Timeweb Trilogy Omnibus (30 page)

But he hadn’t blamed them for that. Humans were Humans and machines were only machines, even with the enhancement of sentient programming. Machines would not exist at all if not for the inventive, godlike spark of the Human minds that designed and built them in the first place.

Of all living Humans, Jimu felt that the Doge Lorenzo most deserved his loyalty and dedication, since that nobleman was the titular head of the revered Humans, the prince who was so admired by his peers that they elevated him to the highest station in the galaxy.

So it was that Jimu and his force of twenty fighting robots, having come all the way from the Inn of the White Sun to serve the Doge, found themselves watching the eagles fight, or more precisely, watching over Lorenzo to make certain he was safe.

Several days ago, Jimu had marched up to one of the palazzo guard stations and stated his business to the Red Beret soldier on duty there. “I’m here to warn the Doge that people intend to harm him,” Jimu had said.

The soldier had taken one look at him, with his dented, scraped body and glowing yellow eyes, and he cut loose with a belly laugh. Then, looking closely at the rest of the patched-up robots who had accompanied Jimu, he laughed even more.

Jimu had not taken offense, for he’d seen Humans like this before, the shallow types who made judgments based upon appearances. It was one of the biggest weaknesses of human nature, their inability to avoid superficiality, but he forgave them for it.

“The Doge is in great danger,” Jimu said.

“And I suppose you’re here to protect him?”

“If necessary, yes.”

More guards came over, weapons at the ready. They stood around, smirking, laughing, and hurling insults at the visitor. “You and your pals look like zombie robots,” one said. “Who dug you up?”

“Zombiebots,” another said. And they laughed uproariously.

Jimu didn’t respond to any of those insults, for they had nothing to do with his mission. He and his companions concealed their own weaponry within compartments on their metal bodies, and he knew he could easily overwhelm these fools and enter the palazzo. But that would only cause more Red Berets to come, and a wild battle would ensue. No, that would never do.

“I can see you do not understand,” Jimu finally said. “There is nothing more for me to do here.” With that, he turned and departed, and took his odd little squadron with him.

But the following morning, Jimu and his robots got into the palazzo anyway. Having put the royal home under observation, he knew that household robots ran errands, getting food and other supplies. In an alley behind one of the markets, Jimu had cornered one of the robots and then interfaced with it, programming it to open a servant’s door later that night.

Normally this would not have been possible, since all of the Doge’s robots had built-in security measures that prevented tampering. After General Sajak shot Jimu, however, the servants who reactivated him accidentally tapped into a deep data transmission zip that had been installed by the Hibbils. This opened up programs to Jimu that he had not previously realized he had. Later, after Thinker had him overhauled, Jimu found that he functioned with new mental acuity, beyond any of the programs installed in ordinary robots. That superior knowledge had enabled him to easily bypass the security barriers of the Doge’s household robot.

Thus the entire squadron got in, and they set up clandestine positions around the palazzo.…

For days and nights afterward, without any break, Jimu and his squad concealed themselves carefully around the royal palazzo, their powerful puissant rifles at the ready, weapons that had been hidden inside their motley assortment of mechanical bodies.…

Now they stood on balconies and rooftops, looking down on the courtyard, at the boisterous activities of the Doge and his royal companions. The Humans were getting louder as they gambled and drank.

Suddenly, in the shadows below, Jimu saw a hunched-over man run between bushes, moving from the concealment of one to another. Then he saw three more hunched-over shapes, doing the same.

He sent an electronic signal to his companions, cocked his own rifle. Around him, he heard the faint buzzing of their activated weapons.

The robots fired in synchronization, lighting the shrubbery on fire with powerful blasts, making flares out of all of the bushes around the perimeter of the courtyard. Simultaneously, half of the robot force surged into the courtyard from the lower level.

Men shouted and scattered on the flagstones. The fighting eagles got loose, but with their cropped wings they could only fly a few feet off the ground before crashing into someone and flopping onto the courtyard. Blood and feathers filled the air.

In the melee, four hooded, black figures emerged from their hiding places and tried to flee, firing handguns at robots that pursued them. But the robots were not deterred, and knocked them onto the flagstones, then snapped restraint cables on them.

Jimu hurried down to the courtyard, which was illuminated by the crackling, burning bushes. The palace staff rushed forward to douse water on the flames, keeping them from catching the buildings on fire. Under Jimu’s watchful gaze, the robots removed hoods from the captives. He recognized one of them, and so did the noblemen gathering around.

“You!” Doge Lorenzo shouted. “General Sajak, why are you dressed like that?”

“Some things are best not delegated,” Sajak said, with a sneer. “I wanted to do this job myself.”

Dragging the small, slender man to his feet, Jimu said, “He intended to assassinate you.”

“Is that true?” Lorenzo asked.

The General smiled. His eyes burned with hatred.

Searching his data banks, Jimu said, “He doesn’t like your politics, Doge Lorenzo, and feels that only noble-born princes should hold high office—not entrepreneurs and inventors.”

Moments later, Lorenzo was surrounded by his special police, the Red Berets. They were heavily armed men in red uniforms and floppy caps.

“And where were you when I needed you?” the Doge asked, of the squad leader.

The uniformed man looked embarrassed.

“These robots saved my hide,” Lorenzo said, patting Jimu on his metal backside. “Maybe you should give them your uniforms.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” the squad leader said. “We didn’t expect any problems from your royal court, and General Sajak must have used his security clearance to get through. This was totally unexpected.”

“Then why were these robots on alert? Are they smarter than you?”

“I’m sorry, Doge Lorenzo. It won’t happen again.”

“With all due respect, Sire,” Jimu said, “Your household security could use considerable improvement.” He told how he had waylaid a household robot and reprogrammed it to allow him to gain access to the palazzo, and how he had originally learned of the assassination plot at the lava lake on one of the moons of Timian One. He provided as many names as he knew, including that of Prince Giancarlo Paggatini, the nobleman who organized the secret meetings of General Sajak and his conspirators.

“The way you got in here is very interesting,” Lorenzo said. “And quite disturbing. Fortunately for me, you’re not one of their agents.”

With a gesture at the Red Beret squad leader, the Doge barked, “Go! Get out of my sight, all of you! Take Sajak and his goons with you. The arrogant fool! He wanted to kill me himself. You are to interrogate them, and I mean
interrogate
. Find out everything. See who’s involved in the conspiracy. I want every name.”

“It will be done, sir.”

Like whipped daggs, the Red Berets left, handling the men in black roughly. Despite their shortcomings, Jimu knew that the special police were a fierce bunch, highly motivated and dedicated in their own way. An ancient law enforcement group, they had their own secret rituals, language, and symbols. If anyone could get the answers Lorenzo wanted, they could.

“Come with me, robots,” Lorenzo said. “I’m going to show you how to bet on an eagle fight.” With that, he put his arm around Jimu’s rounded shoulders, and led him back to the bubble enclosure. Fresh eagles were brought in, and the entertainment resumed.

Chapter Forty-Two

Infinity beckons.

—Parvii Inspiration

Perched inside the core of the most unusual biological organism in the galaxy, the tiny man noticed a hesitation in the sentient spacecraft. He had just established a course, but the podship had not yet responded.

Seconds passed. This had never happened to him before. By now, they should be speeding along the podways, racing past star systems, bound for the farthest regions of the galaxy.

The diminutive Parvii pilot required no food or water for sustenance, and none of the other nutrients commonly needed by the galactic races. And, while the various chambers of the large podship contained an ample supply of oxygen, the pilot didn’t require any. He could fly free in the vacuum of space, and in a swarm with other members of his race could reach tremendous speeds.

Until moments ago, Woldn had been in total control of the podship, having captured and tamed it with millions of his miniature followers, who subsequently departed for other duties. They were like wranglers of wild tigerhorses, and Woldn was the most skilled of them all. He was the Eye of the Swarm, commanding decillions of Parviis, an entire galactic race. Now he was performing a task he normally delegated, in order to keep his piloting and navigation skills sharp.

Finally, Woldn felt the great ship shudder into motion and accelerate.

In its wordless way, the podship was communicating with him, sending a stream of messages that filled Woldn’s brain. Through the sentient creature’s far-reaching eyes—indiscernible cells all over the outside of its body—Woldn peered deep with the podship, into the curving green webs of time and space.

Way off in the distance and directly ahead, an orange light flashed.

The blimp-shaped podship—carrying a variety of galactic races in its passenger compartment and cargo hold—accelerated onto the web on a new course, wrenching command away from the Parvii leader, though he struggled mightily, invoking the most severe guidance-and-control words in his repertoire. Mysteriously, his efforts were to no avail.

Within minutes, the spacecraft slowed near a debris field and circled it at a safe distance. Through the mind he shared with the pod, Woldn felt a tremendous sense of loss because a podship had just died here, along with its Parvii pilot.

Most unusual, a Parvii death here, and he’d received no signal of distress along the telepathic connections he maintained with all of his people, stretching across the entire galaxy. This suggested to him that there had either been a psychic breakdown, which occurred occasionally, or that the violent event had been so sudden and unexpected that the pilot had not had time to send a signal.

Woldn got his bearings and figured out where he was … and what was missing. A planet had exploded, a world the Humans called Mars. Within moments, he saw other podships approach and circle nearby, with Parviis inside their sectoid control chambers, helpless to control the spacecraft, trying to comprehend. This was the same solar system where an earlier explosion had occurred, the one that took Earth with it.

Both planets and their inhabitants had been dispatched to oblivion, their remnants scattered in space.

Was something wrong in this sector, causing a natural disaster—or could there be another explanation? Woldn would return to his people, and order a full investigation.…

Chapter Forty-Three

Our young must always learn the most important lessons of life firsthand. It has been this way since time immemorial, and always will be.

—Mutati Observation

Two of the passengers on board Woldn’s podship were Acey Zelk and Dux Hannah, the teenage Humans who had escaped from Timian One. Crowded with others at the membranous portholes, they saw a large debris field outside.

“Where are we?” Acey asked, as he and Dux tried to maintain their spot by a porthole, while an assortment of creatures pushed for better views.

“I have no idea,” Dux said.

With difficulty the boys held their position. Only a small percentage of the passengers were Human, or even humanoid. In close proximity to so many different races, Dux picked up odors he’d never experienced before. Not all of the smells were unpleasant, though some certainly were. He also picked up a musk odor from the skin of the podship.

A pale-skinned Kichi woman beside them gasped as body parts floated by, most of them Human … arms, legs, and heads with crusts of blood frozen on them. One completely intact body drifted into view, a young woman fully clothed in layers of unsoiled skirts, her face frozen in a broad smile, as if someone had pulled her picture out of a photo album and put a three-dimensional form to it. She showed no signs of trauma, which seemed remarkable to Dux in view of the obvious violence that had occurred here. He wondered what could possibly have caused such a catastrophe.

“Might have been a merchant prince planet,” a man said.

“It was,” another said. Dux saw a Jimlat man standing taller than the throng, his blockish head shaved. Blinking his tiny gray eyes, the Jimlat studied a brassplax instrument. “They called it Mars.”

“Mars?” Dux said. “Then it’s completely gone, destroyed?”

“That’d be my bet. Course, some of it remains.” With a facetious smile, he nodded toward the nearest porthole. “Out there.”

“Maybe you’d like me to climb up there are rearrange your ugly face,” Acey said, making a move toward him.

Dux grabbed his cousin’s arm to restrain him. “What are his fighting capabilities?” Dux asked in a low tone.

“If you let go of me, I’ll find out.”

“Don’t chance it. We don’t need to look for trouble.” He looked around, at the hostile gazes of some of the aliens, and their gleaming eyes. Obviously, they wanted to see a fight, and probably didn’t care if Acey got hurt … or worse. A number of races around the galaxy resented Humans for the financial and military successes of the merchant princes, so the young men had to be on constant alert for potential trouble. Acey lost his temper too much, didn’t always think through the consequences of his actions.