Timeweb Trilogy Omnibus (162 page)

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.

Chapter Sixty-Five

The Eye of the Swarm appears to have a new method of breeding Parviis that enables him to breed large masses of his people quickly. We don’t know the details, but this much seems clear: The young swarms are not able to generate sufficient telepathic power for the weapons they need. The multi-input weapons fire, but have diminished impact. Perhaps that will improve with time when the swarms mature. But as they progress, so must we, to counteract and destroy them. Complacency is our biggest enemy of all.

—Report to the Tulyan Council of Elders

In the student dining hall, Noah touched the podship skin that covered a window opening. As he did so, the surface became filmy, so that he could see through it, as if it were a porthole on a podship. He let go, and the window remained.

He had again moved the cocoon out into space, just beyond the misty starcloud, because he wanted to perform his own experiments there, not interfering with the mindlink defensive system. Through the window, he saw Tulyans and elements of the Liberator fleet performing battle maneuvers in the sunlight, coordinating mindlink telepathic weapons and the firepower of armed podships.

All of the key leaders and most of the podships were at the starcloud now, for critical preparations. On an emergency basis, General Nirella had obtained the cooperation of the Tulyan Council to arm much more of the caretaking fleet than the original allotments. With the cooperation not only of the Tulyans but of the mysterious Aopoddae, this conversion was accomplished in a matter of days. The military force under Anton’s command now amounted to more than one hundred and ten thousand podships, with the remainder assigned to the most crucial web caretaking duties.

Noah saw Eshaz speed by, his face on the prow of a vessel he was piloting. Then Noah recognized
Webdancer
with only its normal Aopoddae look, meaning that Tesh was in the sectoid chamber, guiding the vessel in her Parvii way. In view of what she had told him about her pregnancy, he wished she would discontinue her dangerous military duties, at least until the baby was born.

She wouldn’t, though. He’d tried to convince her himself, and had even asked others to make the effort. They’d all come back with the same answer: An adamant
no
. Her voice filled with emotion, she had told Noah and Anton that the whole cause of the Liberators was at risk, not just one fetus. And it was hard to argue with her. She was one of the very best pilots, and her skills were needed for the upcoming attack against the HibAdus in the Kandor Sector, the most important battle that Humans, Mutatis, or Tulyans had ever fought.

The combined Liberator force needed to commit every available resource to the fight—and they needed to attack as soon as possible—before the HibAdu Coalition could produce too many more laboratory-bred warships. But against the immense military power the enemy already had, no one knew if victory was achievable.

The Liberator leaders only knew that they had to make the monumental effort.

* * * * *

Taking a break from war maneuvers, Tesh stood in the passenger compartment of
Webdancer
, looking out on a series of scaled-down comet attacks that the Tulyans were using to destroy large holo-simulations of enemy warships that the Liberators were projecting into space. The projections moved in a variety of attack formations, so that the Tulyans had to constantly adapt and adjust. In other maneuvers nearby, General Nirella led armed podships in simulated battles. Later in the day there would be joint operations, involving Liberator and Tulyan forces against the theoretical enemy.

Tesh had noticed that
Webdancer
was even larger than before, with more interior chambers, as the intelligent podship had sensed that even more space and amenities were needed to accommodate its use as a flagship. Moments before, she and Anton had been engaged in an uncomfortable conversation. A year ago they had been lovers, but both of them knew that could never happen again, and neither of them wanted to resume the old relationship. They had taken alternate paths, had new loves in their lives. But the conversation had still slipped back to some of the old times they had enjoyed together, and there had been moments of awkward silence in which each of them remembered, but said little. Now Anton was getting coffee from a wall-mounted machine.

He returned and handed her a cup of the naturally white, Huluvian beverage. “Thanks,” she said.

Their conversation shifted to the war maneuvers outside, and Anton said, “Look at the way the podships move gracefully through space. They’re so smooth and fast. I often wonder what it would be like to have a conversation with one of them.”

“I’ve wondered the same thing,” she said, “even though every Parvii knows it is an impossibility. For millions of years our race was linked to them, and yet it seems like we never truly understood them—at least not beyond a surface comprehension of us as the master and the Aopoddae as our servants. Podships were just there, and we guided them on regular routes, from star system to star system. I doubt if even the Eye of Swarm ever really knew in a deep sense what it was all about. He only did what his predecessors had always done under our dominion, and the whole system continued.”

“Until now.”

“Yes, until now. I think it’s right for my people to give up the podships, but the galaxy is in such chaos. If I can contribute to the Liberator cause—just one Parvii woman—I’ll bet there are others of my race who would be willing to help as well. If only Woldn would release them from his hold.”

“That will never happen. You were lucky to get away.”

Tesh held the cup under her nose, and inhaled the warm, aromatic steam. She sipped. This was good, imported coffee that the Liberators had obtained, the only coffee she’d ever found that actually tasted as good as it smelled.

“You know,” Tesh said, “watching these podships, I’m reminded of something Noah said to me once, about the poetry of the name
Webdancer
. He said it evokes romantic images of all the Aopoddae—that they’re all webdancers, negotiating the slender, delicate strands of the galactic infrastructure.”

“Yes, it is like that, isn’t it?”

“But any one of the podships—or many more of them in a mass catastrophe—can fall off the damaged webbing and tumble into oblivion. It’s like dancing on the edge of a sword, as they used to say on Lost Earth.”

He thought for a moment, and nodded. “Exhilarating life on one side of the blade, death on the other.”

* * * * *

Noah heard Thinker nearby, whirring as he processed data. In order to intensify his focus he had folded himself shut … and had been that way for almost half an hour now.

Noah considered tapping on the robot’s flat metal body to ask him a question, but reconsidered. He didn’t want to interrupt the mechanical genius in the midst of a critical analysis.

Presently, Thinker opened, with a soft click of metal parts as they shifted and locked into new positions.

“Anything?” Noah asked.

“I think I’ve gotten what I can, and that’s only what I told you before. The armored memory core remains impenetrable. I’ve tried everything possible. It just won’t open for me.”

“For you. But what about for me? Can you link me to the core and allow my mind to probe, and enter it?”

Hesitation, and whirring. Then: “The Aopoddae trust you more than before, but not completely. I don’t think they entirely trust me, either, perhaps because I am not biological, or perhaps due to my connection to you. I’m afraid if we get too aggressive trying to obtain the information, the data will go into permanent lockdown.”

“Originally, the Aopoddae let the data flow into my brain,” Noah said. “I think you need to give it back to me.”

“The overload could kill you.”

“How much data is in the armored memory core?”

“I can only estimate. Based on bulk storage space, I think it’s around fifteen percent of the whole.”

“Can you transfer the armored core to me? Only that, and no more?”

“I think so. But the data count could be exponentially greater than I estimated, if they compressed it. If you find a way of opening it, the surge could be too much for you to handle.”