Webdancers

by Brian Herbert

  He and Doge Anton had agreed on galactic destinations, so Noah visualized Yaree, where they had won their battle against the HibAdus. It seemed like a safe destination now, where the Liberators had joint defensive operations with the Yareens. Hours ago, Anton had dispatched courier ships there (and to Canopa and Siriki) to notify them of last-minute war maneuvers that could take place in their vicinities.

  Feeling a link to Timeweb, Noah saw far across space to the Yareen star system and its central planet, framed against the faint green filigree of the cosmic web. Simultaneously, he expanded his far-reaching eye, so that he also saw where he was now, just outside the Tulyan Starcloud with the Liberator fleet. And, just as he was expanding outward, so too did he delve deep into his own psyche and to the linkage he shared with the cocoon.

  Show them the way, Noah thought, wondering if the secret of nearly instantaneous travel lay inside the armored core of data that Thinker had passed on to him. We lead, and they will follow.

  A burst of green light filled his consciousness, and he felt the slightest sensation of movement. Looking again, Noah saw that EcoStation was now in a geostationary orbit over the blue-green planet Yaree, and thousands of armed podships were with him.

  Then he noticed that it was not the entire Liberator fleet, but still a significant portion of it, around forty-five thousand ships. Less than half of the total. Webdancer was with him, and other familiar podships. The older ones, mostly, including Diminian. Many of the younger Aopoddae had not made the journey, and seemed confused back where they had been left. But a large number of older podships remained behind with them as well.

  Noah made the effort again. This time, he visualized returning to the rest of the fleet, and in a matter of moments he made the leap across space. Then, assessing the results, he saw that all of the ships that had gone to Yaree had returned with him.

  Next, he visualized Siriki, and after that, Canopa. With each gigantic leap across space, a handful of the younger podships figured out how to do it, and joined the pack. The majority of them, however, were having difficulty learning the method, and some of the older Aopoddae didn’t even seem to make the effort. A number of the younger ships got lost for awhile, and had to find their way back to the original jump-off point. A handful were still out there in space, and had not been accounted for.…

  Finally, retrieving the rest of the fleet and bringing it back to the Tulyan Starcloud, Anton and Noah had another meeting in the Doge’s flagship office.

  “Mixed results,” Noah said. “With time, we might make it work, but I know what you’re thinking. We don’t have time.”

  Anton scowled. “We can do the guerrilla attacks with forty percent of the fleet, but my generals—who were initially supportive—are now saying that we should hit the HibAdus with everything we’ve got, the whole fleet. Our best Tulyan scouts say it will take two hours to get to the Kandor Sector the conventional way, due to rough podways and no good shortcuts of any kind.”

  “To me, it still makes sense to hit them with guerrilla attacks. Even forty percent is still a lot of ships, a lot of firepower.”

  “My generals say otherwise. If we don’t reduce the number of enemy ships fast enough, they’re afraid the HibAdus can dramatically increase the manufacture of lab-pods in response, and overwhelm us. We have the intelligence reports, and we’re going back to Plan A, what we’ve been building up for all along. I just had a wild idea that something else might work.”

  “It was worth trying. All right, think of it this way. The exercises were not wasted. If we get in a jam, we can still evacuate much of the fleet.”

  “And leave the rest to be slaughtered?”

  “No, many of the other podships could still break away into space and join up with us again. Think of me as an escape hatch, a desperation plan to be used only in the event of a dire emergency, if all seems to be lost.”

  “All right. I’ll set that up as a last resort. But we need to be in close contact all through the battle. We’ll take the two-hour route to Kandor, and I want you at the rear of the fleet with my own division. We’ll have redundant communication to stay in touch with you—comlink and Tulyan webtalkers.”

  * * * * *

  Supreme General Nirella del Velli—commanding the combined Liberator fleet—divided into four divisions—Andromeda, Borealis, Corona, and Parais. The latter three, all smaller than the core Andromeda Division, went out to holding positions just outside the Kandor Sector, while the core division took up a position at the rear, with Doge Anton and Noah. Most of the Mutati fighters and support equipment were with Hari’Adab in the Parais Division, inspired by the brave aeromutati who still clung to life on Siriki.

  Then, from those three forward divisions, twenty-one scout ships were dispatched into regions that were near the last-reported position of the main body of the HibAdu fleet—but not so close that the scouts would be detected. It required twenty-one of the best Tulyan pilots, and—through wartime testing procedures—it was determined that one of them was Eshaz, who had been assigned to the Borealis Division.

  Having received a different assignment from that of his cousin, Dux Hannah was aboard Eshaz’s scout ship, which separated from the other scouts and sped through space alone. Their craft entered the Vindi Lightway, an atmosphere-encased asteroid belt that was illuminated by miniature suns, each of them looking like a small, bright moon. Taking different routes, the other scout ships, were probing different areas near the Kandor Sector.

  Onboard the cocoon, Noah went into a deep “timetrance,” a term he had developed for particularly vivid journeys into Timeweb. Though he had not anticipated this, he now found himself able to see through the eyes of the distant scout podships—and he saw the Kandor Sector, a region of nebulas and blue stars visible in the distance.

  Concentrating as the scouts closed in, taking carefully developed routes, Noah was able to magnify the images seen by the podships. The planets and suns came into focus, and—beyond a veil of nebula dust—he saw a multi-level armada of lab-pods so immense that it looked like a huge dead sun.

  But there were blind spots now. Previously he had been able to peer inside some of the pseudo podships in the HibAdu force, and he had seen Hibbils operating navigations units inside them, and soldiers in the cargo holds. The enemy might have found a way to veil the interiors from him since then, or web conditions were preventing the reach of his mind into the enemy vessels. He also could not see through the eyes on the hulls of the lab-pods.

  Noah wondered about the enemy ships, how similar they were to their natural cousins. The Tulyans had inspected two of them back at the starcloud, and had found startling cellular similarities—along with differences in the undercarriages that caused damage to podways when they traveled over them. The lab-pods also seemed to be substantially out of contact with natural podships—although the natural pods had shown slightly averse reactions when participating in attacks on their faux versions. Maybe this lack of contact had something to do with Noah’s blind spots.

  The armada was much larger than any of the figures he had heard. There must be more than a million armed lab-pods there! As he watched, the immense layered formation began to shift in eerie synchronization. Large sections broke away and spread outward in all directions. The maneuver was almost hypnotic. It looked choreographed, a dangerous thing of beauty.

  Emerging from the trance, Noah transmitted an urgent warning to Doge Anton.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Throughout military history, there have been instances of determined, inspired warriors winning the day, despite the immense odds against them. We hasten to add that such examples are quite rare. Overwhelming force usually prevails.

  —Report to General Nirella, by officers formerly in the Mutati High Command

  The command bridge of the flagship was a buzz of activity, of robots and junior officers at their consoles and bustling from station to station, preparing for battle. Standing at the forward viewing area, Doge Anton stared ters
ely ahead, looking through a deep-space magnaviewer—one of several round units attached to the windowplax. Beside him, General Nirella did the same.

  “I don’t see anything yet,” he said.

  “We will,” she said.

  Moments ago, they had received urgent transmissions from their scout ships and from Noah. The HibAdu fleet was vastly larger than earlier intelligence reports had indicated, and it was in motion.

  “Maybe they’re only performing a practice maneuver,” Anton suggested.

  “Whatever they’re doing, I don’t like it.”

  “Do you think we should fall back and regroup?”

  “Not yet. Hold on. Another transmission coming in from Noah.” She adjusted her ear-set.

  “I’m getting it, too, but it’s filled with static.”

  Neither of them could understand what he was transmitting. Noah was in his cocoon at the rear of the main Andromeda Division, but despite the distance he had earlier reported getting a clear view of the enemy armada. Anton could not begin to understand the powers of his uncle. They seemed to change constantly, and Noah had often said himself that they were unpredictable. The young doge only knew that he trusted him completely, and so did every fighter in the Liberator force.

  Anton motioned to a Tulyan, who was also in contact with Noah’s cocoon via the specialized method of the reptilian race. On each end, experienced webtalkers in the Liberator fleet found creative ways to touch the cosmic web, and in turn they relayed messages to other Tulyans in the warships. Because of the relays and changing galactic conditions, it sometimes took a little longer than the military comlink system, but it was often more clear and reliable.

  In his comlink ear-set, Anton began to hear sentence fragments from Noah. “HibAdu force … shifting direction … large portion is … “ The Doge couldn’t get any more.

  Moments later, a small Tulyan woman hurried over and said, “Noah reports that the bulk of the HibAdu force is heading toward us. Speed moderate but steady. Portions of the enemy fleet keep breaking off and then returning. Noah thinks they’ve spotted us.”

  Now Anton saw the armada, coming toward him like an immense cloud of interstellar dust, with sunlight glinting off portions of it. He sucked in a deep breath. “Do we stand and fight or regroup and save what we can for another day? Maybe we should reconsider guerrilla attacks. They’re much larger than we thought anyway.”

  “We still have time to fall back on that,” Nirella said. “All the podships that can follow Noah through galactic shortcuts are with us in the Andromeda Division. But first we need to probe our foe and see what his tactics are, how mobile he is, and how responsive he is to changes on the battlefield. Maybe we can discover a weakness, or force him into a mistake.”

  “I know,” Anton said glumly. “We’ve gone over all this.”

  “Yes we have, and we have some tricks up our sleeve.”

  Anton didn’t like the fact that his main division was comparatively safer than the other three portions of the fleet, with access to an escape hatch through space that they didn’t have. But it made perfect military sense. Aside from the probing, the Liberators had a fallback position in Noah Watanabe, enabling them to survive and fight again. Anton and his generals had studied the options, and another consideration had come into play: Despite Noah’s purported immortality, the military experts were concerned about risking him unnecessarily. He was extremely valuable, and had arcane powers that even he did not understand. He must be protected, and for now he seemed best suited to remain at the rear of the fleet.

  Leaning over to study a console screen, Nirella said, “Spectral scanners report that some of the HibAdu activity is illusion, that not all of the ships breaking away from the main force are really doing that. Some of them are projections of warships, similar to the ones we use in war games.”

  “How much of the main force is real?”

  “Unfortunately, more than half of it. You could override me, Anton, but I don’t think we should retreat yet. Parais Division has their space mines ready to go, and with luck we’ll get results from them. The HibAdus may have their tricks, but we have some of our own. They might even be operating under the false assumption that we didn’t discover their sabotage attempt on our space artillery pieces, or other sabotage attempts we’ve found.”

  “Anton nodded. “The tiny computer chip that Hibbils made when we thought they were our allies. But are the HibAdus foolish enough to think we wouldn’t go back and check all of those parts and replace them if necessary?”

  “They might be overconfident. The Hibbils and Adurians had their secret coalition going for years undetected.”

  “I doubt if we’ve discovered all of their tricks.”

  “Agreed. But we still have some nasty surprises for them.”

  “All right, we stand and fight,” Looking at the console, Doge Anton saw the Parais Division out in front of the others now, with the brave Mutatis in that force plunging into battle before anyone else—according to plan. Hari’Adab had wanted it that way.

  * * * * *

  Inside the enemy flagship, Ipsy watched from a place of concealment behind the main instrument console. He had rigged an ingenious method by which he could look around the command bridge unnoticed, using the various console screens as remote viewing windows.

  Now he watched High Ruler Coreq hurrying back and forth from battle station to battle station, making sure his officers and technicians were doing what he had commanded. Coreq had set up the projected warships to make his force look even larger, and he was also coordinating the movements of the actual warships. At times the hideous hybrid would stand at the center of the bridge and wave his arms this way or that. In response, large sections of the armada would shift position. Moments ago, he had done that, drawing most of the divisions together into a central force.

  “Beautiful!” he had exclaimed. “Perfect!” He was like a choreographer, setting things in motion around him.

  Now, however, he stopped gesturing, and scowled. His oversized, pale yellow eyes looked around dangerously. Something was bothering him. He focused on a young Adurian officer, who had not yet brought up a battlefield report that Coreq had ordered.

  With a sudden movement, Coreq hit the man so hard in the head that his skull broke open and fleshy pieces of his brain splattered on the console. “Clean this up and get me another officer!” the HibAdu leader screamed. Then he returned to his favored position at the center of the bridge.

  The High Ruler extended his arms forward, bent the elbows outward, and joined the fingertips of both hands in a wide “vee” shape. The armada was moving forward in that formation, covering a broad swath of space with its invincible ships. To Ipsy, he seemed like a madman.

  The industrious little robot had developed several plans of what he might do. As conditions developed, he had to select the proper moment, and take just the right measure. He was a choreographer, too, and everything needed to go perfectly. He couldn’t wait too long, but couldn’t move precipitously, either.

  The HibAdus had taken measures to block Ipsy, or any other would-be saboteur, from tempering with the weapon-control box on this ship. The unit had been replaced, and had been sealed so that an intruder could no longer gain access to it without drawing attention to himself. As a consequence, whatever Ipsy did would have to be different from the last trick he pulled. But he still had options. His internal programs constantly reviewed them and perfected them.

  Able to deactivate videocam and other security systems by transmitting electronic signals, Ipsy had used the privacy to make secret adjustments to the ship’s systems that should prove interesting if he ever activated them. All the while, he left no trail that he had ever been there.

  He had even made enhancements to his own mechanical body and brain—self-improvements, he called them. Thinking of this and all of his preparations, he smiled to himself, a feature of his internal programming that did not show on his metal face.

  * * * * *


  General Nirella sent Hari’Adab’s force directly at the main body of the enemy fleet, and then readied the Borealis and Corona divisions to make flank attacks. Watching the action unfold, Doge Anton felt like an ancient military officer on a hill, observing a slaughter that was about to occur on the battlefield.

  Moving from the magnaviewer to the console, he saw the inspired Parais Division surge forward—a force of thousands of armed podships that looked painfully small in comparison with the enemy. For the moment, the HibAdus seemed content to advance at a steady speed, drawing most of their force together.

  “Why don’t they divide up more?” he asked.

  “They don’t think they have to,” Nirella said. “Look on the spectral scanner. They’re not even using the holo-warships anymore. Now that they see what we have—less than a quarter of their armada—they think they can run over us like a juggernaut.”

  “I hope they’re wrong.”

  “So do I.”

  Then Anton saw sunlight flash increasingly off the hulls of the advancing HibAdu force. The intensity increased dramatically, and became so bright that he had to look away.

  “That ruse was old a long time ago,” Nirella said. “We’re ready for it.”

  * * * * *

  At a gun station in the Parais Division, Acey Zelk saw the blinding flashes, and heard the sharp command of the Mutati officer on this level. “Solar mirrors,” the shapeshifter said. “Fire on them the way we practiced.”

  Acey had trained for this, as had all of the other gunners onboard with him, at their stations along the hull of the podship. Firing away with long-range projectiles, he saw some of the shots hit their mark, opening dark spots in the enemy fleet. Other Liberator ships did the same, and had a similar effect.

  “Good shooting, Acey,” the officer shouted. “The rest of you, see if you can do as well as this young Human!”

  Acey kept firing and hitting, while the target continued to draw closer and closer. He saw other podships in his division firing alternate weapons, space cannons with purple beams of light—heat rays. Many of those shots were slipping past the surprisingly tough solar mirrors, penetrating the hulls of some lab-pods and destroying them.