Timeweb’s pain is my pain, he thought, since his own condition seemed to run parallel with the recent precipitous decline of the web.
He repeated the invocation.
“Galara, ibillunor et typliv unat Ubuqqo! … Ubuqqo, anret pir huyyil!”
A rift opened beneath him, as deep as a grave, and he tumbled into it. As he struggled to climb out, the ground rolled and knocked him back in. Swirling dirt piled on top of him, and though Tulyans did not breathe, he knew what might happen next. The hole could open up completely, and send him hurtling through into the stygian oblivion of the undergalaxy. Still, like an insect struggling to make its way through a storm, he fought to stand up and free himself.
Fumbling in his pocket, he located the sorcerer’s pouch, and scattered its entire contents around him. A thunderous noise sounded, followed by a cacophonous grating sound, like huge continents rubbing together. He felt warm air.
Suddenly, with a flash of green light, he was tossed out of the hole and onto the rocky ground. The air was still, and there were no sounds. The rift had disappeared and the land looked almost normal, with hardly any sign of disturbance. Even his grid-plane, which he had parked away from the center of the disruption, appeared unharmed.
Eshaz rubbed a sore shoulder, and felt the pain diminishing already. With his recuperative powers it would not last long. He tested the surface of the ground carefully by putting a scaly foot on it, and then taking a step. It felt solid. Presently he walked on it, toward the waiting aircraft.
As he entered his plane to leave, worries assailed him like a swarm of insects. There had been too many timeholes appearing … and too many missing Tulyans, who presumably were being sucked into the openings. Symptomatic of the heightening crisis, fifteen of his people had disappeared in the past year … and hardly any before that.
The grid-plane lifted off, and he looked out through the window. Amazingly, the ground hardly looked disturbed at all, and even had wildflowers and small succulent plants growing on it. He clutched the empty sorcerer’s pouch in one hand, and wondered if he had actually repaired that timehole, or if it had just shifted position in relation to the strands of Timeweb. He had ways of finding out, and would do so.
Eshaz tapped the touch pads of the instrument panel, causing the aircraft to accelerate along the planetary flight control system. With a little stretch of his imagination he could see similarities between this airgrid, with its unseen web of interlocked electronics, and Timeweb, which encompassed so much more. In each case, ships traveled along strands that guided them safely. Where Timeweb was the work of the Sublime Creator, however, the airgrid networks on various Human planets had been invented and installed by much lesser beings … and the equipment operated on infinitely smaller scales. It could not be overlooked, either, that Timeweb was a natural system, while airgrids were not; they were intrusions. Airgrids were, however, ecologically benign, and not known to cause damage to plants, animals, or other aspects of nature.
The Tulyan wished he could do more for the empyrean web, that his people were again in control of podships as they had been in the long-ago days when he had been a pilot himself—before Parvii swarms came and took the pods away. At one time, Tulyans could travel freely around the galaxy, performing their essential work on a much larger scale.
An entire sorcerer’s bag expended for one timehole. It would take him nearly a day to restore the ingredients in the repair kit. For a moment he despaired, as the efforts of the Tulyans seemed so inefficient. But in a few moments the feeling passed, and he vowed to continue his work for as long as possible.
He was fighting more than timeholes, or the inefficiencies of dealing with them. On top of everything else, Eshaz and other Tulyans had been experiencing bodily aches and pains … for the first time in the history of their race. This suggested to them that their bodies might be undergoing a process of disintegration into homogeneous chemical soups and dust piles … along with every other organism in the dying galaxy.
Chapter Fourteen
The Theoscientific Doctrine tells us that our religious and scientific principles are indistinguishable from one another.
—Scienscroll, 1 Neb 14-15
After gambling all night in the palazzo casino with members of the royal court, Doge Lorenzo took a ground-jet to the dagg races on the other side of the broad river that bisected the capital city of Elysoo. This was one of his favorite haunts for placing bets.
It was Monday morning, and he should be attending theoscientific services at the Cathedral of the Stars. Right about now, the Moral Instructors—elderly women in silver robes—would be reading passages from the Scienscroll, perhaps even admonishing the parishioners about the sins of gambling. He didn’t care. The meddlesome old maids of the Cathedral would not dare to speak directly against him, the powerful leader of the Merchant Prince Alliance. Still, he would not want a confrontation with them; he was a devout believer in the holiest of all writings, the Scienscroll. He even knew the most famous verses by heart, such as the one from the Book of Visions:
Know ye the Way of the Princes,
for it is the path to gold and glory.
He liked another passage even more, and frequently quoted it:
May mine enemies tumble into space,
and crumble to dust!
There! he thought, after murmuring the verses to himself. I’ve fulfilled my theoscientific obligations for the day.
As usual, he went to the dagg track with no fanfare whatsoever, accompanied by only a handful of plainclothed security guards. His Hibbil attaché, Pimyt, went along as well. Dressed in red-and-brown capes and matching fez hats, the two of them entered the Doge’s private box, which was decorated in wallpaper that featured sports calligraphy and holos of race champions in action.
Lorenzo stood at one of the windows of the enclosure and watched spectators stream into the stands. Out on the track—over slopes and around hairpin turns—daggs made practice runs, dusty brown-and-tan animals that resembled the canines of Earth but had tiny heads … proportionately less than half as large as those of greyhounds. Each dagg had a large, bulbous eye in the center of its face—dominating the front like a headlight—and a snout-mouth beneath the boxlike jaw.
“While we await the first race, I thought you might like to use the time productively,” Pimyt suggested. After removing his cap the furry Hibbil knelt and tried to open the clasps on a shiny black valise that he had brought with him. He pressed on the release buttons, but only two of the four fasteners popped open.
“Must we discuss business here?” Lorenzo protested, watching him with irritation. He heard the crowd roar and looked to see the daggs and their trainers—many of them alien—parade in front of the main viewing stands and private boxes.
“You’ve said yourself that every bit of time is useful, Sire, and you are extremely busy … so there is hardly a moment available to show you the latest in Hibbil technology.” He waved casually at the valise. “Of course, if you would prefer not to see this.…”
The Doge sighed. “You know me too well, my friend. Aside from my weakness for betting, I do have a fondness for gadgets … and for women, lest I forget, and not necessarily in that order.”
With a curt smile, Pimyt struggled to open the lid of his valise. “I think you will like this, Sire.” He slammed a furry fist on the bag, but the last clasp resisted him.
As Doge Lorenzo gazed dispassionately at his attaché, he had a hard time believing that Pimyt had once been the Regent of the Merchant Prince Alliance. A Hibbil. Though he hadn’t realized it at the time (and still didn’t), Pimyt had not been given any real power or responsibility during his term in office. It had only been ceremonial, and something of a well-concealed joke, a way of treading water between doge regimes while seeming to show respect for the Hibbil Republic, an important economic ally who provided the best machines available, at reasonable prices. His tenure in office had only lasted for a few months, until the Council of Forty elected a new leade
r, but it had helped cement relations between the Human and Hibbil societies.
Finally, Pimyt won his argument with the stubborn clasp and swung the lid of the valise open.
Intrigued, Lorenzo leaned closer to look.
“We call this a ‘hibbamatic,’” Pimyt announced proudly, as he brought out several flat, geometric pieces and snapped them together on the floor, forming a box with octagonal sides. He slid open a little door on the structure, permitting Lorenzo to see that it glowed pale orange inside, as if with an internal fire.
“Strange device.” The Doge reached out and placed a finger against one side of the box, which was around a meter in height. It felt cool to the touch.
“This is one of our smaller models, a machine that can be programmed to build a variety of small consumer and military devices out of programmable raw materials” Pimyt had noticeable pride in his voice. “Here, let me show you.”
The Doge squinted as he watched the Hibbil remove a hand-sized cartridge from inside the lid of the valise. The selected cartridge had a keypad on one side, and Pimyt tapped a code into it. He then tossed the cartridge into the geometric structure and slid the door shut. Moments later, a tray opened on the opposite side and a small, red-handled weapon slid out and clattered onto the tray.
“An ion gun,” Pimyt said. “Fully loaded. The hibbamatic can create anything except a copy of itself.” He grinned. “Or so our promotional literature says. Assuming we provide enough raw materials.”
“How about a beamvideo of Capponi’s Revenge?” Lorenzo asked.
“Ah yes, that patriotic war story.”
Seconds later, like a wish fulfilled by a genie, a silver-colored video cylinder clattered into the tray. After examining it, Lorenzo smiled craftily and said, “Now make me a nehrcom transceiver.”
Since this was one of the most secret devices in the galaxy, with its workings known only to Prince Jacopo Nehr, the Hibbil responded, “Don’t believe everything in our promotional literature, Sire.”
With a guffaw, the merchant prince leader said, “Nonetheless, I rather like your hibbamatic, as a novelty item for the amusement of my court.”
“Shall I transmit your order to my homeworld?”
“Later.” Lorenzo glanced out the window. “The race is about to begin.”
Twenty daggs in racing colors took off and dashed around the track, going up and down the slopes and around the sharp turns. But the top daggs were not as fast as usual. Doge Lorenzo smiled, for he had taken steps to influence the result, having arranged for the sedation of the favorites … just enough to slow them down slightly.
As expected, Abeeya’s Dowry, the underdagg he had bet on, won easily.
“Now I have enough to buy your products,” Doge Lorenzo said. “Big payday … minus operating expenses, of course.”
Beside him, Pimyt smiled, but a bit too broadly for the occasion, as he envisioned the Hibbil-Adurian master plan unfurling, moment by moment. Timing was everything.…
Chapter Fifteen
Life is about changes, and adapting to them.
—Tulyan Wisdom
Only moments before the arrival of the conducci, Tesh Kori and Anton Glavine ran through the front gate of the estate and hid in the thick woods outside. Flushed with anger and outrage, Tesh parted the leaves of an aixberry bush and peered through the red-leafed foliage. A groundjet stopped at the gate and waited for it to slide open slowly. These mercenaries had their own transmitter key.
It was a warm afternoon, with hardly any clouds in the azure blue sky. Beside her, Anton breathed hard from the exertion of running across the large compound. His brow glistened with perspiration. In contrast, Tesh showed no signs of physical effort. Parviis, who could survive in outer space without the necessity of any breathing apparatus, did not have cardiovascular systems. Rather, they were complex electrochemical creatures, with tiny, highly sophisticated neurological systems.
Six large men wearing black coats and tinted eyeglasses sat inside the oval-shaped vehicle, which discharged orange flames from the rear as it idled. To Tesh they looked like barroom brawlers, or street thugs. The tip telebeamed to her by a girlfriend had been correct. Dr. Bichette had hired muscle to bring her back to him … and had sent enough men to handle not only her, but Anton as well. Judging by the puissant rifles that Tesh saw in the rear of the passenger compartment, she judged that the men had been given strict orders to do whatever it took to accomplish the task.
She had long suspected that Bichette had a mean streak, and this confirmed it. Despite his attempts to show her a gentle, compassionate side she had seen behavioral lapses in him, moments when a darker aspect showed through and then scurried for cover, like a creature not wishing to be discovered. It had taken months for this nature to reveal itself, but it had not escaped her attention, as she noticed the way he treated servants and even his valuable tigerhorses when he didn’t know anyone was watching. Two of the animals in his stable had died of poisoning, and while he had insisted that it must have been committed by an intruder, he had also collected large insurance payments. Humans could be so unethical.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” Anton said. He held a four-barrel handgun that he had grabbed on the way out of the palatial home.
“So do I,” she said. “Let’s go deeper into the woods. Maybe there’s a way out on the other side.”
Not a person to run from a fight, no matter the odds, Anton hesitated.
She tugged at his arm. “Come on!”
The groundjet roared fire and entered the compound. The gate closed behind it with a hard click of metal. Tesh and Anton scrambled deeper into the woods, tromping their way over thorny underbrush and through stands of gray and yellow-barked trees.
Ten minutes later they heard a commotion behind them, barking daggs and shouting men. A second vehicle must have arrived, carrying the animals. To Tesh they sounded like keanu tuskies, known to be fast and deadly. A hundred years ago she had seen one run down a fugitive and chew off his legs before handlers arrived to collect what was left. Ever since, the memory had been etched indelibly in her mind.
“Faster!” she said, without explaining what she knew.
Anton didn’t need any encouragement, but he had trouble keeping up with her. His hands were bloody from thorn bushes, but hers were not, since Parviis did not bleed.
Abruptly, Anton stopped and turned the other way. Kneeling, he flipped a toggle and pressed a button on the handgun. Flames belched out of all four barrels and ignited the tinder-dry underbrush. He scurried to one side and the other, setting up a wall of fire to block the pursuers.
Then he turned and rejoined her, where she awaited him. “That’ll slow ‘em down,” he said. “My dad and uncle were hunters and had a lot of guns, including a couple like this one … handy for flushing wild treegeese out in the open.”
“That doesn’t sound very sporting,” Tesh observed.
“Maybe not, but it works.”
The pair sprinted ahead, while fire raged behind them, turning the brush and trees into a popping, exploding conflagration. Birds screeched and flew off.
“We have a favorable wind direction,” Anton said. “It could switch on us, though. We need to hurry.”
She glanced longingly at her companion as he ran alongside her. He seemed to be in complete control and unafraid … capable of handling virtually any situation.
In the seven centuries of her life, Tesh had enjoyed countless sexual experiences with the males of almost every galactic race. Two of the most memorable had been a tryst with a Vakeen swordsman in the Dardar Sector and months of lovemaking with a handsome Ilakai merchant, who entertained her at his various chateaux around the galaxy.
She sighed, remembering her first physical relationship, with a powerful Adurian lord who looked like a humanoid ant, with bulbous eyes and puffy black cheeks. She had been little more than a child at the time, and he had been so ruggedly handsome, enhanced by the keloid scars on his face and arms. The touch
of his antennae had been almost electric on her skin, so stimulating that she had been hard-pressed to find anyone afterward who was anywhere near his sexual equal.
Her current love interest, Anton Glavine, was perhaps the most perplexing of all. In her many relationships, she had learned a great deal about the various races and cultures, including Humans. But this was an entirely new experience for her. She found him intelligent, sensitive, and extremely irritating. With males, she was used to getting her own way.
Their first night of lovemaking had been passionate, but nowhere near the most stimulating of her life. Still, the sexual experience had been adequate, and she’d wanted to continue the episodes, hoping they would improve with time. After that, though, Anton had refused to make love to her again, saying he’d made a regrettable mistake with her. He said he wanted to get to know her better before repeating what they had done.
“But it was so wonderful,” she’d told him in exaggeration, blinking her emerald green eyes. She and Anton had been in the living room of the main house, sitting in front of a warm, cheery fireplace. Tesh had set it all up, even providing wine to lower his resistance.
With surprising determination, Anton had said, “I like to be in control of myself, and with you around that presents a challenge.”
Then he put down his wineglass and gave her a hard stare, as if he could see through her superficiality. He seemed to look deep into her soul with his penetrating hazel eyes … through her personal magnification system to the tiny Parvii inside. Of course that was impossible, but she had been unnerved, and bewildered. He was not like any Human male she had ever encountered; instead he behaved more in the manner of a Human female, who typically wanted to develop an emotional relationship before becoming intimate.
Things were topsy-turvy. Tesh was even playing more the part of a Human male, as she pursued him aggressively. But she was not a humanus ordinaire, and could not be judged in the terms of that race. As a Parvii, she had her own ways, her own traditions and genetic makeup that drove her actions. She was not sure how to control this man; the more time she spent with him the more she wanted him, and the more he befuddled her.
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