“The enemy pods aren’t natural,” Hacket said, pointing to several decaying wrecks on the ground. “They’re growing them in Adurian bio-labs, and fitting them with Hibbil navigation machines.”
“We saw a couple of them back on the starcloud,” Anton said. “The Tulyans are analyzing them.”
“We’ve done some of that ourselves,” Hacket said. “We’ll have to compare notes.”
They toured four more death-fields where ships had fallen and soldiers on both sides had died. Many enemy robots lay on the ground beside Hibbils and Adurians, but Anton didn’t care about any of them. Then a tinge of emotion went through him as he realized how many of his own loyal robots had fallen fighting at the sides of his fighters.
Presently Anton and his entourage flew over the smoldering remains of Octo, one of Canopa’s largest cities. “We lost over a million people down there,” Bichette said in a somber tone. “But it could have been worse.”
“You’re a military expert now?” Tesh said.
“Just quoting the Vice-General,” he replied.
“That’s right,” Hacket agreed. “The HibAdus arrived in force, but we drove them back.”
Kajor Avery, a slender officer with almond-shaped eyes, pursed his lips. “The enemy seemed to pull their punches, as if they didn’t want to wipe everything out. We counterattacked, and they fled too easily.”
“In your opinion,” Vice-General Hacket said. “It’s not the majority opinion.”
“I have the vote that counts,” Doge Anton said. He narrowed his gaze. “I think the HibAdus could have hit harder, but they wanted to save the planet as a war prize. Even with us here, they probably think they can strike a killing blow any time they feel like it.”
Avery nodded, while Hacket just glared silently.
Tapping General Nirella on the shoulder, Anton said, “Send an emergency message to Noah Watanabe at Siriki. Tell him in detail what happened here, and not to let his guard down.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Most members of a racial group do not know the reasons for their hatred of another race. The reasons fall away, like leaves from a tree. But the hatred remains.
—First Elder Kre’n
Noah’s fleet split space in brilliant bursts of green as it emerged over Siriki. While his warships formed into battle groups, the flagship Okion went into geostationary orbit over the planet. On the command bridge of the vessel, Noah stood at a wide viewing window with Subi Danvar, watching violent splashes of color in near-space and in the atmosphere below. They had arrived on the night side of the planet, and from his high vantage point Noah received reports from spotters about the ferocious battle raging below.
He heard their voices on his comlink headset, and on screen displays he saw smaller HibAdu and MPA ships engaged in fierce dogfights and larger ones in cannon exchanges, lighting up orbital space and the skies over the planet with orange tracer fire and brilliant, multicolored explosions.
Before Noah and Subi could put a rescue plan into operation, a Tulyan woman received permission to enter, and strode heavily onto the command bridge. The reptilian Zigzia had always been what her people called a “webtalker,” but Noah had not heard of the vocation until recently, from Elders at the starcloud. Prior to that, he and other Guardians had only known that Zigzia could send and receive messages across the galaxy, though an arcane method of communication.
But the name of her specialty said a great deal about how she and others like her accomplished it. In recent days Noah had asked questions, and had learned that they tapped into Timeweb in a variety of ways, and transmitted telepathically along the strands of the infrastructure.
“Urgent message from Doge Anton at Canopa,” the webtalker said in a trancelike voice. “He advises you not to trust anything you see, and suspects that the HibAdus are adept at trickery, at laying deadly traps for our forces. On Canopa it is relatively calm, but there are indications of a storm brewing.”
Without hesitating, Noah dictated a response to Doge Anton. “Sire, I have encountered a difficult situation on Siriki. The HibAdus are attacking in considerable force.”
Completing his comments, Noah waved the Tulyan away. She hurried off to transmit. By prior arrangement, the three divisions of the Liberator fleet—at Canopa, Siriki, and Dij—were on their own, unless Doge Anton decided to change that.
Keeping his main force back, he ordered one of his battle groups to attack, and it dove into action. Podships disgorged thousands of fighter craft into the sky, which immediately sped to the aid of the Sirikan defenders, guns blazing. In orbital space, some of Noah’s larger ships hunted for the biggest, most powerful enemy targets, which were not making themselves apparent thus far.
Just then, firing their powerful cannons, two enemy podships came out of nowhere and raced toward Noah’s flagship. It was a moment of vulnerability, but Okion—either from instinct or the Tulyan pilot operating it—darted out of the way in the battle-lit darkness as if it were a smaller, more agile craft, and fired volleys that destroyed both vessels. They blew up in bursts of color that quickly flashed out in the airless vacuum.
* * * * *
In the next half hour, the tide of battle swung decisively in the Liberators’ favor. No more enemy lab-pods appeared, and the smaller warships were soon scattered or destroyed. Confident that he could go to the next stage, Noah sent more commands by comlink, and to the flagship’s sectoid chamber through a Tulyan on the command bridge. Now Okion led the main body of Noah’s fleet downward, into the atmosphere. Fighter craft and other podships cleared the way. HibAdu ships were no match for the natural podships, or for the smaller vessels operated by highly trained crews. Reports came in to Noah over comlinks that the HibAdus were in full retreat.
Followed by other podships, Okion flew to the sunlit side of Siriki, where there were no ongoing battles. The ship circled the grounds of Princess Meghina’s palace and then set down in a broad meadow of flowers. Hundreds of ships followed, while additional craft found their own landing sites in the nearby countryside.
As Noah and Subi disembarked in bright sunlight, he was greeted by three MPA officers who wore red-and-gold uniforms. Hundreds of soldiers stood at attention, and behind them rose the glittering turrets and spires of the Golden Palace. The Princess had not returned since the cessation of regularly scheduled podship travel.
“I’ll go ahead and check things out,” Subi said. “Let’s see if the keep in her palace matches its reputation.”
Noah nodded, and watched as Subi and a half-dozen men marched down a flower-line path toward the elegant structure. Looking around, Noah saw no signs of war here. The grounds were immaculately maintained.
Reportedly the Princess had set up an attack-proof capsule inside the palace structure, her version of the ancient concept of a fortified castle keep, where the royal family and key associates resided. Subi—with his security expertise—wanted to see it first-hand.
At a gesture from Noah, a dark-skinned aide hurried over, and saluted. “Sir?”
“Bring the Mutati to me,” Noah said.
Within minutes, two soldiers brought Parais d’Olor to him. Under close supervision, she had ridden in the passenger compartment of one of the other podships.
“Another test I need to pass?” the Mutati asked in a weary voice, when she reached Noah. She looked much the same as the last time he’d seen her, just before his fleet disembarked, but he thought her peacock feathers were of a slightly different color now. A woman’s prerogative, he supposed. Her small beak moved as she spoke.
“No,” he said.
Before departing from the starcloud on this mission, the Council of Elders had confirmed Parais’s veracity and lack of duplicity by administering the truthing touch on her. The Tulyans had done the same with all of the other Mutatis who had arrived in the two lab-pods, including the shapeshifter leader, Hari’Adab. Now, according to a report that had been transmitted to Noah’s flagship, Parais d’Olor had passed an additional se
ries of truthing tests that had been administered by Tulyans in Noah’s fleet.
In his experience as Master of the Guardians, Noah had developed a sixth sense about the people he admitted into his environmental organization. Unarguably, the best choice he had ever made had been Subi Danvar, a man who had risen quickly through the ranks to become adjutant. Another had been the Tulyan Eshaz, who had performed excellent ecological recovery work for the organization. In accepting Tesh Kori as a Guardian, Noah had assessed her heart correctly, but had not realized until later that she was really a Parvii, and not Human. He had also allowed the cerebral robot, Thinker, to join his inner circle. Thus, an interesting pattern had developed around Noah, as he interacted closely with a variety of galactic races, as well as sentient robots.
Subi Danvar, always security conscious, had expressed concern over this when he saw the pattern taking shape. In response, Noah had authorized him to complete any background or other security checks he wanted, and the adjutant had done so. For non-Humans, that proved to be difficult, but in his own way, Subi had satisfied himself that the eclectic assortment of new Guardians were an asset to the organization, and not a liability.
Noah had never suspected anything else. Just as he saw the entire galaxy as one ecological unit, so too did he view all galactic races—and even sentient robots (who were inspired by Humans)—as cut from the same essential cloth. Honor was honor, and betrayal was betrayal. Though he had been through his share of battles and could justify feeling otherwise, Noah invariably tried to find the good in people, instead of assuming the worst about them. He even did this with his enemies, trying to understand their rationalizations, their motivations. It helped him cope.
Now, as he looked intently into Parais’s large brown eyes, Noah was trying to determine the sincerity of the member of yet another race. And this time it was not just any galactic race. This was a Mutati, and they had been the mortal enemies of humankind since time immemorial.
“I believe I can trust you,” Noah said.
She smiled, revealing upturned creases around the sides of her beak. “You remind me of my Hari,” she said, “always thinking, always evolving in your thinking. You look through people.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to, but these are not ordinary times.”
“No, they aren’t.”
He told the soldiers with her to allow her freedom of movement, then said to Parais, “I’ll talk more about this to Doge Anton, and see if we can come up with duties for you. Something befitting of your position and your unique skills.”
“Thank you.” She bowed slightly to him.
“Excuse me,” Noah said, as he received a vibrating comlink signal. When Parais left, he took the call over a handheld transceiver. It was from Subi.
“The palace is everything I hoped,” the adjutant said. He grinned, put his hand on a pistol that was holstered on his hip. “Ten of us convinced the caretaker to give us a tour. Meghina’s central keep is virtually impregnable, so it should be as good a place as any to coordinate our military operations. There are some surprises, though, as you’ll see when you get here.”
Followed by the MPA officers and some of his own men, Noah marched along the dimly-lit main path toward the palace. Just before going in the main entrance, he saw Acey Zelk and Dux Hannah, in a lighted section of the gardens. The teenagers were with a group of men setting up temporary structures and equipment for a security perimeter around the grounds. Dux said something to a non-commissioned officer, who looked in Noah’s direction and then nodded to him deferentially.
The boys hurried over to join Noah, and Acey spoke first. “Master Noah, we really sent the HibAdus packing, didn’t we?” The young man, having never really retired from the Guardians or been dismissed from them, apparently felt comfortable using Noah’s title as the leader of that organization.
“Don’t trust anything you see,” Noah said, passing Anton’s advice along. “We can’t let our guard down for a moment.”
“Our Grandmamá Zelk lives on Siriki,” Dux said. “In the back country. Sir, we’re worried about her.”
“Can we go and check on her?” Acey asked. He grinned awkwardly. “We’re just a couple of kids and not worth much. No one will miss us.”
“You’re hardly worthless,” Noah said. “I’ve been getting good reports on both of you.” He looked boys over, noted that much of the baby fat had left their faces.
“We know how to use local transportation,” Dux said in an imploring voice, “and we won’t take long.”
Hesitation. Then: “OK, I’m going to let you go. You’ve both earned the right.” He patted the boys on the shoulders. “But take care of yourselves and come back safe, all right?”
“Thank you sir,” Dux said, with a wide grin. “We will.”
Acey, less mindful of decorum, was already hurrying off, down the dimly lit main path. Dux saluted Noah, and ran after him.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The ultimate crisis can bring out the best in a galactic race … or lead to its complete extinction.
—Woldn, in his darkest hour
The Eye of the Swarm clustered in the midst of the surviving members of his race, in what he thought must be the darkest, coldest region of the universe. All hope seemed to be lost. He felt the collective loss of body heat in his race, sensed the slowly fading members around him.
Focus, he thought, I must focus and find a way.
The Parviis had their secret treasures, going back for millions and millions of years, to the very beginnings of their collective consciousness. It comprised a vault of arcane information that had worked well for them in bygone days to establish their position in the cosmos, but which had not been needed in later times. Or so it had seemed to a long succession of leaders. But Woldn was questioning the old ways.
As the Eye, I did as my predecessors did.
But Woldn didn’t want to make excuses for the extreme difficulties in which he now found himself, because leaders were supposed to lead and show strength. He wondered when the changes began, the slippages in ways of doing things, the entombment of important knowledge. At various points along the course of history, Parvii leaders had decided not to continue the old ways, and in the process important concepts and activities had piled up on intellectual dust heaps. He may even have contributed to the steady decline himself, in some barely perceptible manner. Admittedly, he had not made the decision to resurrect the old knowledge soon enough.
In his great despair, Woldn realized that he had lost touch with the ancient truths and principles of his race, the roots of what it meant to be a Parvii.
We have drifted.
And in drifting, the Parvii race had lost its compass. How fitting that he would make this analogy now, when he and the surviving members of the once vast swarms were huddled in an uncharted region, probably in another galaxy entirely.
But all living Parviis are not here, he thought. Tesh has joined our ancient enemy, has thrown in her lot with the Tulyans.
Woldn lamented over how many Parvii secrets she might have revealed to them. Some, perhaps, like the location of the Parvii Fold. But not all of them, certainly. The traitorous female had never gone through the rituals and training required to become a Parvii Eye of the Swarm. Thus, she could not possibly know certain things.
Secrets within secrets.
But she did have important contacts, like Noah Watanabe. If the rumors about him were true, if he was the first Human in history who could access Timeweb and utilize its vast powers, he was a dangerous wild card. He might even be able to peer into the secret treasure vaults of the Parvii race. The reputed “galactic ecologist,” combined with Tesh’s betrayal, could be why Woldn found himself where he was now.
Cast off, floundering, and sinking into oblivion.
To his dismay he noticed that some of the Parviis who had been clustered around the latents had died, but remained in place even in death. Through his morphic field, he counted them telepathically. Eight hund
red and thirteen. Just then, another passed on, right in front of his mind. Eight hundred and fourteen brave souls so far, and surely more would follow. He appreciated their contributions, their loyalty.
Something spiked in his consciousness. Telepathic waves coming from the center of the cluster, from one of the war priests. This one had a name now, resurrected from ancient times. Yurtii. As moments passed, Woldn sensed Yurtii drawing closer to him. The name was unfamiliar,, so he must not have been one of the most famous of the ancients.
Like a chick hatching from an egg, Yurtii shoved several of the dead Parviis aside and emerged in the physical form of a boy, then pushed his way out into space. Woldn followed him. Entirely hairless and without clothing, the boy flew to Woldn and hovered near him, making a buzzing noise that the Parvii leader could hear, despite the absence of atmosphere.
The Eye of the Swarm felt his spirits lift, but he could not put the sensation into words for anyone to hear, did not even know if the feeling was justified, or if it was foolish.
“What was old is new again,” Yurtii said.
In the war priest’s presence, confronted by the potent ancient mind that had regrown in a child’s consciousness, Woldn felt grossly inadequate. Though he had known war priests before, his initial probings of Yurtii indicated that they were only faint shadows of this one. Woldn had never been in the presence of a war priest of such talent.
“I am no longer qualified to command the swarm,” Woldn said, his voice weak. “Perhaps I should pass the mantle on to you.”
Yurtii’s bright blue eyes flashed from depths that seemed far beyond his corporal form, like twin stars in the alternate galaxy. “It is in the specialty of a war priest that I can do the most for our race.” The hovering youth bowed his head. “I defer to you.”
“Very well.” Falling silent, Woldn closed his eyes and probed Yurtii’s reawakened mind even more. In the process, he learned interesting things about this war priest’s past successes. It gave Woldn hope for the future, especially if the other latents were on the level of this one. But Yurtii had faced opposition from other war priests of his era, and the historical record had not been as kind to him as it might have been. His military successes, while numerous and important, had been downplayed by those who served after him. A cesspool of politics.
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