“There are so many excellent stories I could tell you,” Eshaz said in the low light, “for I am very old by your standards, and rich with experience.” He rocked in his creaking chair. “Eons ago, my people were masters of the entire galaxy, and could journey to the farthest stars in the blink of an eye. We controlled podships then, before Parviis swarmed in and pirated them away.”
He glanced at the shadowy, magnified profile of Tesh, who had chosen to remain too small for the Tulyan rocker, and added, “Our enemies were always an irritant, and eventually became much more than that. It was the beginning of the end, and prevented us from performing our large-scale caretaking work. For too long we have tried to patch things together, but it has not been nearly enough.”
She looked over at him, with the saddest expression on her face. The remorse of one Parvii meant little to Eshaz. It was not nearly enough, but he still enjoyed her companionship, and had done important work with her. They had captured podships together, an unprecedented collaboration in the history of the galaxy.
The big Tulyan stopped rocking and said, “Even with their domination, Parviis don’t have all of our powers. I am a timeseer, one of the Tulyans who is sometimes able to peer short distances into the future.”
“In order to obtain travel privileges for his people,” Tesh interjected, “Eshaz’s services … and the services of other Tulyans like him … are made available to the Parviis. Woldn, and all the Eyes of the Swarm who preceded him, have always worried about the future.”
“Your people have a guilty conscience,” Eshaz said.
“Perhaps that is true, though I suppose all of us feel the guilt of our ancestors.”
In a faltering voice, Eshaz said, “I was ordered to timesee for Woldn, but something blocked me … chaos in the galaxy, I think. But I sense something important anyway, that Noah Watanabe holds the keys to the future.”
“In what way?” Dux asked.
“I wish I knew. He might not even understand how to use them himself.” The ancient reptilian shuddered as a cold breeze emerged from the mists, and the sky went dark.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Eternal life does not equate to eternal happiness. In point of fact, the opposite is far more likely.
—Noah Watanabe
Francella stood on the largest loggia of her palatial cliffside home. Gripping the railing, she looked dejectedly out on the moonlit Valley of the Princes, focusing on her own destroyed buildings down there … the headquarters and the main lab that had been sabotaged by the pesky Guardians. Then her gaze drifted down to the cliff face beneath the railing, and the welcome relief that could be only a few moments away for her.
For Francella Watanabe, her entire life had been a waking nightmare in which she had striven to be noticed, but in which her rightful position in the family and in society had been denied. As far as she was concerned, most of the blame for that went to her twin brother, but it also irritated her that their father had permitted it all to happen in the first place. A self-made industrialist, Saito had been opposed to the indolence and inherited wealth of noble-born princes. He professed to honor hard work and ingenuity, so logically he should have honored and rewarded her efforts. But it had never been that way. She’d been forced to work twice as hard as Noah to gain any measure of respect with their father, and ultimately she received only the grudging, secondary attention given to a mere daughter.
That lack of respect for her as a person and as a woman carried over even now, despite the fact that she owned and controlled the immense assets of CorpOne. She saw it on the faces of officers of the company and in members of the Doge’s Royal Court, in their subtle looks and tones of voice. On the surface they appeared to give her deference and jumped to comply with her wishes, but she always sensed an undercurrent. She was not the great Prince Saito Watanabe. Nor was she Noah Watanabe, who—despite having been declared a criminal—was still widely admired among the people.
She felt the moisture of her own teardrops on her hands as she continued to grip the railing. It would not be difficult for her to climb over and tumble into oblivion.
To Francella, the atmosphere of hard work in which she had grown up was a fraud and a farce, a purported ethical base that never really existed. Any semblance of ethics she’d seen had been tainted with exclusionary clauses that left her out of the inner circles of merchant prince society. As a woman and a Human being, she resented that.
Feeling betrayed by her family, it was easy for her to abandon them. She had arranged for the death of her father, and had neatly blamed it on her brother. Likewise, she had been spreading rumors against Doge Lorenzo, and had allied herself with his political enemies, the noble-born princes. It had been easy for her to turn against people who did not respect her. Now she would champion the cause of the noble-born aristocrats, and in the process would advance the position of her own son Anton, and of herself. After all, he was of noble blood from the loins of Doge Lorenzo, and she could not be expected to ignore that.
Through it all she had become a political chameleon, doing whatever it took to survive in a male-dominated society filled with intrigues and double dealings. She thought her own schemes had been well laid out, and they did give her some measure of influence over difficult situations.
But something eluded her. From birth, she had been allotted the normal Human lifetime. That was limited enough, yet now, through a terrible misfortune and injustice, even that was being taken away from her. Each time she looked in the mirror or saw others react with aversion to her appearance, she felt the erosion. The end was drawing near.…
Unable to sleep that night, she had been pacing the corridors of her villa in a robe, desperate to come up with a solution. Earlier in the evening she had taken a couple of spinneros, pills that were manufactured by her company as antidepressants. They were not working on her, perhaps because they were lousy drugs, or because she was too far down to bring herself back.
She envisioned herself summoning the necessary courage and jumping off the cliff. But would that really be courage? Wouldn’t it be more brave to fight harder than ever for life?
Her despair shifted quickly to anger, and she turned away from the railing. She had never been a quitter or a loser. Her enemies would have to drag her kicking and screaming from this life, from everything she deserved. As long as she still had breath, she would fight.
Dressing hurriedly, she summoned her chauffeur and ordered him to notify Dr. Bichette that she intended to call on him within the hour. She wanted a firsthand status report on her condition, and what he was doing to combat it. No matter that it was the middle of the night. If she could not sleep, neither should Bichette.
At the last minute, Francella slipped a puissant handgun into the pocket of her jacket. If she didn’t like what he had to say, she would administer her own form of discipline, and—assuming she let him live—she would put a black mark in his personnel file. Actually, a bloody mark sounded better to her. It was her right as his employer, after all.
At the front entrance, the chauffeur handed her an envelope. “The doctor sent this over right after I contacted him.”
After slipping into the back seat of the limousine, she opened the envelope, while the vehicle hummed along the maglev track. Reading the note, she said to the driver, “Take me to Lab Two instead of his home. He’s waiting there.”
Her pulse raced. The message read, “I have good news.” What did he mean?
Arriving at the laboratory, she found that the doctor, fully aware of his precarious position, had been working around the clock. He looked pale and gaunt, and had not shaven in some time. A vein throbbed at his temple, as it did whenever he became agitated. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said in his deep voice, grasping her hand and shaking it. “Your timing is elegant.”
Dr. Bichette reported interesting developments in the research. From duplicate medical records that were kept in a separate location and not destroyed in the lab fire, he and his staff had compared
Noah’s previous DNA structure with what it was now, and had spotted significant differences, particularly involving how genes transferred during cellular division. In a normal person, a small number of cells had age-related chromosomal defects that were held in check when the person was young, but expanded their domain as the person grew older.
“But in the case of Noah Watanabe,” the excited doctor said, “these defective cells no longer exist. His basic DNA structure has been completely revamped, making him better than new.”
Francella found these comments fascinating, but she was impatient to hear more. “What does this mean for me?” she demanded.
Looking increasingly nervous, the doctor continued. “When you injected yourself with Noah’s blood, it gave me an idea. I began to wonder if his DNA might be used as a blueprint to make a new product, an elixir of eternal life.”
“The Fountain of Youth,” Francella said.
“It seems entirely possible. Computer projections indicate that an injection of elixir could make some people live for a very long time.”
He started to go into more detail when she interrupted. “Begin production at once.”
His eyes widened. “But more studies are required first, tests on animals and willing Human subjects.”
“I do not have the luxury of time. You are to immediately suspend all other medical operations and focus our resources on the elixir.”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Certain robots have no sense of honor programmed into them, or they have overridden it, and will destroy anything that stands in their way.
—Thinker, entry in his data banks
Upon learning of Noah’s escape from the CorpOne facility, Jacopo Nehr summoned his top officers to the orbital space station. In his office there, the Supreme General of the Merchant Prince Armed Forces said, “I understand robots broke the prisoner out of the medical lab. Is that true?”
Colonel Umar Javit, commander of the Red Berets, stepped forward. A big man with broad shoulders, he said, “It is, sir.”
“But how could robots sneak in and do that? Aren’t they clanky and noisy?”
“There are ways to muffle sound, a fact I learned by asking robots under my own command the same questions.”
“I’ve heard about your robots,” Nehr said, thoughtfully. “They’re doing a good job for you, aren’t they?”
“Better than most men, sir. They’ve been self-replicating, too, building more of their kind quickly. I had twenty machine volunteers in the beginning, and now they number in the tens of thousands.”
“Impressive. Put them to work on this Noah situation. Add them to the Human Red Berets that are already looking for him. Find Noah and his hideout and destroy them.”
“Shall I take prisoners, sir?”
“Only enough to obtain intelligence information.” He grimaced. “Doge Lorenzo and Francella are anxious for results.”
“We are to kill the rest of the Guardians, then? I mean, the Humans?”
“Right. Their robots can be reprogrammed, after we get important data from them.”
“And what are we to do about Noah Watanabe? From what I hear, he can’t be killed. There are
even doubts about whether he is really Human or not. I mean, he’s not like Princess Meghina, really a
Mutati. The shapeshifters are as mortal as we are.”
Nehr nodded. “He’s in his own category, isn’t he? Capture him, kill him if you can with
overwhelming firepower. Whatever it takes to stop his operations.”
Underground, his location veiled by the security system that Subi and Thinker had improvised, Noah stood with Zigzia, a female Tulyan who was around his own height, but who probably weighed three times as much as he did. She wore a green-and-brown Guardian uniform. For her race, Zigzia was on the small side, even for a female. Noah had dealt with enough Tulyans to be able to distinguish one from another by facial features, and he thought this one had an interesting look to her, with intelligence in her dark, slitted eyes.
“Please repeat my message back,” Noah said.
“To make certain I have it right, you mean?” She looked a bit perturbed, and a crinkle formed along her bronze, scaly snout. “I have a perfect memory, just as Eshaz does.”
“Of course. I don’t wish to be insulting. As I understand it, virtually all Tulyans have such a memory. But there are a small percentage of exceptions.”
“With all due respect, Master, you think I might fall into the latter category?”
He shook his head. “I’m sure you don’t. I am told by my people that you have precise recall, and that you have transmitted numerous messages between us and your Council of Elders on the Tulyan Starcloud. It’s just that this is the first time I have dealt with you personally, and I have a certain way of doing things.”
“I accept your apology,” she said.
“My.…” Noah smiled. “Yes, you could call it that.”
With a twinkle in her eyes, the bulky alien repeated his message back to him in its entirety, even including the vocal inflections and pauses in his original, when he uttered it moments ago. Word for word, she got it exactly right, and he nodded with satisfaction.
“Very good,” he said. “Most impressive. OK, go ahead and send it.”
She grinned, revealing large teeth. “The regularly appointed time is this afternoon.”
“Yes. As specified by your Council. One of these days I shall ask you to show me in detail how the system works. Something to do with the web, as I understand it.”
Disapproval registered on her face. “That is correct, but the Council has not authorized me to say more.”
“To an outsider, you mean?”
“No, Master Noah. You are as close to being Tulyan as any Human I have ever met. Among my people, you are held in great esteem. But only the Elders can decide what is revealed to you.”
“I understand.”
She bowed, and left to perform her various tasks.
In his soon-to-be transmitted message, Noah asked about Eshaz and Tesh, wondering how they were doing and what they were doing. On the surface it appeared to be entirely businesslike, focused on their operations as Guardians, and Noah’s request that they return as soon as possible. Noah also had an interest in regaining jurisdiction over the podship that Tesh had with her, even if he was never able to pilot one of the sentient vessels himself again. With the ship at his disposal, many things were possible.
In several voyages across space, each taking only a few moments, he could move his entire force of Guardians to another planet. But what would he accomplish if he did that? He didn’t want to mount an army to attack the merchant princes. Instead, he wanted to work with them against the Mutatis and the Parviis, who were so problematic in different ways. The podship—presumably operated by Tesh—would enable him to personally move around the galaxy quickly if he needed to do so, and it might also be a bargaining chip in dealing with young Anton, who was the odds-on favorite to be the next doge. Noah harbored hopes that his past close relationship with his nephew might be beneficial to the cause of humankind. He just needed to figure out the best way of reaching out to him.
Noah wanted Eshaz, Tesh, and the podship back for professional reasons, to be sure, but behind the official communication he concealed his strong desire to see Tesh. He missed her. On a very personal level, it was a situation that he wanted to figure out how to handle, how to reach out to her. But in this galaxy, with all of the problems he faced, other matters were more pressing.…
On the other end of the transmission, Eshaz was forced by the Council of Elders to answer vaguely, without details of what they were doing. They saw through Noah’s words, to his true feelings. Eshaz defended Noah, saying that the man would never let personal feelings get in the way of important work. But Eshaz had to agree with his superiors. In his own experience, he had seen something extra between the two Humans.
Under tight control by the Elders, Eshaz’s transmitted response to
Noah read simply, “Congratulations on your rescue from imprisonment. We trust that you are doing well, and look forward to working closely with you again.”
When Jimu received his command to find and destroy Noah and his headquarters, it tied in with something the robot had been planning to do anyway. Recently, there had been reports of undercover Guardian machines operating around Canopa, eluding capture. He would concentrate on finding them, and ferreting out their secrets.
Moving quickly, Jimu ordered a roundup of every sentient machine that showed its metal face on Canopa. Household, factory, and office bots were brought in for questioning, along with every other type of mechanical device that had the capacity to think. Interface probes would be used, and even disassembly, if necessary. Whatever it took to find out where each machine had been, and what it was programmed to do.…
A week later, Jimu heard about some unusual robots that had turned up, and one in particular. As excited as a robot could be with his programmed emotions, he hurried to a government warehouse on the outskirts of Rainbow City. There he found a contingent of his Red Beret machines surrounding an armored Human and a dented bot that had folded itself shut. He recognized them immediately, from information in his own data banks. Both were famous in machine lore.
Without a doubt, they were Giovanni Nehr and Thinker.
“The robot won’t open,” one of Jimu’s sergeants said, “and we’re worried about damaging his programming if we try to force the issue. He’s really sealed himself up.”
Striding up to the prisoners, Jimu said, “Hello, Thinker. Remember me, old friend?”
To his surprise, Thinker opened without delay. Having erased part of his internal programming, the portion that revealed the location of Noah’s subterranean headquarters, Thinker had set all of this up intentionally, wanting to be captured. He had his own plan in mind, with two important goals … one involving Jimu and the other involving Gio.
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