Timeweb Trilogy Omnibus (139 page)

“What is causing it?”

“I have much to tell you, dear Lady. The entire galaxy is in chaos, and what we are experiencing here is just part of it. On a more personal note, two of my most loyal young Guardians—a pair of teenage cousins—are in the danger zone on Siriki. We’re sending a rescue mission to find them. Hopefully, still alive.”

Gesturing back at her companions, Meghina said, “I have much to tell you, as well. We are the six immortals who took the elixir. For what it’s worth, we seem to be indestructible.”

“I have the same condition,” Noah said, “and I’m not sure what good it does against the tremendous odds we all face.”

“To live forever might not be the best thing,” she said, somberly.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

We are dispatching web repair crews to each galactic disaster zone as quickly as possible, but the task is overwhelming. Yet through all of this adversity we must maintain a positive face, especially when interacting with our allies. It would not be in our interest—nor that of any other galactic race—for us to spread pessimism.

—Confidential dispatch, Tulyan Council of Elders

In his natural fleshy state, the Mutati left his private quarters on the flagship and made his way forward. There was a matter he needed to take care of.

Hari’Adab had not been pleased with a number of things, among them the fact that he and his girlfriend Parais had been forcibly separated. Though Doge Anton had seemed pleasant enough in their meetings, he had nonetheless ordered this action against the two lovers. On one level, Hari understood the decision, since Humans and Mutatis had long been mortal enemies. But on another, more personal level, he hated it, and despised the Humans who had done it to him. Not hatred in the psychotic, destructive sense his father had felt, but the young doge’s action showed a lack of respect for Hari’s status as the Mutati leader, and a lack of trust.

There had also been the matter of the fake sisters of Princess Meghina, the Mutati infiltrators. Hari had not known about that in advance, and could only surmise that it was a plan his father had carried out before his death—or which some hard-core Mutati fanatics had fostered afterward. Both he and Parais had proved their innocence in the matter, and had been restored to a degree of freedom, although it still involved strict controls and oversight.

He sighed. In the present circumstance, Humans and Tulyans had the upper hand, and perhaps it should be that way. His own father, and a long line of Zultans before him, had caused a lot of damage … and that could not be repaired overnight.

On the regular courier trips between Dij and Canopa, at least, Hari and Parais had been permitted to exchange personal messages … transmittals that were undoubtedly checked by censors and xenocryptologists. At least she had reported signs of progress, because Noah Watanabe had said on several occasions that he trusted her, and that he would talk to Doge Anton about getting her assignments that were befitting of her station and her talents.

That was something, anyway.

The Emir took a gray-black stairway to an upper level. It always amazed him to see the living spaceship around him, with its slightly pulsing walls and protruding surfaces, and the way it sometimes altered itself to fit the needs of the passengers.

Initially, Hari had been irritated by the presence of the “military chaperones” that were sent along with him on the mission to Dij. There had been moments of stress whenever he tried to assert himself with them, testing the limits of his freedom and authority. A number of Human MPA military officers had been assigned to him, including mid-level chetens, kajors, and even two vice-generals, but for the most part they seemed to cooperate with him. To an extent. They often had to go off somewhere away by themselves and obtain permission to follow “orders” that Hari gave to them, but invariably they came back and agreed to do as he wished, with only a few minor modifications.

In the weeks they had been together on this mission, Hari had gotten to know, and like, many of the officers and soldiers.

The robots, however, were a different matter, and quite irritating. Nothing he wanted done about them could be handled through the Human officers. Everything had to go through the Captain of the sentient machines, a black, patched-together robot named Jimu. That one seemed to have more than one screw loose, and to make matters worse, he reported directly to Doge Anton. Having been assigned to Hari’s flagship, Jimu was always there, studying Hari with glowing yellow eyes that alternately dimmed and brightened in a peculiar, unsettling fashion. Usually, Hari tried not to think about him, but that was not always possible. Jimu had a peculiar way of insinuating himself into situations.

It was happening right now, in fact, as Hari and the robot stood face to face on the command bridge of the flagship.

“Now see here,” the Emir said. “I don’t deserve to be treated this way.”

“You are a Mutati.” The mechanical words were delivered in a particularly flat tone, even for a robot.

“I want to inspect other worlds now,” Hari said. It was the subject of their latest dispute, a debate that had been going on all morning. “We’ll leave half the force to watch over Dij, and take the rest with us.”

“The fleet cannot be divided.”

“But I’m making perfect sense. I discussed it with Vice-General Dressen, and he seemed to agree with my assessment.”

“I assume he explained the line of authority to you?”

“Yes, yes. Technically he outranks you, but on this mission you report directly to Doge Anton, just as he does.”

“And I have been ordered that the fleet is not to be divided. If the Vice-General disagrees with that, he can take it up with the Doge himself.”

“He already has, as you well know—and the Doge is taking your side, though I can’t figure out why. But if you would only listen to reason. My idea is our best course of action.”

“You are a Mutati.”

“Damn you, stop saying that! We are allies now, so the racial tag means nothing.”

“The fleet cannot be divided.”

“All right, damn it! Then I want to take all of it to other worlds, on an inspection tour. There’s obviously no action for us here.”

“The enemy watches our every move, and responds.”

“Dij already held out against them. We’re not needed here anyway.”

The robot’s eyes flashed. “It’s not known how large a force the enemy committed to Dij in the last battle. You could be making a tactical mistake.”

“There are many other important Mutati worlds that I’m concerned about. I must do whatever is necessary to rescue them as well.”

“This can be done, if the fleet is kept intact.”

“Yes, yes. By nightfall, I want to set course for Uhadeen, one of our most important military strongholds. Apparently it has fallen, but I intend to change that.”

“By nightfall,” the robot agreed. “We leave nothing behind.”

* * * * *

After they departed, one day passed. Then, in a lightning military strike, Dij fell to a massive onslaught of HibAdu forces.

Ambassador VV Uncel received the good news—transmitted by HibAdu nehrcom—while he was on the Adurian homeworld, submitting yet another report to his superiors. Now he crossed the marbelite floor of the spaceport at a brisk pace. Through the glax of double doors ahead, he saw a lab-pod sitting on the landing field, ready to take him to Dij for an inspection tour. A number of Hibbils and Adurians were boarding it. He crowded onboard with them, and found a seat that had been reserved for him at the front of the passenger compartment. The food-service machines were better in this section than those at the rear, as were the seats and lavatory accommodations.

Getting up, he obtained a Vanadian pear from one of the machines and then returned to his seat. The lab-pod engines whined to life.

As he munched on the crispy fruit, Uncel considered the rapid pace of activity surrounding the war effort. His own HibAdu leaders were most peculiar, indeed. A triumvirate of freaks who didn’t reveal their identities until two weeks ago. Ambassador VV Uncel shuddered at the thought of the horrific hybrids created in a genetics laboratory, and at the thought of what might happen to him if they ever read the recent memories in his cells. Thus far, it had only happened once, at the onset of the Coalition. He had been positive in those days, and somewhat naive, he realized in hindsight.

Ever since the beginning of this alliance between Hibbils and Adurians, Uncel had been curious about who was running everything. Many times he’d wondered why they were concealing themselves from him, when his years of loyal service and social status should have allowed him entrance to their inner circle. In a peculiar, disturbing fashion, all of his orders had been sent to him through intermediaries. Never in person, and never was he ever treated with the respect he so richly deserved.

But Uncel was a professional, through and through. He never complained to anyone about being kept at a distance by his superiors, about only being told pieces of information and never knowing the complete picture, never knowing the really important things. Year after year he just continued to do his job efficiently, everything the freaks had ordered him to do through intermediaries.

Now, though, he worried that their brains were as abnormal as their appearance. How could leaders be created in a laboratory? Didn’t that make someone else their boss? Who could that possibly be? A genetic scientist, or group of them?

One of the three monstrosities—Premier Enver—had suggested that a new race of bizarre laboratory-bred creatures might be created. Hybrid “HibAdus,” produced from the genetic stock of Hibbils and Adurians. Previously, the name HibAdu had only meant a somewhat arcane political entity to Uncel. Now it referred to something entirely different. Something decidedly darker.

Not that Uncel considered himself any sort of a moral icon. Morality and ethics were concepts he didn’t think about much at all. His primary concerns, in order, were himself and the political structure that supported the lifestyle to which he’d grown accustomed. With his niche seemingly secure, he had kept going, doing whatever he was told. But now, with the talk of creating a new race of freaks—how soon?—he felt an army of worry marching on his brain, making more and more inroads, like little guerrilla attacks. He didn’t want to think about such things.

As the lab-pod went into hover mode and prepared to set down in the main city on Dij, the Ambassador gazed out the window at blackened hulks of buildings and military equipment. With a soft bump, the craft set down on a charred landing pad, near the bodies of Mutati soldiers that lay in disarray, their flesh melted away. These defenders, while a stubborn and resourceful lot, had finally been defeated by Adurian personnel bombs that had incinerated them. Now carrion birds picked at the grisly remains.

Wrinkling his nose at the odor, Uncel walked past the bodies. On the landing field he noticed other lab-pods on the ground, with each of the vessels disgorging hundreds of Hibbil and Adurian passengers—military and civilian. Everyone was heading for the nearby city, taking a wide conveyor walkway that had either not been damaged in the attack or which has been repaired afterward.

Disembarking at the central square, the Ambassador paused to watch his Hibbil allies devouring Mutati flesh. He’d heard about such disgusting practices, of course, but had never seen them firsthand. Curious, he moved closer, as did other Adurian onlookers. Then, surprisingly, some of the Adurian soldiers joined in, tasting the flesh of their dead enemies.

“Come on, Ambassador!” a Hibbil soldier shouted. “Get some for yourself! The meat is sweet!”

Grudgingly, like a person tasting an unusual food for the first time, the diplomat waded in, stepping over purple puddles of Mutati blood. A Hibbil soldier handed him a dripping slab of fatty flesh.

At first, Uncel just nibbled at the corner, and found it surprisingly succulent and not repulsive. Delicious, he decided, with another nibble. Soon he had devoured the entire morsel and was reaching down to rip off bigger chunks for himself. All around him, the diners grinned and grunted to each other, with purple goo dripping down their chins and all over their clothes.

Already, Uncel found himself developing a taste for the fleshy meat, and he even pushed some of the other people out of the way to get more for himself.

That evening, at a banquet where Mutati flesh was prepared according to gourmet standards, Uncel heard details of biological weapons that he’d only previously heard about as rumors. On Dij and other conquered planets—to make them easier to rule by reducing their populations—the HibAdus had unleashed bioweapons that either killed or permanently sedated Humans and Mutatis. A variety of weapons and delivery systems were employed, the most deadly of which were plague bombs, which were dropped from lab-pods and detonated in mid-air, spreading their spores over entire planets.

Billions of the enemy had been infected, though the resourceful Humans had eventually developed antidotes for their own race. Thus far, the Mutatis had been far less fortunate.

* * * * *

Far across the galaxy, a Hibbil workman stood on a motoladder, having elevated it to its highest setting so that he could see one of the top shelves in the warehouse. Reaching to the back of the shelf, he slid a dusty weapon-control box forward and examined it. An engraved code told him the date of manufacture and certain quality control details.

“Did you think we forgot about you?” he asked, talking to the unit as if it were alive. “Have you been hiding back there, trying to stay out of battle? Well, there’s been a malfunction in one of the front-line units, and you’re finally going to get your chance to prove yourself.”

Using a robotic arm on the ladder, the worker moved the heavy panel box down to the floor of the warehouse and piled it with a number of other replacement components that were going to be installed in HibAdu warships.

Inside the unit, a little robot heard the words, but said nothing, and did not make a sound.

At last
, Ipsy thought.
I’m going to get my chance
!