By prior agreement, Noah strode out of the cocoon and made his way into a tunnel linking the structures. There, he boarded a small, automated motocart that had been sent for him, which carried him rapidly into the central meeting chamber.
The entire Council awaited him, sitting at their high, curved bench. Noah would have preferred to remain inside the cocoon, but the Tulyan leaders had insisted otherwise. Worried about still being able to control the primal weapon, Noah had nonetheless acceded to their demand, subject to the availability of the motocart to get him back in the event of an emergency.
Although some of the Elders had seen him in his present podman appearance, the entire Council had not. He exchanged greetings quickly with the Elders, tried not to let their probing, inquisitive stares bother him. He saw Doge Anton, General Nirella, and Subi Danvar standing nearby, and nodded to them.
Again, Noah was weaker away from EcoStation, but this time it was much more serious than the previous occasions when he had left. He felt drained, a condition of deep fatigue that he had begun to notice after using the primal weapon. He had recovered only slightly since then. The weariness had reached deep into his cells and mind, making him feel as if he could sleep for a week, or longer. He didn’t dare. He had to go on, had to keep finding the strength to go on.
As he stood before the high bench, Noah focused on the fact that the Elders were looking down at him closely, and some of them were whispering to each other. Troubled, he had a feeling he should get back to the cocoon as soon as possible, for the restorative energy it imparted to him.
“We have formed a military plan with the Liberator fleet commanders,” Kre’n said, “and it is necessary for us to merge you into it—with your newfound powers.”
“Though we aren’t quite sure how to do that,” Anton said.
Noah nodded, pursed his lips in thought. He felt exhaustion seeping over him.
“I think we all need a certain amount of autonomy,” Kre’n said. “We have our communication channels and our differing capabilities. Here in the starcloud, we Tulyans will maintain our mindlink as a defensive force, while your Liberator ships can be more offensive in nature, still keeping some vessels back to aid us here. As for you, Noah Watanabe, you can serve both purposes.”
She paused, and added, “You are in possession of great power and responsibility, Noah. Surely you are the Savior spoken of in our legends, the one who will deliver us from death.”
This subject had come up before, and Noah had tried not to believe it. Now he was no longer so certain, and chose not to comment on it. But no matter what they called him—or what his destiny might be—he was not certain if he had the capability to stop whatever creatures were tearing the galaxy apart with new timeholes, bigger than any he’d ever seen before, or had ever heard of. The decay of the galaxy—at least the rapid acceleration of the process—had not been from any natural, internal laws of decay. An outside force was involved.
Fighting back his fatigue, Noah looked up at Kre’n and said, “I told you what I saw—all the new timeholes, and huge, dark shapes pouring out of the one in the Kandor Sector. Creatures of some kind. You said you know what they are?”
Kre’n nodded her scaly, reptilian head. Then she narrowed her slitted eyes, and said, “What I am going to tell you has never been revealed to non-Tulyans, not by us or by any of our predecessors. It is one of the things we routinely confirm among our people with the truthing touch, constantly verifying that the information has not gotten out. The terrible secret has become ingrained in our race, but now it is appropriate for you and the others present to know what we are all up against.”
Noah trembled in anticipation.
“The creatures are Web Spinners,” Kre’n said, following a moment’s hesitation. “We have Tulyan observers in deep space, and they have confirmed this. The danger is severe.”
When Noah looked at the ancient leader with a blank expression, she said solemnly, “In the first days of the universe, the Sublime Creator formed galaxies on top of galaxies, folding in around each other in cosmic embraces. Our beneficial deity lives in the overgalaxy, a wondrous realm of time-and-space consciousness that is on a higher plane than any other.”
“Like heaven.”
“Somewhat.”
“How many galaxies are there?”
“This is not known, and perhaps can never be known by us.” She gazed at Noah for a lingering moment, then said, “Long ago, after the explosion of an incomprehensibly large star, galaxies were formed from the flaming embers, creating suns, planets, and other cosmic bodies. From the earliest days, the Sublime Creator wanted to organize the galaxies and keep their differing qualities separate, so he sought builders for the huge project. He was the grand visionary that generated the universe, but for certain detailed tasks he delegated much of the work.”
She smiled sadly. “An early form of management, you might say. He already had the galaxies, but to make each of them an entirely separate enclosure he needed a strong fabric for the separations. This he accomplished with work crews involving various life forms that he created. The scale is beyond our comprehension, as are the details. But for us it all boils down to this galaxy, and how it was set up. Our galaxy received special consideration, giving it beauty that is second only to the ethereal realm of the Sublime Creator. This explains the loveliness of our nebulas and star systems, and particularly of Timeweb—our cosmic filigree whose intricacies are unmatched by any other galaxy. This paranormal webbing was generated by specialized creatures on a rather large scale—though on the scale of the universe it might not seem that way.”
“And that’s where the Web Spinners come in,” Noah said.
“Precisely. Like huge spiders, the Web Spinners extruded the strands of our galactic web, after consuming the fibers of deep-shaft, piezoelectric emeralds. So that the races could travel on this glorious infrastructure, the Sublime Creator formed the Aopoddae podships, a race of sentient spacecraft capable of transporting other races across the galaxy in a matter of moments. Our galaxy is indeed a wondrous creation, containing countless life forms that are supposed to work in harmony with one another. There are even infinitesimally small nanocreatures that live inside the webbing. Another race entirely. They are secret beings … except to us.
“Since it is spun from ingested emerald fibers, Timeweb glows faintly green. The same glow is also found in the sectoid chambers of podships, making it possible for ship pilots to communicate with each other across vast distances via the galactic web that the chambers are in direct contact with. The nehrcom transmission system of the merchant princes also uses these piezoelectric emeralds in a slightly different fashion, aligning the stones so that they bounce signals off the web.”
“And my cocoon can glow, like a green sun in space.”
“Yes. Truly remarkable.”
“And dangerous in the wrong hands,” the towering Elder named Dabiggio added. Scowling more than usual, he sat on one side of her at the long bench.
“Fortunately, that is not the case,” Kre’n said, glancing at him and speaking in a scolding tone.
“You say the Web Spinners are spiders?” Noah asked.
“No, I said they are like spiders, with certain similarities—but significant differences as well. The creatures are immense in size, with remarkably strong exoskeletons that are not subject to the expansion limitations of planet-bound spiders, which would collapse if they were scaled up too much.”
“It should not be possible for them to be so large,” Noah said, “just as Timeweb should not be possible. Even though I know the vast web exists and that it links the entire galaxy, I am still amazed that something so intricate holds it all together, and that most of the races can’t even detect its existence.”
“Truly, Timeweb is a grand and marvelous concept,” Kre’n said, “but there have been problems. One has been apparent for some time now. The web is infinitely strong but fragile in many ways, and requires a great deal of work to maintain it.
Initially, the Sublime Creator assigned Tulyans to perform this work, and gave us dominion over podships to get us around the galaxy. This system fell into disarray when another race grew in numbers and took control of the podships away from us. Parviis. The Sublime Creator didn’t actually create Parviis directly; they arose from the biotech laboratories of the Adurians, whom he did create himself.”
“And even though your race were cast out so ungraciously,” Noah said, “you continued to perform whatever maintenance and repair work you could, on a piecemeal basis. A noble undertaking, I must say.”
She looked dismal. “The Adurians caused a lot of trouble in ancient days, as they have in recent times. We have always been wary of them, as we have been of their surrogates, the Parviis.”
“Tesh Kori told me that Humans are an offshoot of Parviis.”
“That is true,” Kre’n said, “which serves to explain some of the problems humankind has caused. But that is another story, and you are not typical of the race.”
The comment made Noah think of Tesh (who also was atypical of her race), and of their unborn baby, which would be a hybrid of the Human and Parvii genetic lines.
Just then, Eshaz hurried into the chamber and addressed the Council. “Our deep-space observers report the Web Spinners are on the move,” he said. “Heading in this direction. They’re leaving a wake of destruction in their path—planetary systems, even the biggest, hottest suns wiped out and scattered into flaming embers. Nothing gets in their way. They just mow it down.”
“And their ETA?” Kre’n asked. She looked very concerned, but amazingly steady. Noah detected no panic there, nor on the faces of the other Elders. But in their long experience, this must be the worst of events.
“Eighteen minutes.”
Feeling his pulse quicken, Noah said, “I must return to the cocoon.”
“We can have you there in less than a minute,” Kre’n said. “But know this, valiant Human, before you go into battle: The Sublime Creator found the Web Spinners difficult to control, especially their leader, the Queen. Like the sentient races that are familiar to us, they were granted a form of free will. In their case, they had to be carefully and forcefully monitored while they built the Timeweb infrastructure—a process that took a very long time. When, at long last, they completed the vast construction project, the Sublime Creator confined them to the undergalaxy and sealed them there, so that they could not disturb him or the showcase of his marvelous creation—our own galaxy. Since then, the Queen of the Undergalaxy has ruled her stygian realm, and only that.”
“But we have an ancient prophecy,” said one of the other Elders, an elegant Tulyan man. “What the Web Spinners create they can also destroy.”
“So you’ve always known this was coming?” Noah asked.
“Our timeseers have long foretold these days,” Kre’n said, “and their visions have finally come upon us. Depending upon what happens next—and that we do not know—these are either the End of Days or a New Beginning.”
“And a battle plan?” Noah asked.
“Defend and attack. Against such an onrushing enemy, there can be no other plan.”
“I guess we’ll find out soon enough where I fit into all of this,” Noah said.
Kre’n nodded, and said softly, “Our blessings be upon you, Master Noah.”
Then everyone hurried to their battle stations.
Chapter Seventy-Two
If they come for us, there will be no place to hide.
—Ancient Tulyan warning
The moment Noah set foot on the docking platform of the cocoon, he began to feel physically stronger. His skin wasn’t even in direct contact with the mottled gray-and-black flesh—only his shoes were—but he still felt an instant infusion of vitality greater than any before, and the fatigue seemed to fade entirely. The cocoon was becoming like a mother’s womb, providing nutrients for him in invisible ways.
But he didn’t have time to wonder about the nature or cause of the phenomenon. A tidal wave of destruction was on the way.
Thinker greeted him on the platform. “Did the meeting go well, Master Noah?”
“A new threat is on the way.” Taking less than a minute, he told the robot what he knew.
As Thinker listened, the lights around his metal faceplate glowed an angry shade of orange. Then he said, “We must fight back hard.”
“That is my intent. Now, I’m afraid you’re going to have to wait for me again, friend. I’m going back into the sectoid chamber of this cocoon.”
“The weapon room,” Thinker said.
“Essentially, yes. I wish it were not that way, but I have no choice.” With a grim expression, Noah gave the sentient robot an affectionate pat on the shoulder, feeling this might be the last time the two of them ever saw each other.
Thinker’s metal-lidded eyes blinked, as if fighting away tears that were not actually there. At least not physically.
Noah knelt on the platform, and touched his hands against the podship flesh. It became gray liquid around him. He felt the warmth of the alien cellular material, and allowed it to run up his arms.
“I’ve been given considerable autonomy in the use of the weapon,” Noah said, “and I’ll be focused on what I have to do.” The soft flesh covered his body, all the way up to his shoulders. “I can’t use a conventional webtalker to relay information—they say there’s too much disturbance around the cocoon—so I need you to remain in direct comlink contact with General Nirella and Doge Anton. Obtain their commands, and relay them to me.”
“What? Oh, you’re thinking I can use my organic interface connection on the podflesh, and that will put me in contact with you?”
“Try it now. Quickly.”
The familiar tentacle snaked out of Thinker’s alloy body, and darted into the gray-and-black flesh on a nearby bulkhead. “Yes,” the robot said, “I am now linked to your mind. It will work.”
“Good. One more thing. You’ve always been a de facto officer in the Liberator fleet, though no one has ever given you a rank.”
“No matter. I command the robots, but at the pleasure of Humans.”
“It does matter, my good friend. For your unflagging loyalty and service, you deserve more. Therefore, as Master of the Guardians, I hereby appoint you Vice-General, in charge of all robots. Tell Anton and Nirella I made a battlefield promotion. I’m sure they won’t countermand it.”
“Thank you, Master Noah. Where shall I meet you after our victory?”
“Anywhere on the cocoon,” Noah said, with a stiff smile. “I’ll know where you are, because it will be an extension of my own body.”
The alien flesh rose up Noah’s neck, to his chin.
“We’re very small in this galaxy, aren’t we?” Thinker said.
It was the last thing Noah heard before he swam into the flesh and became one with it. Again he seemed to cross a vast distance, as if traversing the entire universe. There were no stars, only a darkness that gradually began to glow with a soft green luminescence. Once more, he reached the sectoid chamber and rose to his feet inside, like an alien life form that had just been born and could already stand.
Again he pressed his face against the glowing green flesh of the sectoid chamber, and his enlarged countenance emerged on the outside of the cocoon, this time showing the podman features of his evolved face. He disengaged from the inverted dome of the Council Chamber, and floated free of it.
Noah felt like he was in a vast sea that stretched across the cosmos. All around him, as if his presence was connected to a vast cosmic circuit, he felt the energy source building, the raw, elemental power of the superweapon. He became a brilliant green sun in space with shining Noah-faces all around it, looking in all directions with the multiple humanoid eyes, casting spotlights of illumination to the farthest reaches of galactic existence. Noah was the cocoon; he was the weapon, and much more. He was a mote, a micro-organism, an embryonic life form, but he extended across time and space. Again he was in direct contact wi
th the primal energy of the universe.
Peering through the green illumination, Noah saw hundreds of the immense, dark creatures scrambling across the podways like huge hunting daggs following a scent, going toward the starcloud along the identical secondary route that Noah had taken. He felt a chill. He still could not make out details of the monsters, only glimpses of multiple legs beneath their bodies, propelling them forward at high speed.
Web Spinners.
As if in response to his thoughts, the massed Aopoddae stirred around him, an agitation of ancient flesh. Trembling to the very depths of his own soul, Noah Watanabe knew that he would have preferred to hold back, that he didn’t really want to be any part of a weapon, and especially not one of this frightening scope and power. But he was coming to believe that this horrendous device stood right in the middle of his evolutionary path, blocking his way until he used it. He could not go around the duty, could not avoid the dreadful task that lay before him, no matter how much he might like to. Causing destruction ran counter to every instinct he had. Throughout history, the very worst genocides and ecological disasters had been brought about by warfare. Even the current galactic-wide crisis might have been started by military conflict, and at the very minimum it had been severely exacerbated by it.
Must I use violence to quell violence, he thought, to begin the process of restoring the galaxy? And he wondered if his own hesitation, his own doubts, were causing the agitation in the podship flesh in which he was immersed.
He wondered, as well, how the mysterious cocoon weapon functioned, what its workings looked like. It seemed to be an unanswerable question, of enormous proportions. The thing just existed, and in certain circumstances the incredible weapon could spew destruction across the galaxy—like an immense green-flame thrower. He sensed, however, that even that might not be enough against such a threat.
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