Timeweb Trilogy Omnibus (127 page)

“I know some things about
Webdancer
, but the vessels are enigmatic, as you know.”

“So, you didn’t know what I told you?”

She smiled. “I didn’t say that.”

“And how did it get marooned?” Anton asked.

Dabiggio hesitated, appeared to calm himself with a heave of his wide shoulders. Then: “We have learned from a variation of the truthing touch that the vessel rebelled against its Parvii masters and fled into space. For hundreds of thousands of years it roamed the cosmos, and no one could capture it. The rest of its story remains, thus far, unrevealed to us.”

“My podship has a rather independent personality,” Tesh said, giving the Tulyan a gentle smile. “Perhaps it will reveal its full story to me one day.”

He stared at her rigidly. “Unlikely. Parviis do not have the telepathic skills of Tulyans, so you would have difficulty conversing with him.”

“But we do have some of those skills, as you know.”

“True enough, but beside the point. Here’s what I want to tell you. By tradition, the names of podships have always remained unchanged. Once Clegg, always Clegg.”

The remark hit Tesh hard, and took something personal away from her. She looked at the clearglax floor and the starcloud mists visible beyond.

“Do you understand what I am saying to you?” Dabiggio asked in a gruff tone.

“You want me to change the name back?”

“Exactly. It is not good luck to do otherwise.”

“Nonsense,” First Elder Kre’n interjecting as she came over to them. “Tell her what we decided as a Council, not what you believe independently.”

Dabiggio wrinkled his reptilian face in displeasure. He said nothing.

“I’ll tell her, then,” Kre’n said. She looked at the Parvii woman and said, “Tesh Kori, you are admired by the Council of Elders, and there is widespread recognition of your contributions to the success of the Liberators. Even Dabiggio—who tries to argue with everything—cannot really dispute this. In honor of your service to the cause, we have decided that you may continue to use the appellation
Webdancer
for the pod.”

“That pleases me very much,” she said. “I appreciate it.”

As Anton and she left the chamber together, he said, “I would have allowed you to keep the name, anyway. Those old Elders can’t tell us everything to do, even though they might think they can.”

“Would that really have been a battle you should have picked?” she asked, remembering for a moment how close the two of them had once been.

Darkness came over his features. “Maybe I’m a bit of a rebel myself. Now, let’s move on to the battles that really matter.”

* * * * *

Tulyan wranglers separated twenty-four thousand podships from the main fleet, and further divided the smaller portion into three even smaller fleets, earmarked for Canopa, Siriki, and Dij.

For the Sirikan rescue mission, Noah Watanabe controlled six thousand sentient warships, which he quickly calculated to be five percent of the entire Liberator fleet. After receiving the ships, he and Subi Danvar supervised the details of their military assault force, passing instructions on to their subordinates about how they wanted personnel and equipment loaded into the podships.

All the while, the wranglers and other Tulyan specialists coordinated and synchronized the various vessels in each of the military fleets. Anton’s portion, the largest, would get underway first, in part because of the already proven leadership qualities of the flagship,
Webdancer
. But there were larger reasons. Canopa was unarguably the most important of the surviving planets, and Noah had reported to Anton his troubling vision in which the planet—and Noah’s former EcoStation orbiting it—appeared to be drifting toward a dangerous timehole. Noah had also arranged with the Elders to have a Tulyan repair team sent there.

Discussing that in the Tulyan Council Chamber, Anton had said, “I know what you’re thinking, Noah, that you would prefer to go on the Canopa mission. But I need you to head up the Sirikan operation for me. I’m weighing all the factors, and that is my decision.”

Noah had nodded, but recalled chewing the inside of his own mouth to the point of rawness, as he resisted arguing with his superior … a wound that still hurt a little.

“A timehole,” Anton had said. “If that additional element is indeed added to the already ongoing military operations there, I’m not certain what any of us can do to keep the planet and the orbiter from vanishing into the cosmic whirlpool. I only know that I have to be there firsthand, to do whatever I can.”

It was the mission that Anton wanted, so he would have it.

Noah’s smaller fleet, and the one of matching size assigned to the Mutati rescue mission, would have individual flagships, thus requiring more preparations and coordination—work that was not commenced until after the Tulyan Elders decided on the allocation of the vessels.

Finally, having rushed around tending to numerous important matters involving his task force, Noah sent an aide to summon Subi Danvar for a brief, final meeting. While waiting, Noah settled into a deep-cushion chair in his onboard office. Subi would arrive any moment, so Noah closed his eyes, just for a few seconds.

As he sank into the fleshy podship cushion, Noah sighed, and a deep sense of calm came over him. Minutes passed, only a few, and he felt himself sinking into the most restful state of relaxation he could imagine.

Subi seemed to be taking a long time to arrive. Not wanting to fall asleep, Noah decided to open his eyes. As he did so, however, he experienced a sensation like opening an unusual circular door, one that irised open with shocking suddenness. Abruptly, he felt himself catapulted through an amorphous opening, and he hurtled and spun out into the starry, eternal night of space.

He was back in Timeweb, via a slightly different entry point.

A rush of excitement passed through Noah, tempered by the realization that he could not remain there long, that he needed to go back and get his podship fleet underway. But at the same time, he couldn’t pass up this opportunity either.…

Chapter Twenty

War has a way of shortening some men’s lives, and lengthening others.

—Doge Anton del Velli

“Only twelve thousand ships,” Doge Anton said. “Only a small portion of the fleet we brought back from the Parvii Fold.”

He and the cerebral robot Thinker stood on the command bridge of the flagship
Webdancer
. Tesh was still at the controls, but the podship had metamorphosed internally to create new military-purpose rooms, and had grown even larger than before, so that it now appeared to be at least twice the size of any other vessel in the fleet. Anton didn’t know how the ship changed (or the impetus for the alterations), but he rather liked the new internal arrangement, which included a spacious dome on top of the vessel where they stood now—with wide viewing areas in all directions, through filmy windows.

“I appreciate you coming with me,” Anton said.

“You are the commander-in-chief. I follow your bidding. Everyone interpreted your ‘request’ for my assistance as considerably more than that.”

Anton smiled gently as he looked back to see other vessels behind picking up speed to keep pace with the flagship, cutting through the milky mists of the starcloud. “Somehow,” he said, “I’ve always thought of you as a strong and independent personality, more impressive than any other machine and more than most men.”

“You are too kind, my Lord. I only hope to be of service on this, the most important of the three military missions. I must say, Sire, you were wise to allocate your ships the way you did. Canopa merits the most consideration, and the most firepower.”

Anton nodded. In the ongoing, mounting crisis he had made quick decisions, after receiving advice from his wife Nirella, from this robot, and from the other top minds in the new alliance, including Noah and his strategy-wise adjutant, Subi Danvar.

Webdancer
accelerated onto a main podway, bound for Canopa. It would take longer than in the old days. Supreme General Nirella rode in another ship with the main navigation team of the Humans, and they had made predictions and projections of the route the ships would probably take. For all practical purposes, the fleet would select its own course, following the lead of Tesh when she—enmeshed with
Webdancer
in the Parvii way—got a good view of space and determined the best route.

With all he had been through, and the tremendous burden of responsibility on his shoulders, Anton felt like a man in his middle age. But as he reviewed the actual mileposts of his life, the chronology only added up to twenty-one years.

As stars blurred past, he realized that he seemed to have lived two entire lifetimes. In the first, comprising a bit over twenty years, he had been the rather ordinary Anton Glavine, a mere caretaker and maintenance man. For a while he had been close to the exciting Tesh Kori, and they had been lovers. But they’d never connected in a deeper sense, and their relationship had ended when Anton and Noah were taken prisoner by Lorenzo. The two had escaped, but by the time Anton saw Tesh again, she had already drifted toward Noah.

During his so-called “second lifetime,” Anton was the fledgling Doge of the Merchant Prince Alliance, and he’d been forced to learn on the job, facing the challenges of managing the various competing powers in the realm. Not the least of the problems he’d faced had been his late mother Francella Watanabe, but he had found ways to sidestep even her. As for his father, the former Doge Lorenzo, Anton had not had much to do with him at all, other than making certain he didn’t interfere in merchant prince affairs.

Now, as he embarked for Canopa at the head of twelve thousand armed podships, Anton felt yet another lifetime beginning. Only a few hours ago he had met Hari’Adab, and now—at breakneck pace—the three portions of Anton’s fleet were speeding toward different destinations.

But significant restrictions had been placed on the Mutati Emir and his mission to Dij. After conferring with his advisers, Anton had sent what Nirella called “military chaperones” to monitor him. Ostensibly, they were following Hari’Adab’s commands, and to an extent they would do that. But—despite the Tulyan lie detection tests Hari and all of his Mutati followers had passed—Anton’s Human officers were alert for tricks and traps, and on a moment’s notice they were prepared to take control of the Dij-bound fleet. Robotic troops had also been sent with that rescue force, led by the loyal robot Jimu.

In yet another precautionary measure, Anton had ordered that the Emir’s lady friend, Parais d’Olor, be separated from him and placed with Noah’s forces on the Siriki mission—for at least the duration of the three initial military campaigns. Both Hari and Parais had objected to this, but the young doge had insisted upon it. The more indignant they were—and they showed considerable vehemence—the more certain he became that it was the right thing to do. Obviously Hari cared deeply for this aeromutati, so Anton had gained some leverage over him by keeping them apart. How much, though, he was not certain.

Now, as he thought back on these things, and on his own place in the critical events unfolding around him, Anton murmured, “ ‘Trust but verify.’ “

“What did you say, sir?” Thinker asked.

Anton repeated it, louder this time. Then: “It’s a saying of Lost Earth. I don’t know where I picked it up.”

Thinker whirred. “I have it in my data banks. It was a Russian adage, one of the major nations on the doomed planet.”

“I wonder how much of the MPA we can save,” Anton said.

His thoughts were very dark. Just before departure he had received a report that the HibAdus had enslaved trillions of Humans on every merchant prince planet with the exception of the two where the defenders were still holding out. He hoped, at least, that this had not worsened, and that he was not too late.

“Odds unknown,” Thinker said. “Not enough data on the enemy.”

“The people of Canopa and Siriki have fought bravely,” the Doge said. “We can’t abandon them to the HibAdus when they’ve shown such determined resistance.”

He felt his blood pressure rising from the frustration of how long it was taking to cross space. Then a comlink transmission came from General Nirella: “On final podway approach to Canopa system, sir. With luck, we’re only a few minutes away.”

“Any evidence of a timehole in the vicinity?”

“The Tulyans are checking on that. No report from them yet.”

“Visual confirmation that we are approaching Canopa, sir,” Thinker said. Even at the extreme speed of the podship, he was rapidly accumulating data on the star systems they were passing.

Anton steeled himself, wondering what awaited them. It could be a carefully laid HibAdu trap, and the same held true for Siriki and Dij.

Chapter Twenty-One

There is no such thing as a perfect secret.

—Adurian admonition

It required a considerable amount of bravery for the guests to have come here, to Lorenzo del Velli’s opulent gambling hall on the Pleasure Palace orbital station. At any moment, HibAdu forces could reappear from space and blast the facility into oblivion.

Of course, Pimyt knew otherwise. He just smiled to himself as he stood listening to the nervous chatter around the long diceball table. On his right, Lorenzo stood at the head of the table watching the game, occasionally interjecting to regale his guests with gossip-laden conversation. This gray-haired old man might have been deposed as Doge of the Merchant Prince Alliance, but he still retained his memories of many of the interesting noblemen and ladies in the realm. And if he had trouble remembering some of the details, he made some up in convincing fashion.

Though he kept it undisclosed in such company, Pimyt had been leading a hectic, though fascinating, life himself. If anyone ever wrote about the events and compiled them, his secrets would fill numerous thick volumes.

“The enemy could strike from any direction,” one of the noblemen said, looking around nervously at the wide view of space they had from the glax-walled main casino on the top level of the space station. Dozens of the Doge’s defensive ships patrolled the area, but Pimyt knew how paltry they would prove against any real attack. So, it seemed, did a number of the guests.