Timeweb Trilogy Omnibus (158 page)

For that, he had initially blamed Doge Anton, who had kept them apart. But ultimately, Hari came to the realization that it wasn’t the Doge’s fault after all. There really was no one to blame—at least not anymore—for the long history of enmity between the Human and Mutati races, and the deep distrust that resulted. Even now, with close cooperation between the races, some of the old feelings lingered. There had been fights and name-calling among the soldiers, but cooler heads always prevailed. During moments of frustration, Hari had experienced such feelings of antagonism himself, but had kept them in check.

He felt overwhelmed by all of the details surrounding him, and longed for the halcyon times he had spent with Parais, flying on her avian back to a retreat where they could enjoy each other’s company in private. On Dij, they had frequented an isolated beach, where the sun warmed the sands. In his mind now, he tried to remember how it used to be with her, particular details that he wanted to relive and push aside the cold realities of the moment. He shivered.

The door to her room opened suddenly, and Hari got out of the way of two Mutati medical attendants who hurried past him and down the corridor. Their faces were emotionless, but he knew this was the way of their profession, the need to suppress feelings and keep doing their jobs. A Human doctor followed them, an elderly man who had been allowed to observe, and to offer what limited assistance he could.

“You may come in now,” another doctor said from inside the room. A small Mutati male with a narrow mustache, Dr. Wikk motioned toward the bed where Parais lay. Two other doctors left the room.

Summoning his courage, Hari entered. “How is she?”

“The same. We’ve adjusted her medications slightly, to reduce the pain. I’ll leave you two alone for a few minutes.”

Fighting back tears, Hari stood by the mass of quivering flesh and dark feathers on the bed. A copy of
The Holy Writ
—the sacred book of the Mutati people—sat on a table beside her. Unable to speak, Parais barely clung to life. Her facial features were puffy and horribly contorted, and almost unrecognizable. From a medical treatment, her brown eyes had reemerged from the fatty cellular structure of her face, but they were closed now.

“It might be kinder to put her out of her misery,” the doctor said, as he departed.

“What?” In sudden fury, Hari almost lunged at him. Then, in a menacing tone, he said, “You’d better not try anything like that. If you do, I … Look, I’m sorry. I know you’re just doing your best, and thinking of her suffering.”

“I’m sorry.” The doctor left, and the door slid shut behind him.

Hari’Adab was alone with Parais again, but not in the way he’d been remembering. The contrasts were so far apart, and the prospects so dismal. As he had done after killing his father, Hari’Adab again contemplated suicide. It would put an end to his suffering. But what about Parais? He couldn’t just leave her, and couldn’t bear the thought of euthanizing her. At his previous low point, despite the loss of Paradij and all of its inhabitants, she had insisted that Hari live and make himself strong for the sake of the Mutati people. With her loving influence, she had convinced him to spend the rest of his life doing what was right, not only for his own followers but for other galactic races as well.

Now he placed a hand gently on her face. In his mind’s eye, Hari envisioned Parais clearly in her various mutations, the way she used to be when she morphed from one beautiful flying creature into another. She favored white feathers then, unlike her present disarrayed condition. The memories were so clear that he could almost imagine the lovely aeromutati back to normal at this very moment. In his memory, they spoke again of having children, and of their many other dreams.

He felt movement under his fingers. Parais opened her eyes and looked at him with her brown eyes, so filled with suffering that it ripped apart his emotions. He was at least heartened to see a glint there, and she seemed to recognize him. But she couldn’t speak or hold her eyes open, and soon faded back into her universe of pain.

Chapter Sixty

The Human brain is a gold mine of wondrous possibilities … and a cesspool.

—A saying of Lost Earth

Noah stood by himself in one of the larger chambers of EcoStation, examining a section of bulkhead where podship skin had filled what had once been a large, jagged break in the module. It was his third day back at the Tulyan Starcloud. He detected the approach of visitors through the linked corridors of the cocoon and the space station, and he knew their identities: Doge Anton and a small entourage.

The leader of the Liberators had flown here after the Battle of Yaree, and had announced that he wanted to meet with Noah. But not wanting any interruption, Noah had sent no response. At least the Council of Elders seemed to already know that Noah wanted privacy, from their earlier telepathic probes, and—from a linkage with them—Eshaz had known as well.

He heard Doge Anton enter the chamber behind him, along with Tesh, Thinker, and two Tulyan caretakers. Noah did not have to turn around to see them, but he did so anyway. It would reduce the number of questions they asked of him. For now, in his white, long-sleeve tunic and dark trousers, the rough skin that covered most of his body was not visible to them. His hands, forearms, and head remained normal in appearance.

Tesh stood silently on one side, looking anxiously at Noah.

“I’ve called a meeting to assess everything,” Anton said. The blond man wore a red-and-gold MPA uniform, decked with ribbons. A weapons belt circled his waist. “It will be held on General Nirella’s ship this afternoon. I have also have a request from Tesh to discuss something with you. She says it’s important.”

“I am unable to attend your meeting,” Noah said. “I’m not feeling up to it at the moment, and don’t think I can contribute. At least not yet. I have experienced many changes, many pressures on my mind and body, and I need to recuperate.”

Scowling, Anton said, “Very well, but let me know when you are ready. Nirella and I would like your input, your suggestions.”

“I can contribute more if you permit me this time alone.”

“All right, Noah.”

“With no interruptions. Please don’t ask me for an explanation, because I’m not sure if I can provide one anyway—but I can see and hear everyone in EcoStation and everyone in the passageways and chambers of the cocoon. Please order them to leave.”

Puzzled thoughts played across Anton’s face. “You want the Tulyan pilots to leave, too?”

“They are without employment here. The cocoon does not respond to their commands.”

“But it does to yours?”

“Yes.”

“There is much to grasp here, Noah, but I will defer to your wishes. I will take care of it.”

“Thank you.”

Then, looking at the Parvii woman, Noah felt a tug of emotion. The cast of her green eyes and the slight trembling of her lips told him she had something important to discuss with him. At least, it was important to
her
. He didn’t like having such a thought, because at his core he didn’t feel superior to Tesh at all. But he could not take the time or energy to talk with her yet.

“I need more time,” Noah said to her. “I will inform you when I’m ready.”

Her face showed her displeasure, but she said nothing, and left with the others.

Afterward, Noah stared at the podship skin on the bulkhead, and knew the flesh was connected to the cocoon. Reaching out and touching the wall, he felt the regular pulse of the living creature.

In images before his eyes, he also saw Doge Anton and his entourage striding away through a corridor, and saw the evacuation of the space station and of the cocoon—Humans, Tulyans, and robots streaming out into waiting transport ships. With one exception. In what had once been an education module of EcoStation, a solitary figure stood immobile, with the lights around its face plate glowing softly. Thinker.

So, the official historian of the Guardians, and the trustee of my life story has decided to defy me.

From his vantage, Noah sensed Thinker going almost entirely silent inside his robotic mechanisms, leaving only a sentry program operating. And, though he had not expected to feel this way, the presence of his friend gave the Guardian leader some comfort.

He thought of concentric circles around him, starting with the toughness of his own body, the way it could heal and regenerate itself after injuries. Beyond that, he saw the cocoon drifting in the protective mindlink of Tulyans in their sacred starcloud. As another layer of personal security, he had Thinker, Tesh, and Subi, and everyone else who cared about him.

Am I truly the Savior they speak of in Tulyan legends?

He still did not think so, though he had no evidence one way or the other. Noah suspected, however, that it was not a provable thing, that it might be argued one way or the other.

Maybe I’m just helping the Tulyans save themselves. Maybe they are their own Savior, in a collective sense.

Gods and prophets—they didn’t have to be what they were commonly believed to be in Noah’s opinion, did have to look like their universal depictions. As just two examples among many, he doubted if he would ever see (in any form of sight that he possessed) a bearded old man in the sky or angels with wings. Maybe the supreme deity was more of a collective entity that stretched across the cosmos, like Noah’s own concept of galactic ecology.

And, though Noah did not consider himself the center of the universe or even the galaxy, he nonetheless saw himself as the hub of
something
, with those concentric circles around him, radiating outward. At last, he could enter and leave Timeweb of his own volition. This enabled him to remain connected to the galactic web, and to the podship flesh he was touching now.

At his fingertips, Noah felt his own energy flowing outward into the amalgamated Aopoddae flesh, probing all of the arteries, organs, and cells that made up the ancient creatures. They were so complex, and yet so primitive. It made him realize how far afield many of the galactic races had gone with all of their details and complexities, all of their branched-out, hedonistic, disoriented priorities that caused them to wreak such havoc on the galaxy.

He saw that the battle-injured portions of the cocoon had not yet completely healed themselves, that their connection to their brethren and to Timeweb had helped them, but had not been quite enough. And it never would be enough without his involvement.

Noah didn’t hold anything back from the Aopoddae. He allowed his energy to flow into the primitive flesh, as if he was Timeweb himself, providing healing nutrients to injured creatures. Once, Eshaz had done that for him, and Noah had made a miraculous recovery. Now, moment-by-moment, the alien flesh of the cocoon fused and healed at an accelerated rate. All the while, Noah probed and tested carefully, and perfected the cellular repairs. There was no question of trust anymore, no doubts of any kind from the Aopoddae about Noah’s motivations. No fear of him. They needed him, and he needed them. It was a symbiotic relationship of extraordinary proportions.

He realized as well that the cocoon protected not only himself, but EcoStation. If Noah’s plan unfolded for the space station, the enhanced facility would become an inspiration for all galactic races, a beacon of hope and more of a teaching facility for ecology than he had ever envisioned before.

Noah felt the podship skin tremble against his own flesh, as the cocoon anticipated what he was going to do next. He allowed the strengthened energy of the cocoon to flow back into him. Noah had healed the collective creature, and at this moment—in its fortified form—he anticipated that it would return the favor. Ultimately, Noah knew he was much more than a human being—physically and spiritually—and he sensed that the Aopoddae could guide him, could enable him to discover the path he should take with his remarkable life, and perhaps give him the tools that he needed.

The inflow was tremendous, and he struggled to absorb it and comprehend. Much of the new Aopoddae data, the vast majority of it, was indecipherable to him. But a limited amount of information, as if passing through a filter system from the Aopoddae language to something he could understand, reached his consciousness.

Noah realized that he was all of the galactic races, inextricably linked to them. He saw the history of sentient life as multiple paths spreading out in his wake, and found the broad routes he had taken in his own genetic history and life that brought him to this exact place and awareness. Countless other events could have occurred instead, events that would have prevented Noah from ever existing, or from ever being needed at all. Events that would not have led to the state of galactic decay in which everyone now found themselves trapped.

And, though Noah could not see the future with any degree of certainty, he was able to envision multiple paths of unfolding galactic possibilities extending into future time, radiating outward from him. He could only try to nudge the various races to take the proper paths. He could never force them to do so.

Opening the synapses and paranormal elements of his mind, as if they were pores that he was unplugging, Noah tried to let more data flow in, everything the podships knew. He hungered for all of it. In response an overwhelming surge of additional information flowed in, a tidal wave of data—much of it in raw, indecipherable form.

Pain!

It was too much, too fast, and the Aopoddae didn’t seem to realize it. Or did they? Were they trying to kill him? Was that a last bit of data they would inject into him through the connection? Their confession of guilt, or even a gloating?

He screamed from the unbearable pain. It was not just physical. It went way beyond that.

Parallel realities surrounded him, like the concentric circles. In one of them, he realized that he had fallen to his knees, and that he was still trying to maintain physical contact with the Aopoddae cocoon. In his agony he lost contact, and slumped to the deck.

* * * * *

Noah became aware of needles in his brain, and of data flowing outward, like something removing poisons from his body. Bringing him back from the brink, rescuing him from his foolishness.