The Web and the Stars

by Brian Herbert

  “We need to think about this,” Paggatini said.

  “What about Anton’s political views?” another asked. “Who will he appoint to high offices?”

  “I can keep him in line,” Francella said.

  “He’ll appoint nobles to high office instead of commoners?”

  “He will,” she said, assuming that Anton—as the son of nobility himself—would be inclined to agree with her views on this issue. All she’d heard about him indicated that he was a decent person and she thought he’d eventually forgive her. No matter the unkind words he’d spoke to her; she had seen something more gentle in his eyes, perhaps a longing for his mother. And she had to admit to herself, she’d been feeling an increasing maternal instinct toward him herself. This made her want him to do well.

  As they discussed Anton, and Francella continued to expound his real and purported virtues, a number of the noblemen began to warm to the idea of him as Doge. This pleased Francella immensely. Just as she had hoped, they were beginning to rally around Anton del Velli as a figurehead. She had financial reasons for her political plans, as she expected to receive a generous share of her son’s tax collections … money she needed badly.

  Though Francella Watanabe had concealed it with deft manipulation of financial records, CorpOne—the late Prince Saito’s pride and joy—was near bankruptcy. While her father was still alive, she had drained the assets of his company, transferring a large amount of money off-planet and converting it to hard assets in her own name—assets that were rightfully hers, but which were subsequently lost in the destruction of Timian One. To make matters worse, the unrelenting Guardian attacks on her Canopan operations were cutting so deeply into profits that she could not make the payments on huge operational loans that she’d had to take out.

  The following morning Francella received the bad news about Noah’s escape from her medical facility, and the destruction of the main building. Already, Noah was sending telebeam broadcasts around Canopa, trying to rally more people to his cause.

  Furious, Francella confronted Dr. Hurk Bichette in front of the smoking ruins. He shook with fear for his life. “I assure you that we can still find a cure for you,” he said.

  “And how do you intend to support your research, when my brother’s dismembered body parts, along with blood and tissue samples, were destroyed in the fire?”

  “We have you,” he said, “and the secret lies somewhere in your blood, in your cellular degeneration.”

  “The secret,” she said, in a dejected tone. “Noah’s body regenerated from a mass of cellular material, after I cut him into a thousand pieces. I ask you this in your precious research: How does he do it? Sorcery?”

  “We’ll find out.”

  “Noah and I are twins,” she said, her voice suddenly determined. “If he can do it, I should be able to, too.”

  Dr. Bichette did not reply. He stared glumly into the embers of the medical building.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  I asked the Master if we should do something more to ensure the silence of Anton Glavine, and he paled at the suggestion. Then he reddened with anger, and said to me: “My nephew would never reveal the location of our hidden headquarters, not even under torture. I have looked into the heart of the man, and he is pure and loyal. He is as dedicated to our cause as any of my followers.”

  —Security Log, entry of Subi Danvar

  Standing in front of the screen on Thinker’s chest, Noah looked at the 3-D color likeness of him that the robot had fashioned He and the machine leader stood inside one of the robot-assembly chambers at the Guardians’ underground headquarters. It was late morning, but sunlight did not penetrate to this level. Nonetheless, Noah felt upbeat, with renewed vigor.

  “So you’ve been running the show in my absence, eh?” Noah said to the electronic simulacrum. “Why couldn’t you … or should I say, didn’t you … do more to locate me?”

  “I do not know what you mean,” the image said, lifting its chin haughtily.

  “Is it possible you didn’t want to find me, so that you could take over my leadership position?”

  “I did no such thing! You of all people should know that is not in my character. I am motivated only by honor and duty!”

  Looking on, Subi Danvar laughed out loud, and even Thinker vibrated a little, his programmed equivalent of amusement.

  “Everyone has a dark side,” Noah said thoughtfully. “Perhaps it took a computer simulation to find mine.” He scratched his head. “I wonder.”

  “Why don’t we discuss something that makes sense?” the facsimile asked in an indignant tone. “Why don’t you ask me where Tesh is? You’ve been thinking about her, haven’t you?”

  “Well, where is she, then?”

  “Tesh is with Eshaz and those two teenage cousins, Acey and Dux. According to the last report, they are at the Tulyan Starcloud. I know this because Eshaz sends information to one of the handful of Tulyan Guardians in our employ, a female named Zigzia, and she passes it on to us. In your absence, we learned that they call her a ‘webtalker,’ and she utilizes some ancient means of communication, presumably involving the galactic infrastructure. Zigzia is one of the younger Tulyans, only three hundred thousand years old. Why, just yesterday she—”

  “Enough!” Noah said. “I don’t babble like that. There is a defect in your programming.”

  “The copy is just nervous in your presence,” Thinker interjected. “He only wants to please you.”

  “The information about Zigzia is correct,” Subi said. “As a security measure, I pressed the Tulyan Council and got the information—but only on a sketchy basis, without details.”

  “Interesting,” Noah said. Then, staring at the screen, he added, “Maybe this really is my dark side, with all of my latent defects revealed.”

  “The dark side is always associated with the flesh,” the facsimile said, raising his voice. “And as you can see, I have none.”

  “An intriguing argument,” Noah agreed. “However, I think it’s time for Thinker to update you with another download from me.”

  “Perhaps it should be two-way,” said the face on the screen. “I know things you don’t.”

  “No thanks,” Noah said. “I’ll have Thinker analyze your data and give me a report.” And to the robot he said, “Shall we, my friend?”

  “As you wish, Master.” Thinker closed the panel on his chest, and brought out the organic interface tentacle, with its glistening array of needles.

  Doge Lorenzo del Velli was making a lot of money from his orbital gambling resort and casino. Earlier that morning his architects had modified plans for an enlargement of the facility, and the redline schematics appeared on a screen built into the top of his desk. A set of computer keys and touch pads enabled him to make notes on the screen, which were transmitted to his staff for immediate action. Looking up, he watched through his office window as two modules were floated into position by spacetugs and locked in place.

  Urgent demands from Francella Watanabe sat on his desk, asking for even more Red Beret action against her brother’s Guardians, who continued to make attacks on her Canopan operations. He shook his head. She had been especially foolish to allow Noah’s escape and lose a large medical laboratory. He wished he had not given her full control over the prisoner, but she had been quite insistent… and it had been her brother, after all. Now the rebellion could only escalate, with its titular head back in charge.

  Barking a command into a speaker, Lorenzo delegated Francella’s requests to his Royal Attache. The Hibbil would take care of them in his usual efficient fashion, leaving the Doge to attend to more interesting matters. Looking back at the desktop screen, he made some additional notations on the schematics, where he thought more gambling machines could be fitted in. Already his casino was immense, but demand was high and he didn’t want to miss any opportunity to maximize profits.

  His architectural instructions were heeded. But on the other matter his Hibbil attaché sent only
lackluster instructions to Canopan military and police commanders, telling them to “look into” Francella’s request.

  Where the Adurians were widely known for their biotech laboratories, the Hibbils were known for providing efficient manufacturing facilities, and especially for the low-cost machines they produced in large quantities on their worlds. In his own office next to that of the Doge, Pimyt envisioned a Hibbil torture machine that he intended to hook up to Jacopo, Francella, and even Lorenzo. If only there weren’t so many delays and unexpected problems.

  Working undercover (Hibbils on Human worlds and Adurians on Mutati worlds), the conspirators had been planning to overthrow them and take over. Years ago, in an initial effort to destabilize the Mutati leadership, the Hibbils’ Adurian “allies” had cleverly insinuated gyroscopic “decision-making” devices on the shapeshifters, causing them to pursue foolish military actions against the Humans … actions that focused their political and military energies in the wrong direction, away from the true threat… and were destined to fail.

  In order to give the Mutatis a false sense of accomplishment, the Hibbil-Adurian cabal had caused decisions to be made that resulted in the destruction of Mars, Earth, and Plevin Four. The later obliteration of Timian One, however, was not supposed to have occurred … and was an expensive mistake, since the Hibbils were supposed to take that wealthy planet as a war prize. This caused considerable friction between the conspirators.

  Under great pressure, the Adurians assured the Hibbils that they would take care of the problem through minor adjustments to the Zultan Abal Meshdi’s gyrodome and to the portable gyros used by the populace—accomplished through undetectable electronic signals. The Adurians were insistent that it would not happen again, and in recompense they offered to transfer certain Mutati assets from the Adurian side of the ledger to the Hibbil side, after the Human and Mutati governments were overrun by combined Hibbil and Adurian military forces.

  Then podship travel had been cut off mysteriously, and Pimyt had gone through a period in which he had been out of contact with his conspirators on distant worlds, since he had not wanted to risk sending nehrcom messages from the Merchant Prince Alliance to transceivers that should not even exist in other star systems. Eventually he had been able to set up a relay system in which he sent coded messages to other MPA planets, and they were in turn relayed to HibAdus on other planets. The arrangements had been complex—requiring much more than the customary bribes, promises, and threats—but he had accomplished it, so that intermittent messages could be sent back and forth.

  When the communication links resumed, Pimyt learned that the Mutatis had discovered how to clone podships in the laboratory, and that the crazed, hate-filled Zultan had been using the lab-pods to send Demolios against Human targets. Gyro manipulation had not altered his thoughts, since his loathing for Humans was too deeply entrenched. Fortunately, the lab-pods had serious navigation malfunctions, and there’d been no strikes. Just a lot of effort and fanfare. But just by sheer luck, Abal Meshdi might eventually hit a valuable target, or his scientists might solve the technological glitches.

  After conferring with the Hibbils, the Coalition had been able to use gyro manipulations to force Mutati scientists to make complex adjustments to all artificial pods being produced, so that their guidance systems could never work. Thus Meshdi’s psychological need to attack Human targets was fulfilled, but it would never amount to anything; he could not cause any significant damage.

  With the infiltration of Mutati lab-pod facilities, the Coalition accomplished something more. They learned how the cloning process worked for lab-pods, so that they could begin to make their own lab-pods on Hibbil and Adurian worlds. In conjunction with that, they had the Hibbils design navigation systems that actually worked, guiding the vessels across the vast distances of space. The Hibbils had also been able to fit customized fixtures into selected vessels, so that they were more useful as warships, or so that some of them were more comfortable than others.

  But through it all, even with these successes the Coalition remained troubled as to why podship travel had been cut off to and from all Human and Mutati worlds. No one had any idea how that could have happened … and, if not for this unfortunate circumstance, the secret plan of the Coalition would certainly have been completed by now. They had their lab-pods, but it was taking time to grow the new fleet.

  Pimyt was a key player in the Hibbil side of the arrangement, which bore some similarities with the Adurian program. Humans were by far the largest consumers of Hibbil machines, and many of those units—even the ones manufactured by Jacopo Nehr’s factories on the Cluster Worlds and shipped out prior to the podship crisis—contained (without Jacopo’s knowledge) certain subtleties that would in time turn them against Humans. Pimyt smiled at the thought. Even the sensor-guns that had been connected on short notice to pod stations throughout the Merchant Prince Alliance were not for the benefit of Humans.

  They were to protect the planets for the conquerors.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Ultimately everything is happenstance, isn’t it? You can take steps to accomplish a particular goal, and you think you are improving the odds of success, even ensuring the result you want. But it is not really so. There is always something out there that you cannot possibly anticipate, a monster waiting to crush your hopes and dreams.

  —Anonymous, from Lost Earth

  On the pod station orbiting the Mutati homeworld of Paradij, the Zultan Abal Meshdi led a prayer service, attended by a throng of his people, who stood in silence on the sealed walkways of the station.

  He, like everyone present for this traditional religious holiday, wore a simple white gown, and they all had minigyro mechanisms on their foreheads. It was nighttime, and in the low natural light cast by the pod station the gyros threw eerie VR-light on the faces of the participants. His voice came across speakers to the assemblage, many of whom could only see him on projection cameras.

  Every square centimeter of the pod station was packed with fleshy Mutatis, and some of those who could not fly overhead used their shapeshifting abilities to make themselves more comfortable, turning into a variety of creatures that could climb walls and windows, or hang from ceilings. Today was the Feast of Paradij, honoring the occasion centuries ago when nomadic Mutatis first settled on the most sacred of all planets.

  As was his right, the Zultan had selected this holy day for yet another Demolio launch against the enemy—hoping that a spillover of blessings from God-on-High during the celebration would aid the war effort.

  The previous launch against the merchant prince planet of Siriki, and recent attempts against other enemy worlds, had been unsuccessful thus far, even when they tried slightly different trajectories against the same targets, like gunners trying to find the range. Their laboratory-bred podships, while they looked like the real thing and reached tremendous speeds in space, continued to have perplexing guidance problems that sent them veering wildly off course.

  For today’s attempt, a system of deep-space relay telescopes had been pointed toward distant Canopa, where a massive explosion was expected. By the law of averages something had to eventually hit its intended target, if only by accident. Or so his scientists claimed. But the Zultan wasn’t so sure about that. The galaxy was a very large place.

  He completed the prayer and blessing, then lifted his arms and gave the command everyone had been awaiting.

  Silently, the laboratory-bred podship took off and disappeared into space, with its deadly Demolio torpedo inside.

  At an improvised nehrcom station on Dij, the Zultan’s son, Hari’Adab, and Parais d’Olor listened to a report on the latest launch. The Mutatis had not yet perfected their cross-space transmission system, and static interfered with the sound quality, along with something that caused the signals to surge and fade.

  The pair stood silently with their hands clasped in front of them, the position of Mutati prayer.

  Minutes passed with excruciating slown
ess. Hari heard chatter over the line as a commentator provided calculations on how long it should take for the lab-pod to arrive at Canopa and blow it to oblivion. Lab-pods didn’t need to go anywhere near the pod stations where the Merchant Prince Alliance had set up sensor-guns. Theoretically a cloned podship could emerge on the opposite side of Canopa and then blow the planet into space dust.

  Finally enough time elapsed, and there was no report of an explosion. Hari and Parais heaved sighs of relief. Their prayers had been answered.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  All things come to an end. There are no exceptions.

  —Tulyan Saying

  It was like having front-row seats for the most spectacular show in the cosmos. As if they were living creatures, small comets and meteors swooped so close to Eshaz’s home that he imagined jumping aboard one of them and flying it straight to heaven. He never tired of the spectacular galactic displays, not even after seeing them for hundreds of thousands of years.

  His three guests sat with him in large rocking chairs on the porch, oohing and aahing like spectators at a fireworks display. Even the Parvii woman seemed impressed, and she had undoubtedly seen a great deal in her travels around the galaxy. Hours ago, they had all received great news, a report that Noah Watanabe had been rescued from a CorpOne medical laboratory. Already Eshaz had obtained permission from the Council to send a congratulatory message to him at the next regularly scheduled transmission time over Timeweb—a message that would be received on the other end by Zigzia, a Tulyan working for Noah’s Guardians. This evening’s galactic show was the frosting on an excellent day.

  Truly, I have been blessed to live here, Eshaz thought, savoring the beauty of the night. But he worried over how much longer such natural delights would last, galactic wonders that were probably unrivaled in the entire universe. So far the sacred starcloud had not shown any signs of the deterioration affecting other star systems as the Timeweb infrastructure unraveled, that living organism linking all galactic life forms.