earlier, the name was at first unfamiliar to Woldn, meaning that this was not one of the most famous of the ancients. But it was someone of significance, anyway, a highly valued breeding expert.

Looking at Woldn, the child blinked his eyes and said, “Knowledge is power, but only if used properly. Otherwise, it can be a curse.” His slender body trembled slightly.

“Already you are wiser than I,” Woldn said with a smile. He paused, sensing an ancient stirring in the minds of the other latent breeding specialists, like psychic creatures coming out of a long hibernation.

But the other latent war priest, huddled with them, had no ancient thoughts. So far, he was only a modern boy. At least he was holding steady physically. For a time his host body had declined precipitously. But then, on the verge of death, he had rallied. Perhaps—and Woldn had no proof of this—it was because an ancient being wanted to come back. Maybe it would be one of the great war priests, as Yurtii had suggested.

“I feel the flow,” Imho said, “breeding data surging into my mind, a flood of it.” He paused, and his face filled with a beatific reverie.

One of the older females flew close to the boy. She wrapped a warm blue cloak around him, then guided him over to where Yurtii looked on. Woldn dared to feel a surge of hope. The two of them were of different specializations, but in ancient times war priests and breeding specialists had worked closely together, albeit in much larger numbers.

For the Parviis, the present challenge was all about numbers, and about developing them as rapidly as possible. More bodies and minds meant more power, for only in multitudes could the devastatingly violent telepathic weapons of old be resurrected.

Breeding and war, with each specialization feeding necessarily upon the other. Historically it had been true with many races, and so too with the Parviis. It was a nice balance of life and death, an exquisite concept, and truly beautiful in the application.

With renewed determination, Woldn probed telepathically to the core of the clustered Parviis, to the four latent breeding specialists and the one latent war priest there.

At long last, the second war priest began to stir, along with the other breeding specialists.…

Chapter Thirty-One

We are each of us only seconds away from committing violence.

—Ancient saying

Moments before the emergency on the mini-sub, the Hibbil had been staring at patterns of freckles and moles on the sides of Lorenzo del Velli’s neck, visible in cabin illumination whenever the gray-haired old man turned his head one way or the other. For some reason, Pimyt had never noticed the patterns previously, but as the boat proceeded through murky underwater darkness, he became fixated on them.

His red-eyed gaze moved upward, along the side of the man’s face and back down again. A hand came into view as Lorenzo gestured with it while speaking to one of the two Red Beret soldiers seated at the front, the larger man who was not piloting the sub. Lorenzo’s hand had more flesh-fat than the Hibbil had noticed previously, and he felt saliva building in his mouth. An involuntary, anticipatory response that Pimyt had usually suppressed before, trying to put such primal urges out of his mind. But now, in this remote subterranean region of an unnamed planet, new possibilities seemed open to him. Actions he had not dared to seriously consider before, whenever he and Lorenzo interacted over the years.

Prior to the recent turn of events, Pimyt had been focused inward, on the schemes of the HibAdu Coalition and on the important role he played in them. In conjunction with that, he’d been forced to deal with the constant demands of this difficult Human nobleman, doing so in a manner that would keep Lorenzo from noticing the Hibbil’s true intentions. Playing his part with consummate skill, Pimyt had remained near the important merchant prince, poised to take him prisoner the moment the Coalition was ready to make their move.

Now, for all Pimyt knew, HibAdu forces had already made their attacks on merchant prince and shapeshifter planets. Just before the space station hurtled into this unknown realm, his military leaders had been saying that an important announcement was imminent. If the attacks had been made, or were underway now, certain opportunities might already be available to him. His gaze moved to the two soldiers at the front, especially to the heavyset one on the right who was talking with Lorenzo. Pimyt visualized blood gushing from the severed arteries of all three Humans, and their startled eyes as they looked at the vicious Hibbil and wondered what was happening to them.

I’m much faster than they realize
, Pimyt thought.
In the blink of an eye, I could kill all of them.

The moisture buildup in his mouth increased, but he forced control over himself, having second thoughts that he might not be able to pilot the sub adequately in this underground waterway. His carnivorous pleasures would have to wait. He smiled to himself, though. It had been fun letting his imagination run for a while.

Suddenly Pimyt became aware of the mini-sub shooting forward, and the engines being thrown into reverse. The pilot issued a volley of curses. Through the windshield, Pimyt saw filtered light ahead, and realized that they were back on the surface of the water again, with a very high cavern ceiling above them.

“Waterfall!” the soldier beside him shouted.

The engines surged and tugged, but the vessel kept going forward, caught in a powerful current. The sound of the engines intensified and increased in pitch, until finally they seemed to catch hold of something. The sub went backward slowly, and veered to one side, toward the bank. On this section, the stream had become a river, and was considerably wider than their embarkation point.

As the pilot guided the craft toward a low shelf of rock on one side, Pimyt gazed in astonishment at a huge subterranean cavern that dwarfed the waterfall and the tiny vessel. The cavern appeared to be illuminated from within, with eerie, pale blue light coming from crystalline walls and stalactite deposits that hung like icicles from above. Across the waterway he saw what looked like another waterfall drop-off, undoubtedly tumbling like the nearer one into a pool somewhere far below.

The mini-sub slid up onto the rock shelf, and came to a safe stop. Relieved for the moment, they all got out of the vessel and walked around in the strange blue illumination, looking up at the luminous ceiling in wonder, gasping in awe at something they’d never seen before.

Abruptly, the rock shook around them, and stalactites began to fall from the ceiling, crashing around them on the rocky floor and splashing into the water. “Quick!” Pimyt yelled. “Back in the sub, or we’ll be trapped here!”

As they ran for the vessel, a stalactite smashed down on the larger Red Beret soldier, crushing him to death. Dodging and leaping over debris, the three others hurried back to the sub. They slid the craft back into the water and boarded. Within moments, the hatch was closed and they were underway, submerging as far as they could and going back the way they had come.

To Pimyt, the return trip seemed interminable. Chunks of rock kept falling into the water, as if an enemy was dropping depth charges from above, trying to hit them. The pilot had to make evasive maneuvers, but one of the pieces glanced off the hull, sending them off course. Still, he recovered quickly, and they continued on.

Finally, the pilot confirmed their location from the instruments and surfaced at the embarkation point, in the narrow stretch of waterway. With the ground still shaking, the desperate trio—with Pimyt in the lead—scrambled out and ran up the ramp of dirt to the surface.

The Hibbil was considerably faster than his companions, which elicited a breathless reprimand from Lorenzo: “Slow down, Pimyt … and make sure I get out!”

Pimyt ignored him, but heard the soldier say, “I’ll help you, Sire.” The slender Red Beret had remained back with the merchant prince.

Sputtering in anger, Lorenzo continued up the slope.

When all three of them were at the top, the former doge started into a harangue at Pimyt, but fell silent when the ground shook even harder, and the hole closed behind them. Over at the landing site, the shuttle hovered just above the ground, awaiting the return of the exploration team.

The shaking intensified, but the shuttle set down on the ground again anyway, where it rocked and threatened to topple over. Six soldiers jumped out and helped Lorenzo, Pimyt, and the submarine pilot onto the shuttle. Without further delay, the craft lifted into the sky.

Gazing out a porthole, Pimyt felt the engines running roughly, so that the pilot had to rev them higher to keep going up. He watched the ground shudder and change shape below. And above, where they were headed, Pimyt saw the lights of the space station flickering on and off.

Then, in a bright green flash, the space station disappeared.

Chapter Thirty-Two

The universe is the brain of God.

—Ancient saying

“You boys keep your eyes open, all right?” Subi Danvar said. “Noah is worried about you.” The adjutant had taken time away from his busy schedule to see Dux and Acey off as they prepared to leave the palace grounds.

“We can take care of ourselves,” Acey said, sticking out his chin with determination. He and his cousin wore variweather coats that were adaptable to temperature and weather changes, and small backpacks.

They stood by the main entry gate, where Red Beret robots stood guard. Nearby, other robots and Humans looked on, waiting to talk with Subi.

The rotund man frowned. He looked up as a squadron of MPA patrol aircraft flew overhead, then said, “I’m sending someone with you. All of us think a lot of you, so we’ve assigned one of our machines to accompany you.”

He gestured, and a small, dull brown robot approached, with green and yellow lights flashing around its face plate. Dux noticed that some of the lights weren’t working, and saw a number of dents on the body. That didn’t necessarily mean anything, or it could suggest a lack of recent servicing.

“This is Kekur,” Subi said. “He served with great distinction under Jimu, and he will be of great use to you.”

“Is he armed?” Dux asked, noting compartments on the robot’s body, where weapons might be carried.