Webdancers

by Brian Herbert

  In the student dining hall, Noah touched the podship skin that covered a window opening. As he did so, the surface became filmy, so that he could see through it, as if it were a porthole on a podship. He let go, and the window remained.

  He had again moved the cocoon out into space, just beyond the misty starcloud, because he wanted to perform his own experiments there, not interfering with the mindlink defensive system. Through the window, he saw Tulyans and elements of the Liberator fleet performing battle maneuvers in the sunlight, coordinating mindlink telepathic weapons and the firepower of armed podships.

  All of the key leaders and most of the podships were at the starcloud now, for critical preparations. On an emergency basis, General Nirella had obtained the cooperation of the Tulyan Council to arm much more of the caretaking fleet than the original allotments. With the cooperation not only of the Tulyans but of the mysterious Aopoddae, this conversion was accomplished in a matter of days. The military force under Anton’s command now amounted to more than one hundred and ten thousand podships, with the remainder assigned to the most crucial web caretaking duties.

  Noah saw Eshaz speed by, his face on the prow of a vessel he was piloting. Then Noah recognized Webdancer with only its normal Aopoddae look, meaning that Tesh was in the sectoid chamber, guiding the vessel in her Parvii way. In view of what she had told him about her pregnancy, he wished she would discontinue her dangerous military duties, at least until the baby was born.

  She wouldn’t, though. He’d tried to convince her himself, and had even asked others to make the effort. They’d all come back with the same answer: An adamant no. Her voice filled with emotion, she had told Noah and Anton that the whole cause of the Liberators was at risk, not just one fetus. And it was hard to argue with her. She was one of the very best pilots, and her skills were needed for the upcoming attack against the HibAdus in the Kandor Sector, the most important battle that Humans, Mutatis, or Tulyans had ever fought.

  The combined Liberator force needed to commit every available resource to the fight—and they needed to attack as soon as possible—before the HibAdu Coalition could produce too many more laboratory-bred warships. But against the immense military power the enemy already had, no one knew if victory was achievable.

  The Liberator leaders only knew that they had to make the monumental effort.

  * * * * *

  Taking a break from war maneuvers, Tesh stood in the passenger compartment of Webdancer, looking out on a series of scaled-down comet attacks that the Tulyans were using to destroy large holo-simulations of enemy warships that the Liberators were projecting into space. The projections moved in a variety of attack formations, so that the Tulyans had to constantly adapt and adjust. In other maneuvers nearby, General Nirella led armed podships in simulated battles. Later in the day there would be joint operations, involving Liberator and Tulyan forces against the theoretical enemy.

  Tesh had noticed that Webdancer was even larger than before, with more interior chambers, as the intelligent podship had sensed that even more space and amenities were needed to accommodate its use as a flagship. Moments before, she and Anton had been engaged in an uncomfortable conversation. A year ago they had been lovers, but both of them knew that could never happen again, and neither of them wanted to resume the old relationship. They had taken alternate paths, had new loves in their lives. But the conversation had still slipped back to some of the old times they had enjoyed together, and there had been moments of awkward silence in which each of them remembered, but said little. Now Anton was getting coffee from a wall-mounted machine.

  He returned and handed her a cup of the naturally white, Huluvian beverage. “Thanks,” she said.

  Their conversation shifted to the war maneuvers outside, and Anton said, “Look at the way the podships move gracefully through space. They’re so smooth and fast. I often wonder what it would be like to have a conversation with one of them.”

  “I’ve wondered the same thing,” she said, “even though every Parvii knows it is an impossibility. For millions of years our race was linked to them, and yet it seems like we never truly understood them—at least not beyond a surface comprehension of us as the master and the Aopoddae as our servants. Podships were just there, and we guided them on regular routes, from star system to star system. I doubt if even the Eye of Swarm ever really knew in a deep sense what it was all about. He only did what his predecessors had always done under our dominion, and the whole system continued.”

  “Until now.”

  “Yes, until now. I think it’s right for my people to give up the podships, but the galaxy is in such chaos. If I can contribute to the Liberator cause—just one Parvii woman—I’ll bet there are others of my race who would be willing to help as well. If only Woldn would release them from his hold.”

  “That will never happen. You were lucky to get away.”

  Tesh held the cup under her nose, and inhaled the warm, aromatic steam. She sipped. This was good, imported coffee that the Liberators had obtained, the only coffee she’d ever found that actually tasted as good as it smelled.

  “You know,” Tesh said, “watching these podships, I’m reminded of something Noah said to me once, about the poetry of the name Webdancer. He said it evokes romantic images of all the Aopoddae—that they’re all webdancers, negotiating the slender, delicate strands of the galactic infrastructure.”

  “Yes, it is like that, isn’t it?”

  “But any one of the podships—or many more of them in a mass catastrophe—can fall off the damaged webbing and tumble into oblivion. It’s like dancing on the edge of a sword, as they used to say on Lost Earth.”

  He thought for a moment, and nodded. “Exhilarating life on one side of the blade, death on the other.”

  * * * * *

  Noah heard Thinker nearby, whirring as he processed data. In order to intensify his focus he had folded himself shut … and had been that way for almost half an hour now.

  Noah considered tapping on the robot’s flat metal body to ask him a question, but reconsidered. He didn’t want to interrupt the mechanical genius in the midst of a critical analysis.

  Presently, Thinker opened, with a soft click of metal parts as they shifted and locked into new positions.

  “Anything?” Noah asked.

  “I think I’ve gotten what I can, and that’s only what I told you before. The armored memory core remains impenetrable. I’ve tried everything possible. It just won’t open for me.”

  “For you. But what about for me? Can you link me to the core and allow my mind to probe, and enter it?”

  Hesitation, and whirring. Then: “The Aopoddae trust you more than before, but not completely. I don’t think they entirely trust me, either, perhaps because I am not biological, or perhaps due to my connection to you. I’m afraid if we get too aggressive trying to obtain the information, the data will go into permanent lockdown.”

  “Originally, the Aopoddae let the data flow into my brain,” Noah said. “I think you need to give it back to me.”

  “The overload could kill you.”

  “How much data is in the armored memory core?”

  “I can only estimate. Based on bulk storage space, I think it’s around fifteen percent of the whole.”

  “Can you transfer the armored core to me? Only that, and no more?”

  “I think so. But the data count could be exponentially greater than I estimated, if they compressed it. If you find a way of opening it, the surge could be too much for you to handle.”

  “We live in dangerous times,” Noah said. “I want you to do it. And then erase the armored core from your own data banks.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “We want them to trust us, don’t we? I need to be vulnerable to them.”

  “And the rest of their data?”

  “Keep it, for now. Let’s prioritize this, and try it in increments. If I open the armored core, and the Aopoddae fully trust us, maybe I can download it back to you, unencry
pted.”

  “You make it sound so easy.”

  “I always try to be optimistic,” Noah said, with a wry smile.

  The organic interface snaked out of Thinker’s body. Just before it connected to Noah’s skull, he closed his eyes. He felt the powerful inflow of raw data, filling the cells and synapses of his brain. The process took more than a minute, and during that time, he saw only images of blackness. No color or light at all. It occurred to Noah that he might reach out into Timeweb and perhaps escape the terror he was feeling, the stygian darkness. But that could interrupt the flow and damage the information. So he remained focused and motionless, a cup to be filled.

  “It is finished,” Thinker finally announced. “And irretrievably erased from my own data systems.”

  Opening his eyes, Noah didn’t feel any different.

  In the past, he had been able to stretch his mind across the cosmos, taking fantastic journeys through space. Now he tried to do the opposite, and probed inward, looking for the armored core and the key that would open its door.

  But nothing happened.

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  There is one certainty to military combat:

  Wars, and the battles that comprise them, never go entirely as planned.

  —General Nirella del Velli

  Later in the day Noah paced nervously inside the shuttle, refusing to take a seat beside Tesh. She had just brought him a message from Doge Anton.

  “He didn’t say what he wants?” The podman passed a gray-skinned hand over the reddish lump of skin on top of his head, as if he actually had hair there to smooth out. As usual, he felt weaker away from the cocoon, but he kept pacing anyway, trying not to reach out and grab anything for balance. For the most part he was successful in this regard, so perhaps it was a learning experience.

  Tesh pursed her lips. She sat near Thinker, who had bent his own flat body to fit onto one of the benches—something he did on occasion to test his working parts, or to act like a biological person. “No,” she said, “but I suspect it’s important. He is the Doge, after all, and we’re about to head off into battle.”

  “He’s probably wondering where I fit in. I sent him a message yesterday, telling him I should remain here at the starcloud. My interests—and talents—are more akin to those of the Tulyans and their web restoration work, instead of open warfare. The cocoon is almost entirely composed of unarmed caretaker podships. They’re useless in combat. I had to turn tail and run from battle.” Grimacing, Noah added, “I hated doing that. I wanted to fight, wanted to blow the HibAdus out of space. But I didn’t have any way to do it.”

  “Maybe Anton has some way of arming the cocoon,” she said. “I heard him and Nirella speculating about that, wondering if it could be turned into a battle station.”

  “That would just make it a bigger target.”

  “Perhaps you’re right.”

  * * * * *

  As Noah stepped off the shuttle onto the flagship, he was greeted by Subi Danvar. “Right this way, Master,” he said. “Anton is waiting for you in his private office.” Looking at Thinker and Tesh, he added, “He wants to see Noah alone.”

  Following the rotund adjutant through the main corridor of the vessel, Noah was struck by how much larger the ship was now, with many more rooms and side corridors than before. Even though he had psychically guided the cocoon to make changes to the space station—and the massed Aopoddae had cooperated with him—he still didn’t understand how they did it.

  But he thought he understood why. Though their motives were not as easy to figure out as those of other races, Noah thought the podships were acting to protect and enhance the integrity of the galaxy. It had nothing to do with politics or personalities, and everything to do with galactic ecology. He believed now that he had been born with the destiny to be one of the leaders of this cause, and that destiny had guided him along a path that led him to this very place. Whether destiny translated into connecting him with a higher sentient power, he was not certain, and he thought he might never determine that answer. As far as he knew, destiny just existed … it was an element to the cosmos that kept things going. It could not be ignored, or eluded.

  And if Anton wanted to turn EcoStation into a battle station, Noah could try to help in the effort. He wasn’t afraid of combat himself, and wanted to do everything possible to advance the Liberator cause. But the podships had their own collective mind, and might not cooperate.

  “Right through there, sir,” Subi said, pointing to an open doorway.

  Noah continued on his own, with his mind racing, wondering. Maybe the Liberator commanders wanted the cocoon podships back as individual craft, to arm them separately and send them into battle.

  Yes, that could be it, he thought. They think I’ve been dithering, getting in the way of the war effort. But his instincts told him that he needed to do everything possible to protect the integrity of the cocoon, and that it should never revert to its former parts.

  “Noah!” Anton said. The young doge bounded across his office and gave him a hearty handshake. Then he stood back and assessed Noah’s gray skin, streaked in black. “I’ve heard about your metamorphosis, of course, and VR images have been brought to me, but seeing you in person is quite different.”

  “VR images?”

  “Yes. Thinker said you wouldn’t mind.” Anton held onto Noah’s rough-skinned right hand, then released it.

  “No, I suppose I don’t. He does work for you and for me. Look, I think I know what this is about, why you called me here.” Noah took a seat across from the desk, while Anton slipped into his own chair.

  “You know, eh?” To Noah’s surprise, the mustachioed merchant prince looked amused, not nearly as tense as he might be before the upcoming military adventure.

  “You’re wondering where I fit in, and how I can contribute to the war effort.”

  “Oh, you’ve already contributed far beyond the call of duty, Uncle Noah.”

  “You don’t think I’ve been wasting my time in the cocoon?”

  Anton laughed. “In this galaxy, with all the strange events that are occurring? Are you kidding? I say, if you can figure the Aopoddae out, it will help all of us. Maybe you’re in there generating a super weapon, for all I know.”

  “If I were doing that, Thinker would have told you.”

  “Ah, but you are on a different plane from the rest of us, Noah. You can accomplish things no one else can imagine. I’m sure you could conceal things from the robot.”

  “Not from his organic probe, though. It’s his form of the truthing touch. No, I don’t have a super weapon in the cocoon. I wish I did, but I don’t.”

  “Well, wishes do come true. Keep wishing, and maybe it will happen. We could sure use more firepower. But that is not why I asked you to come here.”

  Anton fiddled with a pen, spinning it around on the desktop. Then he continued. “I’m intrigued by the way you got from Yaree to the Tulyan Starcloud.” He snapped his fingers. “Even with all of the web damage, you made the journey just like that. But how?”

  “Some of the podships in my cocoon are among the oldest in the galaxy, and they know alternate routes, shortcuts across space.”

  “I’m aware of the alternate routes Diminian found, and which his pilot showed to us—dropping travel time to a matter of minutes, going around damaged web sections. But you accomplished something even faster, didn’t you? Noah, you just visualized the starcloud, right? And the cocoon went there immediately?”

  “That’s about right.”

  “Can you show the rest of the fleet how to do that? Speed is always an asset in warfare, and I want every advantage we can get.”

  “I don’t know exactly how it works, but I’m sure the podships do—the cocoon. My connection with the Aopoddae seems to be a work in progress, but I could give it a try.” He didn’t mention the unopened, armored core of data in his brain, knew Thinker would reveal its existence anyway, if he hadn’t done so already.

  �
�All right. Let’s run some preliminary tests. You get in the cocoon and see if you can get it to lead the others. Think of guerrilla warfare, on a scale never before seen. Ideally, I’d like to have my whole fleet appear out of nowhere, attack the HibAdus, and then disappear. We could then keep hitting them from different angles, and vanishing before they could mount an attack. No matter how big their entire force is, we could whittle it down, hopefully faster than they can reproduce lab-pods.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  The two of them worked out more details. Then Noah rose to his feet and bowed to his nephew.

  “Please,” Anton said, coming around the desk and shaking Noah’s hand again. “Only do that when someone is looking. Here, we are family. More than that, we are friends.”

  “In what seems like a prior lifetime, I had a similar arrangement with my adjutant, Subi. He was not allowed to insult me in front of others. Only in private.”

  “We shall do that, too,” Anton said, as he accompanied Noah to the door. “Private insults, only.”

  “You’re in a surprisingly chipper mood,” Noah said.

  “Because I think we’re going to win.” The young doge paused, and grinned. “In fact, I visualized it.”

  * * * * *

  The next morning the combined fleet was ready to go into battle, with the exception of one final detail.

  Noah and Thinker strode into what had once been the Grand Ballroom of Lorenzo’s Pleasure Palace, a chamber that Noah had transformed into an auditorium for his future School of Galactic Ecology.

  “I might as well try it from here as anywhere else,” Noah said, as they walked up the steps to the central platform. “Let’s see what sort of a magic show we can put on.”

  “Very well,” Thinker said. “I shall be your audience.” He went back down the stairs and bent his metal body, so that he could sit in one of the front-row seats.

  “You and the whole fleet. All right, here goes.”

  Kneeling on the floor, Noah pressed the palms of both hands against the podship flesh that covered everything, like a blanket of gray, black-streaked snow.