Webdancers

by Brian Herbert

  He heard the Mutati officer say that the Borealis and Corona divisions were also engaging the enemy, making flank attacks.

  Following commands, Acey re-set his space cannon to fire heat rays. Now his shots, and those of his companions, penetrated deeper, causing more damage. But it all seemed like throwing pebbles at a hippophant. The monster just kept coming, knocking the debris of its own damaged ships out of the way.

  * * * * *

  Through his magnaviewer, Doge Anton del Velli saw the Borealis and Corona divisions draw together around the Parais Division. Then they reversed course en masse and sped back toward a holding position, with the immensely larger HibAdu armada still advancing toward the center, heading right for the Andromeda Division.

  Glancing at the console, he saw the readings that confirmed what Kajor Bhaleen of the Mutati High Command had planned. As the Liberator divisions retreated, they cast thousands of electronically cloaked space mines behind them … a Mutati trick.

  “The HibAdus are speeding up,” one of the junior officers shouted, “anticipating a big kill.”

  “Perfect,” General Nirella said. “That will make our stingers hurt more.”

  Moments later, space lit up in a series of multicolored explosions. Unable to reverse direction in time, a considerable portion of the HibAdu fleet blew up. In close formation, many ships that were not hit by the mines crashed into the others, and were themselves destroyed.

  A chain reaction of demolition surged through the front of the HibAdu armada. Finally, the bulk of the force was able to turn around and go back in the other direction.

  Anton saw them regrouping, splitting up into new attack formations. “I’m afraid we only made them mad,” he said.

  “They know we mean business, though,” Nirella said. “It will make them more cautious.”

  For the next phase of the battle, she ordered the Parais, Borealis, and Corona divisions to protect the exposed perimeters of the Andromeda Division. Then she directed thousands of podships filled with Tulyan caretakers to fan out from the Liberator fleet, for yet another tactic. Upon first hearing about this idea, the Council of Elders had been somewhat resistant, but eventually they had come around to seeing the wisdom of it.

  Using their arcane methods, the Tulyan web technicians were changing conditions on the battlefield in ways that the HibAdus and their artificial podships might not detect—tearing up the webbing, or making it look strong when it really wasn’t. This was a calculated risk, as the Liberators hoped they could later restore what they had damaged.

  In only a few minutes, the Tulyans completed their work and returned to share details of what they had done with the commanders. With this information, technicians were quickly preparing a new map of the battlefield. The potential points of ship-to-ship engagement would go out in great arcs in several directions from the Liberators, while leaving better escape routes to the rear.

  General Nirella smiled, displaying a confidence that Anton did not share. “That should slow ‘em down and enable us to customize new attacks,” she said.

  “I hope it works,” Anton said, “but I told Noah to be ready in case it doesn’t.”

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Liberators.

  We’re not just about rescuing Human and Mutati worlds.

  We intend to rescue the whole galaxy.

  —Master Noah Watanabe

  High Ruler Coreq had decided to get his hands dirty. Now he sat in the pilot’s chair of his immense flagship, operating the touch-pad controls while the actual pilot sat next to him, giving technical advice. With a laboratory-enhanced brain, Coreq was a fast learner, and operating this lab-pod seemed easy to him. Though he looked to be of an adult age, the hybrid was barely fifteen years old, having been grown in an Adurian laboratory. That didn’t mean he was emotionally or intellectually immature. Far from it. The scientists had done a terrific job on him.

  Speeding the flagship from one area of the fleet to another, he satisfied himself that his warships had regrouped into the new attack formations he had specified. Earlier he had done this with arm gestures from the command bridge, which in turn transmitted electronic signals, but he had decided on impulse to handle the flagship controls himself for a while. At just the right moment, his forces would divide and hurdle themselves at the opposing forces from multiple directions, using a variety of methods and a panoply of weapons.

  He didn’t like staying back on the Adurian homeworld, wanted to go out and destroy the enemy himself. He’d been at the vanguard of the coordinated assaults on Human and Mutati planets. Great victories—but as yet incomplete. Two Human-ruled worlds remained stubbornly outside the HibAdu empire, along with a number of upstart independent worlds, the foremost of which was Yaree. Against all odds, Humans and Mutatis were allies now, and were working with the Tulyans, and even a number of other races in lesser roles. Calling themselves “Liberators,” they had more than a hundred thousand natural podships that were armed—a formidable fleet, but one that should be no match for his own. Those enemy ships were among the spoils of war that he wanted to save, at least as many as possible.

  His triumvirate companions—Premier Enver and Warlord Tarix—did not have his hands-on, adventurous spirit, so they had remained back on the Adurian homeworld, making themselves look busy supervising the bureaucracy. Coreq thought it was a particular fallacy that Tarix called herself a warlord. The extent of her violent acts were confined to police activities on Adurian- and Hibbil-controlled planets. Coreq, on the other hand, was reaching for the stars. That was the stated purpose of the HibAdu Coalition, after all: Conquer all Human and Mutati worlds, and then the rest of the galaxy. Annihilate all enemies.

  But getting his hands dirty was one thing. Getting them slapped was quite another.

  So far, the Liberators had put up a surprisingly strong resistance. He had not really expected the sabotaged firing mechanisms to still be in place on the Liberator warships, even though the tactic had worked fabulously in the initial surprise attacks against hundreds of enemy planets. As anticipated, the enemy had figured this out afterward, and had replaced the Hibbil computer chips. Those space mines, however, had come as a complete surprise, not showing up on any scanners or signal probes. And he wasn’t sure what all those Liberator ships had been doing afterward around the Liberator fleet—thousands of enemy vessels that advanced and fanned out, but for only a few minutes. What had they been doing out there? Trying to lure HibAdu forces forward into another minefield? That was the assessment of his top Adurian commander, Admiral Silisk, and of other officers. Coreq, however, was not so sure. He doubted if they would try a similar tactic two times in a row.

  Already his scanning technicians said they could now detect all space mines—they had proven this by spotting several that had not been detonated, and reconfiguring their detection equipment. Leaving the pilot to control the flagship, Coreq went to a forward window, where he could get a good view through a magnaviewer. There, he watched as squadrons of his own ships went out in forays, scouting the battlefield ahead, seeing what the enemy had been up to. Oddly, his scout squadrons began going in erratic flight patterns. Some crashed into each other, and others seemed to disappear in green flashes. He scowled, trying to figure out what was going on.

  Opening all emergency channels, Coreq heard the panicked reports of Hibbil and Adurian pilots.

  “Podways damaged! Can’t see where we are on any of our instruments. Flying blind out here.”

  “Lost an entire squadron! They just disappeared!”

  “Can’t stay on course!”

  Then a Hibbil came on, sounding more calm over the powerful, secure channel. “As directed, I took my squad around behind the enemy fleet, several parsecs on the other side. Now we’re heading back toward them, with their force just now becoming visible on instruments.” He grew more excited. “They’ve spotted us! Only a few seconds before they attack. A few rough spots on the podways, but typical of what we’ve seen elsewhere. Infrastructur
e much better here.”

  The transmission fizzled out, but Coreq had learned something valuable. His clever foe had left open an escape route at their rear—and probably more than one—bolt holes into space. Quickly, he ordered his fleet to go around. In a matter of seconds, they split space in green flashes. Then, reforming into attack groups, they surged back toward the Liberator force from a different direction.

  * * * * *

  The redeployment of the immense HibAdu fleet occurred very quickly. Alarmed, Ipsy watched from his hiding place, while his internal programs absorbed battlefield data, and he recalculated the courses of action that he might take. He wanted to inflict the maximum possible harm on the enemy.

  Only a short while ago, he had been heartened by the successes of the Liberator fleet. Now the tide of battle seemed to be changing the other way.

  Unless the Liberators were setting a trap. He hoped that was the case, but all indications said otherwise.

  * * * * *

  Watching everything from his paranormal viewing platform, Noah sent comlink and webtalker warnings to Doge Anton and General Nirella.

  Responding right away over the comlink, Nirella said, “We see what they’re doing. What about our escape contingency?”

  Having emerged from the timetrance to await a response, Noah said, “No longer available. I can’t visualize any destination beyond this sector. With their huge force the enemy is sweeping space behind us, covering every available podway. The Tulyan researchers said they use a combination of instruments and artificial podship methods to determine where the podways are. Now they have forces stationed on each of them, more than enough to keep us from escaping.”

  “Can’t we knock them out of the way? We can send more than a hundred thousand podships on any one route.”

  They have tens of thousands of heavily armed ships stationed on each route. It would be suicide for us to slam into all those warships, with the bombs and other munitions involved.”

  “But space is vast. There must be other escape routes!”

  “From here, the routes are few, and the HibAdus have found all of them.”

  “Then we’ve painted ourselves into a corner,” Nirella said.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Dipping back into Timeweb, Noah noticed something more: Dark little spots all over the hulls of the Liberator vessels. Several of the spots flickered, then grew dark again. But Noah had seen what they were: Parviis.

  The tiny humanoids seemed to be camouflaging themselves with their projection mechanisms. But why weren’t they flying in a swarm and firing telepathic weapons? He answered his own question almost before it passed through his mind.

  Attacking en masse had not worked—some problem with their firepower that the Tulyans had noticed. Taking a different tack, the Parviis were going to focus on individual podships in the Liberator fleet, trying to gain entrance and control any way they could. In the alternate realm, Noah saw more and more of the tiny dark spots appear, until space was thick with them around the Aopoddae ships.

  When he reemerged, Noah saw his webtalker already engaged in urgent communication with her fellow Tulyans, all of whom had sensed the presence of their mortal enemies.

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Life, in all of its forms, is ultimately about control. This is linked to survival and to the perception that particular life forms cannot live in harmony, and must take all available resources for themselves. But wars and other forms of mass destruction often rise directly from survival perceptions that are not accurate. We do not need to wipe out other races or life forms to survive. In fact, it is in our interest as Humans not to do that, and to harmonize with other galactic peoples.

  —Master Noah Watanabe, from one of his early essays

  Over the communication links, Noah heard the desperation of the Liberator officers and soldiers, and of the Tulyan caretakers. And through his supernatural link to Timeweb, he saw the changing currents of the battle, with the HibAdus gaining an overwhelmingly superior position. They had cleverly cut off all routes of conventional escape for the Liberator fleet, and were now moving in for the kill. Increasingly confident, the enemy armada was gaining speed. All the while, Parviis continued to mass on the hulls of Doge Anton’s podships, and were using neurotoxins and other methods to gain entrance. So far Tulyans were using their own methods to keep them at bay, but more and more Parviis kept arriving and joining the others.

  Beside him on the central platform of the auditorium, Thinker whirred noisily, and said, “I have searched for all possibilities, but there are no good choices.”

  Noah didn’t respond, He felt like a man on the edge of a precipice, and if he fell off everyone he cared about would tumble off with him. Dreams would crash with him.

  His mind raced at frantic speed, and he thought of the armored memory core Thinker had transferred back to him. The heavily encrypted Aopoddae information lay somewhere in Noah’s brain, hiding inside the cells and synapses, waiting to be released.

  For the Master of the Guardians, it was like knowing something, and not knowing it at the same instant. The information was there at his fingertips, and around him in the cocoon. But he could not utilize it. Previously, he had touched the podship flesh and had caused it to reshape the space station. Several times he had commanded the cocoon to fly through space, and it had cooperated.

  Essential information was locked away in the protected core of data that Thinker had found, and Noah needed the key to open it. Why were the Aopoddae making it so difficult?

  Thinking back, he recalled that he had used his own arcane powers to heal wounded podship flesh, and had received a tremendous inflow of data from the sentient spacecraft. It was as if they wanted him to have the information—whatever it was—but first they had to make sure he was qualified to receive it, and that he would not use it for the wrong purposes. The Aopoddae had only given him access to the critical information. He still had to prove he was worthy of it. How could he do that?

  A chill ran down his spine, as it occurred to him that the secret of a powerful weapon might be what was inside the armored core of data. Doge Anton had suggested that Noah might be surreptitiously generating a super weapon inside the cocoon. Noah had dismissed it as an idle comment, but what if the idea had an element of merit? What if the amalgamated podships could generate a powerful destructive force?

  If it was a weapon inside the armored data core, that would explain why the sentient spacecraft were not sure if he should receive it. Even now, facing their own destruction, they could be hesitating. Had the Aopoddae looked into his soul for his motives, and if so, what had they seen there? His demented twin sister, Francella?

  Precious seconds ticked by.

  Taking a deep breath, Noah touched a thick section of flesh on the outer wall. It was soft and almost liquid beneath his fingertips. As before, he let go, and the flesh oozed down onto the deck and flowed over the floor. This time, however, instead of flowing across the room, it pooled around him and rose up around his ankles. The alien material was warm and wet against his own skin.

  Noah felt like screaming in terror. It had very little to do with fear for his own personal safety. He had survived so much, had been through so many harrowing experiences, that he didn’t worry about such things much anymore—except he didn’t want his followers to lose their inspiration, their guiding light. And beyond that, Noah didn’t want to be lured into a place from which he could not escape, or used by some diabolical outside entity for its own purposes.

  So far he felt as if he could go back, that he could reverse the process and step away from the advancing cocoon flesh. But the sentient stuff was probing around the skin inside his shoes and socks and on his ankles, delving into his cellular structure, seeking to flow further upward on his body. If he allowed that to occur, could he still go back? And did he really want to go through this, to achieve an indeterminate destructive power?

  Noah sensed that he was subconsciously trying to talk himself
out of going further. He had always been a person who followed his instincts, so he asked himself some hard questions now: Did he really sense danger if he proceeded? What was his gut telling him?

  This time, when he needed it most, his viscera didn’t send him any signals at all. He found this troubling, because it suggested that he was losing contact with an important aspect of his own humanity, a means of perception and survival that had always worked well for him in the past.

  Noah tried to command the cocoon to open the fortified data core, and to show him what was inside. But nothing happened, other than a flurry of agitation in the ancient, linked minds of the creatures.

  He knew the HibAdus could attack at any moment. The immensity and immediacy of this threat loomed over all others. For the moment, the Parviis were secondary, and even the crumbling galaxy. If the armada got through, it would be the end of the Liberator force.

  Suddenly he heard a booming voice over the comlink, overriding other conversations. “This is High Ruler Coreq. You have ninety seconds to surrender, or we will annihilate you.”

  * * * * *

  After listening to Coreq’s announcement from his hiding place, Ipsy heard a loud buzzing noise, and looked up. The confined space where he’d been hiding was filling with tiny, droning machines, like a swarm of insects.

  “Intruder alert,” a voice said. It was an eerie, synchronized voice, emitted by speakers on the bodies of the flying biomachines. Ipsy’s programs accelerated as he tried to find a way out.

  Suddenly there was a loud clatter, and strong hands pulled the little robot out from behind the instrument console. Two Adurian soldiers dragged him to the center of the command bridge, where the High Ruler stood, waiting.

  “How did you get in there?” Coreq said. He interlaced the fingers of his small, furry hands, then pulled them apart, then interlaced them again. A nervous mannerism, it appeared.