Webdancers

by Brian Herbert

  “Which means I am even smaller?” she said, arching her eyebrows.

  “I didn’t mean that at all.” He smiled. “I’m sorry, but I was told that the palace is unoccupied, that you and your sisters prefer to live elsewhere on Siriki, in your own royal quarters.”

  “The HibAdu attacks changed all of that. We have gathered here at the keep for safety, with our own forces.” She nodded toward her gold-uniformed guards that stood at attention around the room, all of them eying Noah’s men suspiciously.

  “Your castle keep is renowned. You have made a wise decision.”

  “I’m glad you think so.”

  Noah shifted on his feet. “Of course, I will make alternate arrangements for myself and my officers.”

  With a broad, almost friendly smile, Annyette said, “Not necessary. You are my guests and allies.”

  “And friends,” Noah added. “Then you can accommodate some of us in the keep?”

  “No more than three hundred.”

  “Most generous. Now, if you could have someone show us the quarters, we are anxious to set things up. I presume there are meeting halls we could use?”

  “Of course.”

  * * * * *

  In what appeared to be a complete about face, Annyette actually became friendly. For Noah and his top officers, she insisted that they accept accommodations on the most secure lower floors of the keep, near her own suites and those of her sisters. She also arranged for protected meeting chambers, and even proved to Subi Danvar’s satisfaction that the suites and chambers were safe from eavesdroppers.

  Afterward, at a quick and spartan meal with his officers and aides, Noah laid out plans for the following day. Only half of the force he had brought with him had landed on Siriki, where they were setting up bases around the planet. The rest of the Aopoddae warships and smaller fighter craft patrolled the skies and orbital space, constantly on the alert for any HibAdu threat.

  That evening, Noah retired to his quarters, just down the corridor from Princess Annyette. But in the entryway to his suite, while he was bidding good evening to Subi, the adjutant suddenly flashed a military hand communication to him—a brief flicker of the fingers that contained a private message: “Remain alert. Perhaps it’s only a reaction to the food, but my gut is starting to act up.”

  With a blink of his eyes, Noah acknowledged, and entered the opulent suite. For half an hour, he sat in a hard chair facing the door, with his ion pistol on his lap. Then, over his mobile comlink transceiver, he received a coded click-message from Subi: “I double-checked security. Stomach feeling a little better.”

  Subi had not yet provided a full security blessing, but Noah knew it was his adjutant’s nature to be overly cautious, and he appreciated that about him. It was just Subi being Subi, Noah assured himself.

  Keeping his sidearm with him, Noah crawled into bed. Then, after adjusting the mattress controls to their firmest setting, he lay awake in the darkness, worrying. Many uncertainties crowded his mind for attention as he lay on his back, and his mind scanned them, pausing on each topic of concern for varying lengths of time. Gradually, his thoughts drifted to the skin changes on his arms and torso, how those areas had become rough to the touch and darker, like a smaller version of podship skin. With his hands, which had not changed yet, he felt the coarse skin on his chest, and traced the limits of the metamorphosis to the side, under the left arm. He heaved a deep sigh of resignation. Whatever was happening to him had at least slowed, and he was thankful for that. Thus far, though he had considered it many times, he had not consulted a doctor. None of them would know what he had anyway.

  I am like no other person who was ever born, he thought.

  Gradually the pockets of worry emptied their contents, and he drifted off to sleep. Noah dreamed about many of the women he had known in his life. In the cloud of his consciousness he heard the voices of his mother, Eunicia, calling his name and of his sister in her frail, manipulative endearing way. Noah had loved his mother dearly, and had been as devastated as his father when she died in a grid-plane crash. In contrast, his sister, Francella, had not seemed to care about her one way or the other. She’d only been concerned about her own needs, which prevented her from seeing anything outside herself clearly.

  Now, even though he tried to prevent it, Noah saw Francella’s twisted, angry face and heard her unwelcome tones as she ranted at him in a way that made him want to be anywhere else in the universe except with her. Suddenly, a more pleasant voice intervened—that of Tesh Kori, murmuring to him that she had loved him from the moment she first set eyes on him. In the peculiar chimera of his dream he thought this rang true, but he also knew that she had never actually said that to him. She seemed to care for him deeply in a way that Noah had never known from anyone else, but their relationship remained largely unfulfilled. Even the one sexual liaison they’d shared had been surreal—more dreamlike than real, though she had insisted afterward that it actually had occurred.

  It was like that now, as he heard other female voices close by—voices that did not seem to be coming from mouths, but instead seemed to be carried in another realm. One of them said in a discomforting tone, “After this, Watanabe, you’ll sleep even more peacefully.”

  As if shocked out of his dream, Noah came to full awareness and opened his eyes. In the darkness, his fingers found the handle and trigger button of the ion pistol.

  Across the room, he saw shadows moving. Four Human shapes, coming toward him stealthily, not making a sound, not saying anything. His finger tightened on the trigger, ready to press down. But he hesitated, uncertain of the meaning of the words he had just heard, or if this was really happening. Besides, he had proven numerous times in the past that he could not be physically harmed, at least not easily.

  The corridor burst open, and the blue light of puissant pistol fire filled the room. The shadowy figures, all slender and dressed in black, dropped to the floor with anguished cries. Noah rolled off the bed on the opposite side, and crawled around for a better view.

  He saw Subi Danvar just inside the doorway, with a steady stream of MPA soldiers pouring into the room. “Secure the premises,” Subi barked. “Noah? You okay?”

  “I’m fine. What the hell happened?” He rose to his feet and looked at the carnage on the floor.

  Princess Annyette, in a hooded black leotard, lay wounded, beside three of her sisters, also dressed in black, and motionless. Purple fluid pooled around them on the marbelite tiles and Sirikan carpets, and poison-tipped daggers lay near their hands.

  “Mutatis!” Noah said.

  The Annyette simulacrum looked up at him and contorted her face in hatred. Noah heard words from her clearly, but in the alternate realm that he knew Subi and the others could not hear. Her mouth did not move as she said to Noah, “Maybe we didn’t get you this time, but there will be many more like us to test the limits of your mortality. You will never be able to close your eyes again.”

  The words meshed with what he heard in his dream-fugue. Had she whispered the earlier threat, or had he read her mind?

  Then, as if giving way to an irresistible force, her body turned into a fleshy pudding, devoid of all Human qualities. Her companions, for whatever reason, remained in Human form, but bled the telltale purple of the shapeshifter race.

  “Our men rescued the real sisters from a compound where they were being held,” Subi said. “As for these, they’ve taken their story with them.”

  “And Hari’Adab is supposed to be our ally?” Noah said.

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Subi said. “We’re rounding up everyone on the palace grounds now, and will force them to submit to testing. We’re also searching every corner with heat sensors, looking for any living beings. This security sweep will be much more thorough than I was able to do before.”

  “I guess no one is ever above suspicion,” Noah said. “Except for you, my friend. You have Parais d’Olor?”

  “She’s the first one we took into custody.” />
  “Good. Get an immediate report off to Doge Anton, and tell him to check carefully on the boyfriend’s activities. Already, Hari’Adab is being monitored, and it’s a good thing we made that decision. Now, we must dig even deeper.”

  Subi saluted stiffly, and went about his tasks, after leaving a new guard detail to accompany Noah.

  * * * * *

  Unable to remain in his suite while the entire palace was undergoing searches and tests, Noah felt a need to be alone for a few minutes. He sensed something intruding on his thoughts, and needed to collect himself, in an attempt to assess whatever was occurring.

  On impulse, he hurried up a narrow back stairway that led to the top levels of the fortresslike core of the structure. On top of the keep, he at first looked down at the ornamental gardens, which were illuminated in bright lights while his forces bustled about in their duties.

  Gazing up at the night sky, he found himself unable to perceive much detail, because of the glow of lights from the ground. Then, gradually, the noises of his troops and the effect of the illumination diminished, so that he could make out star systems and the pinpoint lights of his own ships as they patrolled the air and orbital space.

  At any moment, the HibAdus could break through from deep space and mount a full-scale attack on Siriki. But Noah Watanabe continued to sense something else out there that was even more perilous, and which had not yet been considered. Something that would dwarf every other danger that he or his allies had faced.

  I must be ready, Noah told himself. But for what?

  Like a man awaiting a signal from God, he stood there for minute after minute, gazing heavenward. Nothing came to him, and he felt very alone.

  Almost fifteen minutes passed. Finally, knowing he needed to tend to important military duties involving the Sirikan sector, he hurried downstairs. At least he would accomplish what he could, what he knew. It was a degree of control over his surroundings, albeit a small one.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  If there ever was a time to not sleep, this is it. Against all barriers, physical or mental and internal or external, we must press on, reaching deep into the reservoir of our collective racial strength. There will be time enough for rest later, if anything remains of the galaxy.

  — First Elder Kre’n, to departing repair teams

  Out of his podship, Eshaz stood alone on a floating asteroid, having allowed his craft to drift nearby in the vacuum of space, without any Tulyan at the controls. The podship, Agryt, remained in telepathic contact with him in the wordless manner of such relationships, and Eshaz had every confidence that the vessel would do its part, and would remain close by. Some of the other vessels in his repair team were visible around the sector, with some of them like dots to his naked eye, and others beyond the range of his vision. But Eshaz and Agryt knew where all of them were, and what they were doing.

  Almost a million years ago, Eshaz had piloted podships to uncounted sectors of the known galaxy, and in the normal course of his duties he had seen all manner of star systems, nebulas, asteroid belts, comets, and other heavenly formations. In those halcyon days the trips had been frequent, at a time when the Tulyan race led their fabled existence of maintaining the galactic infrastructure in the manner that the Sublime Creator originally intended. It had been Eshaz’s duty to deliver a single onboard caretaking crew to various destinations. Caretaking ships and crews operated in a more predictable fashion in those days. There had been many vessels, and an air of responsibility that caused everyone to perform excellent work, without the sense of dire urgency that all Tulyans felt now.

  To Eshaz, it all seemed to spiral downward when the free will granted to all galactic races altered the Sublime Creator’s grand plan. Then, in a terrible series of strikes with telepathic weapons, the Parviis had taken the entire podship fleet away from the Tulyans, a loss that continued for hundreds of thousands of years. The Dark Epoch.

  Now, at long last, the Liberator fleet had made a successful attack on the Parvii Fold, and podships had been returned to their rightful custodians. As a result, the excited Eshaz had an opportunity to make much more of a difference than he ever had before, even in those long-ago days when he had been so satisfied with his life and fulfilled an important ecological niche for the interconnected galaxy.

  Based upon his experience and qualifications, Eshaz was being entrusted to command one of the larger repair teams. In that position he would employ his skills as part of the larger Tulyan project—in coordination with many other teams—to repair the wounded, dying galaxy. Certainly the industrious Tulyans faced a daunting task, and Eshaz realized that he and his crew could accomplish only a limited amount. All of the Tulyan teams, large and small, would need to work rapidly and efficiently, moving from one trouble spot to the next, following prioritized astronomical charts and work schedules that had been provided for them by the Council of Elders. These charts and schedules were constantly being updated, as conditions required.

  Under Eshaz’s sphere of responsibility, if he completed the first tier of emergency repairs, he was to move on to the next, and the next, and the next. It would require a great deal of stamina for his crews to keep going without any meaningful rest, but Eshaz—and everyone with him—had vowed to do their parts.…

  The asteroid on which the dedicated Tulyan stood, which normally might be expected to drift or hurtle through the cosmos, was at the moment hung up on barely perceptible strands of torn and disintegrating Timeweb webbing. He knew from Tulyan laboratory reports that this was exactly the sort of damage that had been caused—or at least exacerbated—by the undercarriages of HibAdu lab-pods as they sped along the galactic infrastructure. He hoped that Noah, Anton, and Hari were having military success against the careless, predatory HibAdus, and that they were able to destroy or ground the artificial podships, preventing them from causing such widespread ecological damage.

  All of the Tulyan repair teams, spread as they were around the galaxy, were exposed to HibAdu interference and possible attacks. The Tulyans had conventional and telepathic weaponry on all of their own podships, but against such formidable fighters as the HibAdus, that might prove inadequate. Thus far, Eshaz had not seen any sign of them, though other teams had reported to the starcloud that they saw HibAdu scouts, and large-scale military movements against other targets, focusing on Human and Mutati star systems. To this point, the HibAdu military forces had not gone after the Tulyan repair teams, but the Tulyans were constantly on the alert.

  Now, standing on the asteroid, Eshaz opened his hands and scattered green dust onto the problem area. Then, extending his clenched fists upward, he uttered an ancient incantation designed to cure this defect.

  As he waited to see if the treatment would work, Eshaz felt like an artist on a scaffold, a Michelangelo of sorts, but working on the ceiling of the galaxy instead of in the Sistine Chapel. Moments passed, and to his satisfaction the asteroid began to break free, and with his alternate vision he saw the web strands reattaching themselves, healing. One task completed among many.

  Agryt drifted close by, parallel to the motion of the asteroid. Eshaz leaped onto the back of the podship, and then dropped down through a hatch.

  These were days without end, of moving from one crisis spot to the next, for as long as the Tulyans could sustain themselves to complete the immense tasks they had undertaken. Eshaz felt part of a larger whole, and a larger importance. He felt no fatigue and knew he never would, not as long as he maintained his focus.

  Like a patient on a vast hospital bed, the galaxy kept breathing fitfully. Eshaz only hoped it was not a deathbed.

  Chapter Thirty

  Many take credit for successes, but are nowhere to be found when it is time to assess blame.

  —Anonymous

  The Eye of the Swarm could not determine when or where his race had slipped onto the path of disaster, or how much he might have contributed to it personally. After the initial shock of realization, he had tried to diminish his personal re
sponsibility for what had gone wrong, convincing himself that he had only done what other leaders had done before him.

  But he realized quickly that this was utter foolishness. To correct the present situation, he first had to fully admit his own culpability, and then find a way to resurrect ancient Parvii glories. As long as his people lived and were capable of breeding, the restoration of the fallen race remained a possibility, albeit a faint one.

  The after-effects of the cataclysm were all around him now, and apparent to anyone. His once magnificent Parvii swarms—decillions of individuals—now amounted to less than one hundred and ninety-four thousand.

  But after creating the telepathic bubble in which the remaining population could huddle without detection from outside, there had been some welcome signs of improvement. The death rate had slowed, and inside the comparative warmth of the invisible enclosure one of the latent breeding specialists was returning to consciousness at this very moment and was expected to join Yurtii, the latent war priest who had recently become aware of his ancient identity. In these two and in the five remaining latents, the future of the Parvii race hung. His people needed to fight back, but to accomplish that they first needed their numbers to increase dramatically.

  And something more occurred to him now. It was important. Next time, I will divide the swarms into independent telepathic divisions, Woldn thought. That could help prevent the massive die-off that we experienced. Of course, it will mean sharing my power—or at least delegating some of it—but perhaps that is important to do.

  Increasingly, it seemed to him that the old ways, while revered and magical in the collective memories of his people, might not always be best. The Parviis, he realized, had been in a long and gradual decline, and the results of their cumulative weakness now placed them on the brink of extinction.

  Like a parent observing the birth of a child, Woldn watched a naked boy emerge from the protected cluster of Parviis at the core of the swarm. It was not a new birth, at least not in the physical sense, but mentally and spiritually it was entirely new. And entirely old. Though their telepathic linkage, Woldn learned the ancient name of the breeding specialist that was coming back to consciousness: Imho.