Timeweb Trilogy Omnibus (23 page)

The Tulyan, while an ancient rival of her own Parvii race, had not appeared to recognize her true self … the tiny person hiding inside. She had never heard of a Tulyan seeing through a Parvii magnification system, but it was said that they knew such devices existed. Although Tesh did not go out of her way to talk with Eshaz, she did not attempt to avoid him, either. She was not overly worried, since the energy field around her worked to conceal her identity from all galactic races, even defeating the most sophisticated scanners.

As she gazed at him now, he glanced suddenly in her direction, but only for a moment before continuing his discussion. He placed a hand gently on Noah’s shoulder, leading her to believe that he might be expressing his condolences to the Guardian leader over the death of his father.

This Tulyan was unlike others that Tesh had observed in her seven hundred years of life, in that he socialized easily with Humans and even ate their food in large portions. Normally Tulyans were insular, sticking to their own kind and the ways of their own people. Considering the cuisine of alien races far inferior to their own, they were fussy about what they ate and drank, too. Curiously, though, Eshaz seemed to actually
prefer
Human food—even the barely adequate fare of this school cafeteria. As for Tesh, she didn’t concern herself with taste in the least; she was capable of experiencing it, but enjoyed other senses more. She simply ate what was nutritious.

Based upon her miniature racial physique, one might think that she could only consume half a thimbleful of lunch. But this was not the case at all: she ate (or seemed to eat) as much as any other woman. In reality, however, almost all of her food was being diverted by the magnification system into a concealed food chamber that she could dump later, at her convenience. The chamber was much larger than she was in her natural Parvii state, and it occupied a space below the location of her true form.

Unknown to anyone gazing upon her, Tesh (like any magnified Parvii) floated inside the brain section of the image, with the shimmering light of the enlargement mechanism all around her. Her secret, comparatively immense food chamber became only a sac with the thinnest of membranes after she emptied it—so that whenever she wished to return to her normal size, the sac compressed to an object as small as a Parvii marble, which she could carry about in a pocket. Thus she could easily exist in two realms, and was able to shift quickly between them.

In recent days she and Anton had begun to make love again. After their passionate first encounter, he had refused to do it again for a time, telling her that they should develop their relationship more first. Assuming it was some misguided Human sense of guilt combined with gallantry, she had not argued. Gradually her seductive methods worked anyway, and his resistance melted away like an ice sculpture in the tropics. Human men, even if they tried, could not resist a beautiful woman forever. He had been a challenge—she had to admit that—but only for awhile.

Thinking of this, and of the sexuality of Human men in general, her gaze wandered over to the table where Noah Watanabe sat with the Tulyan. Engrossed in conversation, the Guardian leader didn’t appear to notice her at all. In fact, whenever they encountered one another in the corridors or classrooms of the space station he seemed to make a point of avoiding her. It was not simply disinterest on his part, either. To her it looked like considerably more than that, as if he had a strong emotional feeling about her—either attraction or loathing—which he tried to manifest as detachment. Whatever he felt toward her, he was not concealing it entirely, though, and she intended to pursue the matter further.

Another challenge.…

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Danger: Never tamper with the inner workings of a sentient machine. For service, contact one of our factory-trained technicians.

—Hibbil product statement, sent sent out with each AI robot

After General Sajak shot Jimu, the robot had been left for the mechanical equivalent of dead. Servants on the dinner boat had been told to toss him into the molten lava lake of the volcano, but in private they had attempted to reactivate him instead, thinking he might perform some of their more menial chores. It was a risky enterprise, but with the noblemen gone they thought they could get away with it—while taking care to keep the robot hidden whenever the wrong people were around.

Operating on one of his backup systems, Jimu had heard every word spoken at the clandestine meeting of the noble-born princes, and had recorded all of it into his core processing unit. He was conscious now, as the servants worked on his mechanisms in an attempt to resuscitate him. He could not see anything, but based upon the position of his body and the sounds around him Jimu guessed that he was on a table or a counter, in a small room. Detecting the odors of grime and decaying food, he thought it might be a lunchroom.

One of the men had experience with robots, but not enough to understand the sophisticated internal workings of this one. Jimu could tell what they were doing at every moment, as they attempted to rebuild and reconnect fiber optics, trillian capacitors, and data transmission zips, but these guys were not that smart and were doing it all wrong, causing more damage than good.

In fact, the way these servants were going they wouldn’t get anything working, and might give up. Most of all, Jimu didn’t want them to throw him in the hot lava. If they did that, he might not ever recover.

He checked data in his systems. The central core with which he was thinking at this very moment—in essence the soul of the machine—was protected by a ten centimeter thick shell, designed to withstand the impact of falling from great heights or being hit by a groundtruck. Constructed of ascarb fiber materials, the box was resistant to fire as well, up to twelve hundred and fifty degrees Celsius for a ten hour period. He paused and asked himself a question: What was the temperature of molten lava? His data banks provided the answer: a little less than twelve hundred degrees.

As Jimu thought more about it, he realized that this was not a margin of comfort for him. Within a few minutes of immersion in the lava, every part in his body with the exception of the core shell would melt away. He would be left with ten final hours to think, followed by the disintegration of the central shell itself. That might take another thirty minutes at most before molten material started leaking in.

His survival depended upon staying out of the lava lake.

But he was helpless to act. While he had a self-functioning repair system, it only worked with raw materials provided by the Hibbils under factory conditions.

He could only wait, and hope.…

Agonizing hours went by, during which time Jimu began to despair. The Humans kept doing the wrong things, making incorrect connections. It would never work. Then, he sensed something strange.

“Look!” one of the Humans exclaimed. “His arm just moved!”

“I didn’t see it.”

Jimu hesitated. Then, ever so slightly, he moved the arm again … no more than a twitch.

How can this possibly be happening?
he wondered.

Jimu analyzed the repairs, and confirmed that they were not done properly. Then he examined them more carefully, and was astounded. The Humans had found an alternative way of making his arm operate, but without its full range of movement.

Excited Human: “There! Did you see it?”

“Yeah.”

“I saw it, too,” another voice said.

Feverishly, they continued working on the control panel, and soon both of the mechanical arms were moving, and the fists were flexing open and closed. The Humans brought his legs to life next, and the components of his metal face. All functioned in only a very limited fashion, without the capabilities he’d had before.

Finally, peering through narrowly open eyes, Jimu took a playful swing at one of the servants, and narrowly missed his jaw.

“Whoa!” the man exclaimed, as he easily dodged the blow.

“Do you think he’s dangerous?” another asked.

You bet I am
, Jimu thought. He opened his glowing yellow eyes all the way and sat up, causing quite a start from the servants. There were four Humans in the room, staring wide-eyed at him as if he were the ancient Frankenstein monster of Earthlore, come back to life.

Chapter Thirty

The concept of a soul is one of the pillars of fear-based religions, suggesting that there is no escape from the wrath of the Supreme Being, even after death. This is a clever deceit, designed to control followers. We can do as we please.

—Halama Erstad, Chairman of Merchant Priests

Noah stood with a crowd inside the gated hillside necropolis, squinting in afternoon sunlight that flashed through puffy clouds. He could see the Valley of the Princes below, and the inverted pyramid of the CorpOne headquarters building, with bolts of lightning flashing across the sky beyond. It was warm and he felt no breeze, a respite from the freak weather of recent days that had postponed the funeral of Prince Saito Watanabe. Now nine days after his death, it was finally taking place.

But the funeral procession seemed like too much of a festive parade, and Noah detested every moment of it. On one level, he fully understood the concept of celebrating the life of a prominent man. Certainly Prince Saito Watanabe had been one of the most admired noblemen in the entire Merchant Prince Alliance. No one had more business acumen than he; no one possessed more ability to generate immense profits. But at what cost? As Master of the Guardians, Noah understood only too well the wholesale destruction of galactic environments by CorpOne and its competitors, and could never forgive his father for his part in that. Not even now.

On no account did he feel like honoring the life of such a man. The old mogul had not been a good person by any definition. Noah was simply paying his respects. He stood on a grassy elevation beside a narrow one-way road, with his adjutant Subi Danvar and a squad of armed Guardian security men keeping vigilance nearby. Eshaz had come along as well, but he remained a little downhill from Noah, saying he did not wish to intrude.

In a display of great pageantry and fanfare—with trumpets, court jugglers, drummers, and scantily-clad female dancers—a noisy procession made its way past the onlookers and began to ascend the steepest portion of the road. A jeweled monolith crowned the top of the hill, a magnificent mausoleum that Prince Saito had commissioned for his final resting place. But it was like no other funerary structure that had ever been built.

Across the road from Noah and his small entourage the Doge Lorenzo del Velli wore a golden surcoat and matching liripipe hat. A large group surrounded him, including his blonde wife, the Princess Meghina, in a spectacular gown of golden leaves and a rubyesque tiara. The most famous courtesan in the galaxy and the lover of many a nobleman, she stood proudly with her chin uplifted, and seemed out of place in the company around her, as if they were rabble and she their queen.

This enigmatic woman had been the paramour of Prince Saito, and everyone knew it, even her own powerful husband. Noah had never met her himself, since she had begun her relationship with his father after the blowup that sent Noah off on his own. She looked so elegant over there, so proud and haughty.

Near the Doge, Francella Watanabe wore a tight, shimmering red dress with a low neckline and a tall red hat. She had no eyebrows at all, not even her customary painted ones, and above the long slope of her forehead the red hat had twin antennae, so that she looked like an insect in Human skin. She smoked a long fumestik while chattering incessantly and smiling, as if she were attending a gay soiree.

Francella and Noah gave each other periodic dirty looks across the roadway, but had not spoken to one another today. Noah had separated himself from her intentionally in order to avoid a scene, even though he knew she was working her manipulative, seductive wiles with Lorenzo and his sycophants. She had publicly accused Noah of murder, and he had denied it. A full-scale investigation—ordered by the Doge—was underway, but thus far Noah had not followed the advice of his aides, and had not hired his own legal team to defend himself. He thought that would only make him look guilty and worried, when he was neither.

Someone had hired phony Guardian soldiers to attack CorpOne headquarters, and Noah’s loathsome sister undoubtedly played a key role in the planning and financing. Conceivably, Francella may have even suggested the staged event to the old man, twisting facts to get him involved in it. Noah conjectured as well what part, if any, Princess Meghina may have had in the conspiracy. He had a lot of questions, and no answers.

Behind the procession of entertainers, twenty hover-floats moved slowly uphill, providing garish displays of CorpOne products. Right after them came a black, robot-operated hearse, with the blue-and-silver elephant-design banners of CorpOne fluttering on the fenders. The great man lay inside, on his way to his final destination. Noah felt a wave of bereavement over the loss, but tried to suppress it with righteous anger.

As the hearse passed a high jadeglax structure by the roadway, a white-robed Merchant Priest on a high platform scattered holy water, and read passages from the
Scienscroll
over a blaring loudspeaker system. Noah could not make out the words, but didn’t care.

A small number of noblemen and ladies stood on Noah’s side of the roadway, but maintained their distance from him. One was Jacopo Nehr, accompanied by his brother Giovanni and by Jacopo’s unmarried, fortyish daughter Nirella. A reserve colonel in the Doge’s paramilitary Red Berets, Jacopo Nehr wore a red-and-gold uniform decked with medals and ribbons, while his brother had on a blue tunic, leggings, and a surcoat.

Gazing at the chisel-featured brothers, Noah envied their close relationship and wished that he and his twin sister might have gotten along, and even been close. But it was too late for such sentiments. Far too late.

Despite his efforts to feel otherwise, Noah could not help grieving for his father, and thought back to better times they shared, especially when Noah’s mother was alive. Noah, working for CorpOne at the time, had been trying unsuccessfully to get his father to change his business practices. After Noah’s mother died in that grid-plane crash, the two men no longer had a buffer between them, and the inevitable explosion occurred. Francella had reveled in the breakup, not concealing her glee in the least, and not even showing much emotion over the death of their mother.