Webdancers (17 page)

Chapter Thirty-Seven

How do we measure the accomplishments of our lives? By this do we measure our happiness, or our despair.

—Anton Glavine,
Reflections

At his palatial military headquarters on Siriki, Noah was at times put off by the grandiosity around him. Knowing that some people lived quite primitively in the back country on this world, it seemed strange to him that anyone could live this way, in such contrasting fashion. He’d observed similar disparities on other merchant prince planets, of course, but never had he seen any royal residence more spectacular than the Golden Palace.

By all accounts, though (including his own personal observation), Princess Meghina seemed to be a good person, and caring in her own way. She’d tried to help Noah in the past, and at her private zoo she kept rescued animals that had previously been at risk, and some endangered as species. There were even a number of animals here from Lost Earth and other planets that no longer existed.

In all, Noah could not say with any certainty that the famous courtesan was profligate or selfish. Certainly, the rumors of her extravagant monetary demands on the former doge had seemed to be of that nature, since she constantly sought to have new additions put on the palace. And this afternoon, as Noah walked through the south wing of the structure and made his way out to the manicured grounds, he found plenty of evidence of construction activities—work that had been halted when the HibAdus made their presence known. But he suspected that much of that had been for show, because it was expected of her, and that she had not sought to improve her image by publicizing her worthwhile activities.

Beyond a stand of Sirikan elms, he barely saw one of the conventional fences of her large zoo, and a giraffe reaching up to eat something from a tree. From that direction, he also heard simian-like jungle sounds, and the loud chattering of birds.

In recent days, some of the palace contractors had begun filtering back to the security gates, asking if they could resume their work. Subi Danvar had accepted some of them, after running them through checks and tests, confirming their loyalty. He had also coordinated the talents of those who passed his rigid screening process, focusing their labors toward military installations instead of what they’d been doing previously. Now they were armoring buildings, improving underground bunkers, and setting up layers of defense.

Trying to be an optimist, Noah wanted to think the best about Princess Meghina, and now he worried about her welfare. According to intelligence reports, she and the other five “immortals” who had benefited from Francella’s Elixir of Life had been on the space station that he’d seen making wild trips through space. The last time he saw the station, it appeared to be seriously damaged, making him wonder if anyone could have possibly survived such tremendous perils, or if anyone remained onboard.

He scowled, remembering an APB nehrcom report that sat on his desk concerning the Salducian diplomat in her group of immortals, Kobi Akar. A woman had filed a formal charge that he’d molested her twelve-year old daughter. According to her claim, the crime occurred on the space station, while it orbited Canopa. The woman had been a kitchen employee of Doge Lorenzo’s gambling casino, living there in servant’s quarters with the girl. If the charge against the Salducian was true, and he was still alive, Noah hoped justice could still be served on him.

* * * * *

On distant Yaree, crowds gathered around the main hospital, awaiting word on the remarkable visitors. This was a melting pot world, so a wide variety of races mingled together in the street and blocked traffic, even Humans and fleshy Mutatis standing side by side. Here, the races generally got along quite well. There were exceptions, fights and murders involving personality disputes and crimes, but usually they had nothing to do with race.

Like gods who lost their ability to fly, the visitors had fallen from the sky three nights ago. Sirens screaming and lights flashing, emergency vehicles had rushed to the various sites of impact. Medical crews had recovered the horribly broken bodies—all of which had remained remarkably intact, despite the great heights from which they had fallen. That had been one of the first oddities that anyone noticed. But there had been more to come.

At first, they had all appeared to be dead, and had been taken to the morgue. Then, in spectacular fashion, all six of them had come back to life on the slabs. Looking more dead than alive, they had sat up one by one like zombies, and looked around. Impossibly, the corpses then began to shamble around the morgue and to reshape their appearances, repairing broken bones, facial damage, and grievous head wounds. Cameras recorded much of it, and millions of Yareens had seen it on holocasts.

Hospital gowns soon replaced the victims’ own clothing, and gradually their wounds had begun to heal even more. Word had it that their improvements had little or nothing to do with medical attention. Rather, it was something that came from inside their bodies, from their cellular structure. Four of the “space people,” as they were being called, seemed to be Human, while one was a Salducian. Yet another—a blonde female—appeared to be Human, but had bled Mutati purple. That, along with the fact that there were six members of the group, gave the authorities clues and suspicions about their identities, and some of the populace arrived at the same conclusion.

In the crowd, names were murmured, and one in particular. “Princess Meghina of Siriki … Could it possibly be her? The name of Noah Watanabe was also mentioned as a possibility, since he was rumored to have achieved immortality, though perhaps in a slightly different fashion from the others. But if Noah was one of them, there should be seven, not six.

Beneath a warm midday sun, a hospital spokesman stood at the top of the main entrance stairway, preparing to address the tightly packed crowd. A rotund Kichi man with a thick white beard, he adjusted a microphone on his lapel, cleared his throat.

“I am pleased to report that all six of the patients are recovering well. They are eating and walking normally, and almost all of their injuries have healed.” He paused. “It is as many of us suspected. These are the people who consumed a wondrous elixir that made them virtually indestructible. One of them is indeed Princess Meghina of Siriki.”

“And Noah Watanabe?” someone shouted.

“He is not among them. One of the Humans in the group, however, confirmed something we have heard in the past—that Noah’s blood runs in their veins, from the elixir they consumed. An elixir that was prepared from his own blood.”

The crowd murmured. Truly, no one on the planet had ever received visitors of this nature. This would be written of in the history holos for centuries to come.

* * * * *

The government of Yaree was fiercely independent and militaristic. The people were also insular and xenophobic despite their racial mixture, identifying themselves as Yareens above anything else. They did not trust outsiders, or outside cultures. The HibAdus, apparently knowing how tough they were, had not even tried to attack them. In an out-of-the-way sector of the galaxy, Yaree was also virtually off the MPA and Mutati Kingdom radar screens.

The Prime Leader of the planet, Wan Haqro, had remembered meeting Princess Meghina during her earlier visit with a trade delegation. This time, the tall Ilkian man greeted her in the austere sitting room outside her hospital room. “I have arranged for you to leave immediately,” he told her, after refusing her invitation to sit and speak with her.

“I do not wish to leave yet,” she said, rising to her feet. She wore an elegant green brocade dress now, which had been brought to her. “There are matters to attend to on the space station.” She nodded toward the ceiling, indicating the general direction of the damaged orbiter.

“We will tend to all of that,” Haqro said, tersely. “You will depart tomorrow.”

Her voice became chilly. “Headed where? By what manner of transport?”

“To your homeworld, Siriki. I do this as a courtesy.”

Hearing the destination, she arched her eyebrows in surprise.

“It is quite simple to get you there, really, “ he said. “We have a number of laboratory-produced podships that we purchased from an Adurian on the black market, and we are using them to run our own trade routes. You have heard of the war, of course?”

“Of course. Humans and Mutatis have been each other’s throats for a long time.”

“I do not speak of that. From what I understand, you may have been out of the information loop for a good while. While you were away, a secret alliance of Hibbils and Adurians attacked all Human and Mutati worlds, and conquered the vast majority of them. Only Siriki and one other planet remain in the Merchant Prince Alliance, while the Mutati Kingdom has a single remaining planet.”

“My God!” she said.

“To counter the aggression, your merchant princes have formed an alliance with Mutatis and with Tulyans.”

“This is indeed surprising. You are aligned with our enemies, then? The Adurians?”

“Certainly not. We are neutral, and will trade with anyone. It is only because of a business relationship that I return you to Siriki on an Adurian-made ship.”

“If what you say is true, I must leave immediately.”

“It is already arranged, my Lady.” The Ilkian bowed stiffly, and left.

* * * * *

In a matter of hours, Princess Meghina and her five companions stepped off a Yareen lab-pod, onto Sirikan soil. Moments before, there had been a tense stand-off in the skies over Siriki, when the podship entered its airspace. Fortunately, the Yareen pilot had state-of-the-art communications equipment aboard, and with it he identified the passengers, and the purpose of the arrival.

For a few moments, Meghina and the other immortals had wondered if they would have to arrive there the same way they set down on Yaree, falling out of the sky. But that had proved unnecessary, and all had gone well in the landing. Now, looking up, she saw that the lab-pod was being blocked from takeoff by military craft that hovered overhead.

A throng of officers and soldiers, in both MPA and Guardian uniforms, stood waiting for her on the landing pad. As Meghina reached the bottom of the egress ramp, soldiers rushed past her and boarded the lab-pod.

“See here!” the Yareen pilot exclaimed as he was led out of the ship. “You can’t treat me in this manner.” He and a dozen other Yareen citizens of varying races were taken into custody.

From the midst of officers on the landing pad, Noah Watanabe marched forward, in a green-and-brown Guardian uniform. “Hold them for questioning,” he ordered, “and take this ship in for analysis.”

Coming face to face with Meghina, he said, “Welcome home, Princess.”

“Thank you.”

“We found it necessary to commandeer your palace for our headquarters. You will note other changes as well.”

“I have heard about the war. I am here to help.”

“Good.” He looked past her. Seeing a Salducian among those who had disembarked from the lab-pod, he pointed to him and asked, “Is that Kobi Akar?”

“It is.”

“Then I will have to place him under arrest.”

She raised her eyebrows. “For what?”

Noah told her, and as he spoke, her face darkened. “I’ve wondered about him,” she said. “Very well. But who shall judge him?”

“It is a Canopan charge. I suspect that they will want him to be brought back on the next military flight.”

She nodded. “I see.”

Speaking to an aide, Noah ordered the diplomat’s arrest, than stood with Meghina and watched while it was carried out. As he was being taken into custody, the Salducian shouted protestations and threats of political repercussions. Finally two MPA soldiers gained control over him, and led him away.

As Noah walked with Meghina toward a waiting hovercar, he said, “There are other serious problems, Princess. This morning, we received a report of a mountaintop breaking off and disappearing into space in a green flash of light.”

“From Siriki?” she asked, her voice alarmed.

“Unfortunately, yes, and we’re getting emergency nehrcom messages about bizarre events on Canopa as well. On both planets, land is breaking off and disappearing—a mountaintop here, a peninsula there, an island.… Some scientists and curious citizens who went to investigate have disappeared, too, or have reported seeing green flashes as huge chunks of dirt and rock vanish. In deep oceans and lakes, more disturbances are occurring … and water levels are fluctuating wildly.” He paused, and his breath came in shallow bursts, as if he were running from something, at least in his mind. “So far on Siriki, this is only happening in remote regions, but we are on the alert here as well.”

“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
!