Chapter Fifty
In desperate times, desperate measures are required.
—Parvii Inspiration
Accompanied by two war priests and a small Parvii guard force, the Eye of the Swarm flew over a planet that glittered in varying hues, an ever-changing effect caused by solar conditions and the movement of glassy dust through the atmosphere. Once a favored site for galactic tourists and for the development of a machine army, the world had since fallen into complete disuse. With no regularly scheduled podships to bring anyone back, it was perfect for his needs.
Ignem
.
The resurrection of this remote planet’s importance would run parallel to the reawakening of the Parvii race. Soon he would have billions and billions of Parviis to set up military defenses here. Or, he could find another similar planet for his purposes. For what he had in mind, he only needed Ignem for a few days. Certainly, no one would disturb him in that time. High overhead in the orbital ring, there were still a few hundred machines at the Inn of the White Sun, but they were not expected to be any problem. They had no means of space travel, and even their shuttles for reaching the planet were slow and easily thwarted.
Woldn had come to believe in contingency plans. It was not something he had been particularly good at in the past when things were going well for the Parviis, but recently—in his hours of shame and despair—he had found himself reaching out, trying new things. Sprinkling seeds for the reawakening of his race.
For some time now, his breeding specialists had been operating a new propagation program inside the telepathic bubble, which Woldn had concealed far from Ignem in a dark, remote region of the galaxy where there were no suns or planets, and no other races were likely to interfere with his plans. Thousands of Parvii embryos had already been born, and more in incubation were about to be born. It was a steady, proven process.
But something even larger and more important had occurred, and this would involve Ignem. It would be a second, and potentially much larger, crucible for forging new life.…
* * * * *
Weeks ago, when Woldn and most of his swarm were on the Adurian homeworld, he had dispatched tiny spies to gather information from the entire laboratory complex. For millennia, it had been widely known that the Adurians operated the most advanced biological research and development facilities in the galaxy. But the products of those labs were not always known, since operations were kept under the tightest security. But during his visit, Woldn had taken measures to find out what they were up to.
And he had accomplished that goal like a magician. The skill of misdirection.
While the Adurian leaders were focused on Woldn and his swarm in the observation galleries, his tiny spies were entering secret lab areas through the smallest openings, where they gathered data and transmitted it telepathically to the Eye of the Swarm. Not really understanding what they were looking at, the Parvii infiltrators were like little cameras, recording information and sending it out for compilation and investigation. Even Woldn did not comprehend what they provided to him, so he took it back to the five breeding specialists at the telepathic bubble.
The breeding specialists had been astounded by what they learned. Inside the bubble, hovering hear the incubating Parvii embryos, they had met with Woldn. One of the breeding specialists, Qryst, had spoken for the others.
“The new information is exceedingly complex,” he said. “Even with years of study, we might never understand all of it. But some important facts have emerged. First, that strange leader you saw is a hybrid of Hibbil and Adurian genes, one of only three that they created in the laboratory. Three that lived, I should say.”
“And one of them is a leader? It looks like he at least runs the laboratory, and I suspect he’s even more important than that.”
“It seems backward, doesn’t it? Growing leaders in a bio-lab. And yet, that appears to be what they did. But beyond that, we have learned something even more important, at least for our purposes.”
“Yes?” Woldn felt his metabolism accelerate, and he heard it buzz around him.
“Although the Adurians have developed many methods of breeding, some of their incubation methods run parallel with ours. It is in this area that we focused our attention, trying to build on what we already know. The effort has required the mental probes of all five of us in concert, utilizing every bit of Parvii genetic knowledge that we have. And finally, I am pleased to report, we have something that is extremely useful.”
“What is it? Get to the point, please!”
“The Adurians have a very clever, and very basic, incubation generator that produces births in a much larger number, and at a greater speed, than we ever dreamed possible. It is so simple that I’m surprised we didn’t think of ourselves. But of course, with the historical successes of the Parviis, we didn’t need to, did we? We grew lazy, and complacent.”
One of the other breeding specialists, Jeed, interjected. “On the other hand, our predecessors may have investigated this method and discarded it because of its inherent problems.”
Woldn felt a sudden letdown.
“Nothing insurmountable,” Qryst said.
“But it is something we must pay close attention to,” Jeed insisted. “It seems that the incubation generators cause birth defects in a significant percentage of the embryos. We can produce many more Parviis with this method, but it must be done carefully, with strict quality control, segregation, and disposal procedures.”
“What percentage will have defects?”
“As much as one in eighteen. We might get that as low as one in thirty, but I don’t think we can do much better than that.”
“There are methods of analyzing the embryos for defects,” Qryst said, “so that we can get rid of them before birth.”
“Of course, a small number of defective embryos will slip past any screening,” Jeed said. He seemed to be the pessimist of the two. “Some of the hardier defective embryos will adapt for their own survival, so we will need to keep adapting ourselves.”
“And the percentage of defects that get through?” Woldn asked, not sure how he felt about all of this new information.
“Very low,” Qryst said. “Perhaps ten in a billion.”
“I don’t suppose I want to know what sort of defects they might have,” Woldn said.
Qryst smiled. “Minor problems, for the most part.”
“Theoretically,” Jeed said.
“Nothing to worry about,” Qryst retorted. “They won’t be able to fly through space, or they will be slower, or they won’t have telepathic abilities. We’ll soon find them even if they are born.”
Now, remembering all of this, Woldn led his guard swarm down toward the glassy surface of the planet. They passed through the red dust of a volcano, and entered a lava tube.
In his newfound system of developing contingency plans, Woldn had set up two distinct Parvii breeding programs, and had assigned breeding specialists to each. The initial program, the traditional one, would continue back in the telepathic bubble, under the direction of Imho and two other breeding specialists. This was the tried and true method, the way that his race had always bred. Assisting Imho in the bubble would be the pessimistic Jeed, and another breeding specialist, Sosk. As the reincarnated versions of past breeding specialists, the three of them were expected to be steady, predictable performers.
Here on Ignem, the new Adurian-inspired breeding program (and by far the most exciting of the two), was under the direction of Qryst, since he had shown such enthusiasm for the concept of incubation generators. To Woldn, he seemed like the sort of positive personality who would find ways around problems, a scientist who would keep the program going, despite difficulties. Assisting him would be Ruttin, a breeding specialist who in ancient times had been brilliant but erratic. Woldn expected Qryst, equally brilliant but more emotionally stable, to keep him in line.
Qryst and Ruttin had been on Ignem for only a short time, setting up the cutting-edge program. Already they were reporting excellent progress, and were ready to combine their efforts with those of the war priests.
Inside the warm lava tubes of the volcanic planet, tens of billions of Parviis were breeding, using the laboratory methods of the Adurians. The Parviis were massing to attack again, breeding much faster than they could under natural conditions. In the past, a machine army had formed on the surface of Ignem, and had gone off to fight for the merchant princes.
Now a far more powerful force would emerge, one that would smash all opponents into oblivion.
Chapter Fifty-One
The great unknown is a lure and a terror. Simultaneously it beckons and threatens us, and we find ourselves unable to resist the temptation. We simply must walk down those creaking stairs into the dark cellar.
—Ancient observation
On the unnamed planet in the unknown solar system, Pimyt scurried along a now-familiar path through the gray jungle. A morning fog hug low and moistened the fur on his face as he moved through it. He was the first one in the party to rise today, and had gone for a walk so that he could think, and settle his nerves.
The stranded group had even more problems than they had initially imagined. Something in the air had eroded the engines of the shuttle, so that the craft no longer flew at all. It was only good for a shelter, and already they were out of the packaged meals they had brought with them. That left only the local plants that they could gather from the jungle, most of which had minimal food value. No one had expected having to remain away from the space station for so long.
Despite the obstacles, they had developed a routine in the weeks that they had been here. Every morning, seven or eight Red Berets would go out on foot on hunting and gathering expeditions, while three or four would remain with the shuttle, guarding it and performing other tasks. The highest ranking guardsmen among them, Lieutenant Eden Rista, had some scientific training, so he set up a work station in the shuttle where he performed tests on plants to confirm that they were potentially edible, with worthwhile nutrients.
Lorenzo acted as if he was in charge of the operation, but Pimyt and a number of the soldiers only tolerated him. As time passed, the aged merchant prince was getting more irritable and difficult to tolerate. Among other things, he kept complaining about the limited number of items they had on their menu. Part of that had to do with the genetic unsuitability of far-planet microbiology, the fact that Humans and other races were not able to eat and digest extremely alien foods. That was a problem here, so the soldiers had performed tests on various plants and had used customized additives, to make them edible.
Many of the gray-brown native plants had proved to be either poisonous or impossible to eat, either because of their stringy texture or bitter flavors. But a number of greenish roots were moderately tasty when cooked, and some of the plants could be ground up and dried to create seasonings. They also found an area of soft stones near the pool of water where Lorenzo often sat to read the
Scienscroll
, stones that could be scraped and mashed into fine particles that were the equivalent of salt. Oddly, they found no animal life at all, not even insects or creatures crawling in the soil. It was, to a degree, a sterile environment for everything except plants, which gave them pause and put them constantly on the alert for poisons in their food and drink.
The pool of water contained organic and mineral contaminants, but after digging several test holes into the subterranean rivers, they found water that proved drinkable without boiling or other treatment.
In this environment Lorenzo only proved his inadequacies. Though he didn’t mind getting dirty, he did not display any skills or knowledge to help the group. He was just
there
, and often in the way. Among the soldiers, only Eden Rista and Kenjie Ishop seemed to kowtow to him. Both worked on the food—Rista doing the tests and Ishop the preparation and cooking. The others did as the fussy merchant prince ordered, but Pimyt had heard them grumbling about it privately, when Lorenzo was out of earshot.
Like a broken holorecording, Lorenzo had been complaining about the limited menu, and insisted that the Red Berets bring in something new every day for analysis and testing. Each afternoon, he would await their return from the jungle, and would ask, in an edgy voice, “What did you find for me today? Anything interesting?” And the plant or mineral would go to Rista to look it over and perform tests on it.
Even with the discomforts and annoyances, the group was getting by. Ishop even had a talent for music, and had constructed a stringed instrument that sounded surprisingly good, using plant fibers for strings and a hollowed-out tuber root for the sounding box. Ishop was a nice enough fellow. He’d even learned the words of an old Hibbil ballad from Pimyt, and sang it passably well.
But for Pimyt that had only been to pass the time. Essentially, he had been treading water, waiting for someone to come and rescue them. He wished he knew what was happening on the war front. Whatever it was, his own contribution had disappeared altogether. The HibAdu leaders had probably already forgotten about him, after only a few weeks. Even before that, Pimyt’s sphere of influence had been shrinking, and now amounted to essentially nothing.
Originally he had been brought into the HibAdu conspiracy because of his closeness to the merchant prince leader, Doge Lorenzo. Pimyt had accompanied Lorenzo after his fall from political power, when Lorenzo still had considerable influence as a wealthy merchant prince. But now, neither Pimyt nor Lorenzo had any power at all. They only had this tiny group of fourteen survivors, with no hopes or prospects for the future. There weren’t even any females here. They could only die off in this forgotten place, one by one.
Pimyt grinned ferally as a recurring thought surfaced. He could make things more pleasurable around here anyway. At least for a time. He didn’t think he could face one more meal without meat protein.
The night before, they had all gotten drunk on an alcoholic beverage that one of the soldiers had brewed using roots and brown berries. The liquid had been a sickly color, but had tasted reasonably good, especially after a few drinks of it. His companions were sleeping it off now. After losing a bet to Pimyt about who could drink the most, Lorenzo had stumbled out of the shuttle and announced that he was going to sleep “somewhere else.” No one could talk him out of it, so one of the soldiers, Kenjie Ishop, had helped the former doge construct a makeshift bed at the edge of the jungle. Then Ishop and the others had gone back inside the shuttle, where they all slept on thin mats or on the hard deck.
Reaching the clearing, Pimyt saw the shuttle. The silvery craft sat silently, with no lights on inside or activity visible through the portholes or front windshield. Moisture dripped down the windows and the solar array that the crew had left open.
Perhaps a hundred meters away, the Hibbil found Lorenzo sleeping on the ground, on a makeshift bed of branches and broad leaves, snoring loudly.
The furry little man crept closer, and stared down at the once-powerful merchant prince. ‘Lorenzo the Great’ was nothing now, would never see his former trappings of power and wealth. Like the other Humans, Lorenzo had a scruffy, dirty beard. His clothes were damp, but he was too stupidly drunk to have noticed.
Humans are such ugly creatures
, Pimyt thought. Personally, he had always preferred the fat, fleshy meat of Mutatis. Human meat was tougher, chewier, and too sweet. But this time it would have to do.
The little Hibbil moved closer.
Hearing a noise, Lorenzo awakened. He looked around and sat up. “Whah? What am I doing out here?”
“You insisted on sleeping outside,” Pimyt said. He felt the hunger mounting inside, and knew his red eyes must be glowing brightly, like hot little coals in his face. He narrowed the eyelids to slits. Saliva built up in his mouth.
“I did?” The ex-doge shivered, and tried to stand. But his legs buckled under him.
Plopping back down on the leafy bed, he said, “Look what my life has become. At one time I ruled the vast Human universe and dispatched merchant ships to the farthest reaches of my realm. I was wealthy beyond belief. Now I am trapped on the most remote, worthless planet imaginable. It’s all your fault, you know, Pimyt.”
The eye slits widened. “No, it isn’t. Anyway, fault is a meaningless word that doesn’t matter out here. In this place there are no rules, no conditions, no social mores or niceties.”
For the first time, Lorenzo seemed to notice Pimyt’s face. “Why are you looking at me like that?” Fear crept over the Human’s face.
To the Hibbil, it didn’t matter what the fallen man was saying. Pimyt’s eyes had taken on an untamed cast and he no longer thought of being a Royal Attaché, a member of the HibAdu Coalition, or anything like that. He thought only of satisfying his hunger.
With a sudden move, the Hibbil bared his sharp teeth and lunged for Lorenzo’s white, wrinkled throat, taking the Human down and tearing into his flesh. It happened so quickly that the hapless prey hardly had time to emit a squeal.
On all fours, Pimyt fed on the corpse, and felt great. Then his teeth struck something hard and foreign, causing him to examine what it was. Clothing had been no obstacle, he’d just shredded his way through it and swallowed. But not this. Holding the object in one hand, he saw it was a dermex in a small padded case. Inside the case, he saw a vial of red fluid that looked like Human blood. Interesting. He would get to that later. For now, he was enjoying the flesh.
At a noise, he paused and looked toward the shuttle, with blood and tissue dripping from his furry chin.
One of the Red Beret soldiers awakened, then went to the main hatch and looked out. Confused at the sight of a Hibbil in a feeding frenzy, he hesitated for a moment too long. With inhuman speed and strength, Pimyt bolted toward him and attacked, then surged inside and killed the sleeping or awakening soldiers one after the other before they could get their weapons, before they knew what was happening to them. It helped him that they’d been drinking an alcoholic concoction the night before, which made them groggy and slow.
He ripped all of them apart and tasted their meat … one sample after the other. Though not the finest quality of flesh, organs, and bones, it was perhaps the best meal he’d ever had. He had been so hungry!
When he reached his fill, he considered what to do next, and then remembered the vial of red fluid by the body of Lorenzo. Covered in blood, he bounded out of the shuttle and across the clearing.
Examining the dermex and the vial, Pimyt wondered why Lorenzo had been carrying these things with him. Opening the top of the vial, he sniffed. It had definite elements of Human blood, but had a color that was more like wine. He didn’t see any purpose in wondering why Lorenzo had it.
Tossing the dermex aside, Pimyt swallowed the vial’s contents.
Delicious!
It was like a fine aperitif after a big meal.
Then, sitting on the ground beside the corpse, he was pleased to see carrion birds circling overhead. So, there were living creatures on this planet after all, and they’d come out of their places of concealment.
The clever Hibbil started to think about laying traps for them, using pieces of the corpses as bait.
A sudden swoon came over him, as from lightheadedness, and he felt fire coursing through the veins of his body, energizing him.
Fantastic!
His pleasure mounted.
He heard a loud crashing. Without warning, the shuttle tumbled over and vanished. Green light came from a hole in the ground, giving an eerie cast to the foggy air.
Eh?
Intensely curious, Pimyt went over to look down into the hole. With nothing to lose, he didn’t feel any fear. As the blood-soaked Hibbil stood on the edge, he rubbed his full belly and looked down into a chasm so deep that he didn’t think it had a bottom.
Drawn by a sudden compulsion, he inched closer to the edge, then lost his footing and tumbled into the hole. Through the green light he plunged, into an abyss that gave him a feeling of euphoria. But gradually something seemed to change, and he had the distinct sensation that he was going in the other direction, back the way he had just come. How could that be? Moments later, he realized he was right, as he vaulted out of the hole and over the encampment where he’d slaughtered Lorenzo and the others.
Soon he left all that behind as well, and found himself drifting slowly through a vast, starry universe. Inexplicably, he could breathe out there. The green light had faded entirely, but there was a faint, colorless illumination source in this place. He saw something ahead. Drifting toward it, Pimyt was amazed to see the faces of Princess Meghina and four of her immortal companions, floating in space. Three women and two men.
At first the Hibbil could not make out the bodies of the people, only their huge, out-of-scale faces. As moments passed the visages began to bend, as if they were on banners fluttering in a breeze, and their features became distorted.
Then Pimyt saw their bodies, stygian black and barely discernible—immense, multilegged creatures coming toward him with bizarre Human faces. He tried to scream in terror, but in the void he heard no sound.
Silently, ominously, they closed in on him.…