Webdancers

by Brian Herbert

  “You are a Mutati.”

  “Damn you, stop saying that! We are allies now, so the racial tag means nothing.”

  “The fleet cannot be divided.”

  “All right, damn it! Then I want to take all of it to other worlds, on an inspection tour. There’s obviously no action for us here.”

  “The enemy watches our every move, and responds.”

  “Dij already held out against them. We’re not needed here anyway.”

  The robot’s eyes flashed. “It’s not known how large a force the enemy committed to Dij in the last battle. You could be making a tactical mistake.”

  “There are many other important Mutati worlds that I’m concerned about. I must do whatever is necessary to rescue them as well.”

  “This can be done, if the fleet is kept intact.”

  “Yes, yes. By nightfall, I want to set course for Uhadeen, one of our most important military strongholds. Apparently it has fallen, but I intend to change that.”

  “By nightfall,” the robot agreed. “We leave nothing behind.”

  * * * * *

  After they departed, one day passed. Then, in a lightning military strike, Dij fell to a massive onslaught of HibAdu forces.

  Ambassador VV Uncel received the good news—transmitted by HibAdu nehrcom—while he was on the Adurian homeworld, submitting yet another report to his superiors. Now he crossed the marbelite floor of the spaceport at a brisk pace. Through the glax of double doors ahead, he saw a lab-pod sitting on the landing field, ready to take him to Dij for an inspection tour. A number of Hibbils and Adurians were boarding it. He crowded onboard with them, and found a seat that had been reserved for him at the front of the passenger compartment. The food-service machines were better in this section than those at the rear, as were the seats and lavatory accommodations.

  Getting up, he obtained a Vanadian pear from one of the machines and then returned to his seat. The lab-pod engines whined to life.

  As he munched on the crispy fruit, Uncel considered the rapid pace of activity surrounding the war effort. His own HibAdu leaders were most peculiar, indeed. A triumvirate of freaks who didn’t reveal their identities until two weeks ago. Ambassador VV Uncel shuddered at the thought of the horrific hybrids created in a genetics laboratory, and at the thought of what might happen to him if they ever read the recent memories in his cells. Thus far, it had only happened once, at the onset of the Coalition. He had been positive in those days, and somewhat naive, he realized in hindsight.

  Ever since the beginning of this alliance between Hibbils and Adurians, Uncel had been curious about who was running everything. Many times he’d wondered why they were concealing themselves from him, when his years of loyal service and social status should have allowed him entrance to their inner circle. In a peculiar, disturbing fashion, all of his orders had been sent to him through intermediaries. Never in person, and never was he ever treated with the respect he so richly deserved.

  But Uncel was a professional, through and through. He never complained to anyone about being kept at a distance by his superiors, about only being told pieces of information and never knowing the complete picture, never knowing the really important things. Year after year he just continued to do his job efficiently, everything the freaks had ordered him to do through intermediaries.

  Now, though, he worried that their brains were as abnormal as their appearance. How could leaders be created in a laboratory? Didn’t that make someone else their boss? Who could that possibly be? A genetic scientist, or group of them?

  One of the three monstrosities—Premier Enver—had suggested that a new race of bizarre laboratory-bred creatures might be created. Hybrid “HibAdus,” produced from the genetic stock of Hibbils and Adurians. Previously, the name HibAdu had only meant a somewhat arcane political entity to Uncel. Now it referred to something entirely different. Something decidedly darker.

  Not that Uncel considered himself any sort of a moral icon. Morality and ethics were concepts he didn’t think about much at all. His primary concerns, in order, were himself and the political structure that supported the lifestyle to which he’d grown accustomed. With his niche seemingly secure, he had kept going, doing whatever he was told. But now, with the talk of creating a new race of freaks—how soon?—he felt an army of worry marching on his brain, making more and more inroads, like little guerrilla attacks. He didn’t want to think about such things.

  As the lab-pod went into hover mode and prepared to set down in the main city on Dij, the Ambassador gazed out the window at blackened hulks of buildings and military equipment. With a soft bump, the craft set down on a charred landing pad, near the bodies of Mutati soldiers that lay in disarray, their flesh melted away. These defenders, while a stubborn and resourceful lot, had finally been defeated by Adurian personnel bombs that had incinerated them. Now carrion birds picked at the grisly remains.

  Wrinkling his nose at the odor, Uncel walked past the bodies. On the landing field he noticed other lab-pods on the ground, with each of the vessels disgorging hundreds of Hibbil and Adurian passengers—military and civilian. Everyone was heading for the nearby city, taking a wide conveyor walkway that had either not been damaged in the attack or which has been repaired afterward.

  Disembarking at the central square, the Ambassador paused to watch his Hibbil allies devouring Mutati flesh. He’d heard about such disgusting practices, of course, but had never seen them firsthand. Curious, he moved closer, as did other Adurian onlookers. Then, surprisingly, some of the Adurian soldiers joined in, tasting the flesh of their dead enemies.

  “Come on, Ambassador!” a Hibbil soldier shouted. “Get some for yourself! The meat is sweet!”

  Grudgingly, like a person tasting an unusual food for the first time, the diplomat waded in, stepping over purple puddles of Mutati blood. A Hibbil soldier handed him a dripping slab of fatty flesh.

  At first, Uncel just nibbled at the corner, and found it surprisingly succulent and not repulsive. Delicious, he decided, with another nibble. Soon he had devoured the entire morsel and was reaching down to rip off bigger chunks for himself. All around him, the diners grinned and grunted to each other, with purple goo dripping down their chins and all over their clothes.

  Already, Uncel found himself developing a taste for the fleshy meat, and he even pushed some of the other people out of the way to get more for himself.

  That evening, at a banquet where Mutati flesh was prepared according to gourmet standards, Uncel heard details of biological weapons that he’d only previously heard about as rumors. On Dij and other conquered planets—to make them easier to rule by reducing their populations—the HibAdus had unleashed bioweapons that either killed or permanently sedated Humans and Mutatis. A variety of weapons and delivery systems were employed, the most deadly of which were plague bombs, which were dropped from lab-pods and detonated in mid-air, spreading their spores over entire planets.

  Billions of the enemy had been infected, though the resourceful Humans had eventually developed antidotes for their own race. Thus far, the Mutatis had been far less fortunate.

  * * * * *

  Far across the galaxy, a Hibbil workman stood on a motoladder, having elevated it to its highest setting so that he could see one of the top shelves in the warehouse. Reaching to the back of the shelf, he slid a dusty weapon-control box forward and examined it. An engraved code told him the date of manufacture and certain quality control details.

  “Did you think we forgot about you?” he asked, talking to the unit as if it were alive. “Have you been hiding back there, trying to stay out of battle? Well, there’s been a malfunction in one of the front-line units, and you’re finally going to get your chance to prove yourself.”

  Using a robotic arm on the ladder, the worker moved the heavy panel box down to the floor of the warehouse and piled it with a number of other replacement components that were going to be installed in HibAdu warships.

  Inside the unit, a little robot heard the wo
rds, but said nothing, and did not make a sound.

  At last, Ipsy thought. I’m going to get my chance!

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Everything we experience is through a series of individual and social filters, from our day to day activities to our perception of the universe. No matter the circumstance, what we see is never the same as what any other person sees. There can be similarities and overlaps, but it is never identical.

  —Master Noah Watanabe, classroom instruction

  Doge Anton and a number of his key military officers were holding a late night strategy session at his headquarters on Canopa. They met on the top floor of the tallest building in the Valley of the Princes. They had not yet heard the bad news about Dij.

  “I don’t like this waiting game,” General Nirella said. She paced the floor in front of a bank of windows. Beyond her, Anton saw the glittering lights of the corporate buildings in the valley, and the cliff-hanging structures of Rainbow City in the distance.

  “We need to hit them hard,” Kajor Swen said. He was one of the youngest, most aggressive officers.

  “But where?” one of the other officers said. “Our intelligence reports show that they have large forces stationed at each of the conquered planets, and there seems no limit to the forces they can bring to battle.”

  “That’s because they’re growing podships in labs,” Nirella said. “The Tulyans hunting wild podships can’t keep up; we can’t increase our fleet at the pace the HibAdus can.”

  “Maybe we should figure out how they’re doing it and set up our own program,” Swen said.

  “Look into it,” Anton said.

  As the meeting continued, the Doge sat uneasily at the head of the table, watching everyone and listening to the exchange of ideas and comments. There were fourteen men and women in the conference room, and many could not seem to remain in their seats. They kept getting up and walking around, as if itching for some real military action.

  “Good God!” Nirella exclaimed. She had her face pressed against the glax, looking out at something.

  Everyone hurried over to look, including Anton.

  The sky over Rainbow City looked like it was spouting green flames. Anton first thought the strange illumination might be an aurora borealis, but it was not positioned over the northern pole of the planet. Using a handheld magnaviewer, he detected a hole in space, emitting what appeared to be green exhaust.

  “Get me a satellite report!” Anton shouted.

  Two minutes later, a female Tulyan passed through security and strode heavily into the conference room. Doge Anton recognized her as Zigzia, one of the webtalkers who specialized in communicating via the web strands in space. “The satellite report is coming, as you ordered, but there is more you need to know.”

  “Something to do with Timeweb?” Nirella asked.

  “Yes, General,” Zigzia said. She looked worriedly in the direction of the fiery green sky. “We need to evacuate the building immediately,” she said.

  “What?” Anton said.

  “There’s a timehole up there, Sire. It’s getting closer, on a direct course for the valley. It could recede, or could suck this whole building into it, and a lot more.”

  Astonished, Anton stared at the unnatural sky, and he knew she was right. “Do it!” he barked.

  As they hurried out into the corridor, alarm klaxons sounded. The building rumbled, and an eerie green light permeated everything.

  “To the roof!” Nirella said.

  Running as fast as they could, Anton, Nirella, Zigzia, and all of the others boarded two grid planes, which took off within seconds after all of them were aboard. The pilots hit the jets, and the aircraft shot into the sky at low angles, away from the approaching timehole. Anton held Nirella’s hand. They sat side by side, with electronic safety restraints holding them in. Turbulence shook the plane, but it kept flying.

  Behind them, the entire Valley of the Princes glowed green. Then, like particles drawn by a magnet, buildings and whole chunks of land exploded into the green sky and disappeared into the insatiable maw of the timehole.

  Suddenly, inexplicably, the sky was no longer green, and the night sky over the valley looked almost completely normal, with glittering stars against a dark cosmic ceiling.

  Seated beside Anton, his wife read a telebeam message that appeared over the ring on her hand. “More bad news,” the female officer said. “The last Mutati world has fallen to the HibAdus. We’ve lost Dij.”

  “What about the fleet we sent with the Mutati Emir?”

  “Safe,” Nirella said. “Hari’Adab wanted to break it up and take a portion of it to other Mutati worlds, but Jimu prevented it.”

  “Under our orders,” Anton said. “Good, good. Where are they now?”

  “Deep space in the Mutati Sector, or should I say the former Mutati Sector.”

  “That’s some positive news at least. I want them to come back here right away. All six thousand podships.”

  “Right.” She sent the telebeam command, then read another incoming message. “A little more good news, Doge. Elements of the original Mutati fleet have been found in space. They escaped the HibAdus, and have been hiding out. Eclectic solar sailers and other conventional spacecraft, but they’re loaded with armaments. Jimu says they’re loading stuff on the podships and bringing it back.”

  “We can use it all.”

  “Interesting,” she said. “Our podships are enlarging themselves as necessary to accommodate the additional cargoes. Handy, aren’t they?”

  “That they are. And Siriki?”

  “All quiet there, Sire. And they know about Dij. Do you want to reconsider the podships we assigned to Siriki, and bring them back as well?”

  He shook his head. “No. It’s not apples and apples, is it? I mean, the HibAdus didn’t hit Dij hard until after our forces left. Maybe our presence on Siriki inhibits them.”

  “It’s a guessing game, isn’t it? We make a move and they make theirs.”

  Leaning forward, Anton said to the pilot, “Take us to my flagship.”

  * * * * *

  At the heavily fortified palace keep on Siriki, Noah absorbed the stream of emergency courier reports from command headquarters on Canopa. The galactic-ecology situation there was bad, but the loss of Dij was dire news, and suggested that Siriki could be the next target of a massive HibAdu assault, taking out the easier targets first. Noah had his own forces on the highest state of alert, but this was nothing new. At his direction, Subi Danvar had instituted that from the very first day they arrived on Siriki. In orbital space, in the sky, and on the ground, all was in readiness—to the extent possible.

  Intending to keep an appointment with Princess Meghina, Noah hurried outside. It was a sunny afternoon, and he walked briskly along a crushed brick path that led to her private zoo.

  He found her supervising as handlers unloaded exotic animals from a hoverplane and put them in cages. Dressed in black jeans and a short-sleeve gray sweatshirt, the attractive woman did not look like a princess or a courtesan. Her blonde hair was secured in a simple ponytail.

  Seeing him, she said, “These animals just came in from one of our remote islands, where there has been destructive activity. They were panicked. I wish we could take them to another planet where it’s safer. For that matter, I wish all of us could go somewhere safe.” She looked long at Noah. “But there’s no such place, is there?”

  “I’m afraid not, but so far Siriki has been spared the horrors suffered by other worlds. “ He looked apprehensively at the sky, half expecting HibAdu warships to appear at any time. “I’ve assigned a new guard force to protect you,” he said. “At any given moment, they can get you immediately into an emergency escape craft.”

  “I’ve seen them following me everywhere,” she said, nodding her head in the direction of uniformed Human and robotic soldiers on the path. “You needn’t worry about me so much. I’m pretty tough.”

  “I know you are, but I feel responsible for you now
.” He shuffled his feet. “Look, I want to tell you how much I appreciate the kindness you showed me when my sister was behaving so badly.”

  “Was she ever any other way?”

  “I know you didn’t like her, and she gave you good reason to feel that way. You tried to keep her from shooting me, and I know you made other attempts to help me behind the scenes. You also took food to my nephew Anton when he was imprisoned by Doge Lorenzo.”

  “I’m afraid I wasn’t that great an advocate for either of you,” she said, with a rueful smile. “Fortunately for you, though, you have your own built-in cellular survival kit.”

  “And so do you.”

  “Mmmm, but from what I hear, your special talents are not limited to the ability to physically regenerate yourself. In that area, we might be comparable, but I don’t have the far-ranging psychic powers you enjoy.”

  “I wouldn’t call it enjoyable. The powers seem to come and go. Sometimes I can get into a paranormal realm of my own volition, and sometimes I can’t. There appear to be numerous ways in, but I haven’t figured them out.”

  “Timeweb,” she said. “I’ve heard about it. Is it as beautiful as they say? A faint green filigree extending all across the cosmos?”

  “I can’t put it into words,” he said.

  Meghina excused herself for a moment, to speak with one of the handlers, a woman who was trying to feed raw meat to a caged Sirikan tiger. Noah knew something of the rare, endangered species. It tugged at his heart to see that the orange-and-black animal was emaciated and bruised. It appeared listless, more interested in going to sleep than eating.

  When she returned to Noah, she said, “I think I danced on the edge of the sword for awhile. Did you hear about the incredible ride I took in the Pleasure Palace? And about Lorenzo? He’s still missing.” Her eyes glistened with sadness.

  “I’m sorry that’s happened to you. As for the orbiter, I still think of it as EcoStation.”

  She wiped a tear from her eye. “Yes, it is rightfully yours, but I’m afraid it’s severely damaged. I rode it God only knows how far—through one of those timeholes and back out.”