Timeweb Trilogy Omnibus (78 page)

Now Eshaz smiled, as he was finding his own amusement in the interplay. “You have touched upon one of the matters we do not discuss with outside races.”

“It is similar for me,” Tesh said, “but it is not a racial matter at all. I do not discuss affairs of my heart with anyone. They are too personal.”

“But you must discuss them with someone,” Eshaz said. “With the person you have such feelings toward.”

“That goes without saying,” she said. Her green eyes twinkled. “My feelings for Noah are personal. So are my feelings for you.”

Eshaz laughed, a deep rumble. “A Tulyan and a Parvii,” he said. “The most interesting proposition I’ve ever received. And I have lived for a very long time, indeed.”

Tesh pushed him good-naturedly, but he was so large and heavy that he didn’t move. Her voice rose. “I didn’t
proposition
you, you big oaf!”

“I will be more cautious of you in the future,” he said, with a wide reptilian grin. “In all matters, you are dangerous.”

In a short while a shuttle arrived, to transport them down to Tarbu. For some reason, Dux had been unable to see the planet at all when they arrived at the orbital pod station. There had been no mists or clouds, though, nothing to obscure his vision. Now, as they plunged down in the shuttle, the planet seemed to take shape before them, emerging from space like something appearing out of nothingness, as if had popped out of a void, from an entirely different dimension. As they dropped down into the atmosphere, the light was an eerie brownish gray, with no visible sun or cloud cover. Just an oddly illuminated sky.

Dux and Acey stood silently at a window of the shuttle, not saying anything, only able to absorb with their eyes and their souls.

As they set down on the landing pad of the shuttleport, Eshaz said, “We call Tarbu the ‘porcupine planet,’ since most of its surface is covered with thorny vines, even beneath the snow at higher elevations, and underwater. The stuff is incredibly tough, but grows so slowly that we’ve been able to trim it for surface travel and habitation.”

The Tulyan put on a custom-fitting protective suit made of thick green material, and said, “You three will have to remain here, since we don’t have suits for … aliens. I need to go off the beaten path a bit and find a special variety of vine.”

“Have you forgotten?” Tesh said, “I can shut off my magnification system and ride in one of your pockets.”

“Very well.”

She reduced herself, and climbed onto one of Eshaz’s thick hands, which he extended down to her. Carefully, he selected a side pocket for her, with a flap that she could open and close.

Then, looking sternly at the boys, Eshaz said, “Can I trust you two to stay out of trouble for a few hours? I don’t want you causing mischief here, like you did at the starcloud.”

“We won’t let you down,” Acey promised.

“But you know that, don’t you?” Dux added. “After all, you read our minds, and know our hearts.”

“That I do, laddies,” he said. And he turned and left with his tiny Parvii passenger. They made a most unlikely pair.

* * * * *

The planet was covered with thorny underbrush, but Tesh soon learned that the inhabitants had cut ingenious labyrinthine passageways on the surface, and had built multi-level structures inside the growths. Eshaz’s protective suit was necessary, he explained, because many of the thorns contained drugs, toxins, and a variety of other potentially harmful substances, and should not be touched indiscriminately.

“There are a variety of thorn bushes here,” he said, “containing different things, and it takes an expert to identify them.”

“Sounds like a thorny problem,” she quipped, from his pocket.

“That it is,” he said humorlessly.

Eshaz took a narrow passageway to the top of a knoll, where he emerged into a broad clearing. There he pointed out several prickly thorn bushes around them, in a variety of colors. “Our vinemasters cultivate these with great care,” he said. “They are ancient growths, going back to the beginning days of our race.”

Just then, a pair of Tulyans emerged from the undergrowth. They were much smaller than Eshaz, and at first Tesh thought they might be a sub-race.

“Greetings, Eshaz,” one of them said, in a high-pitched voice.

“And to you, my young friends,” Eshaz said.

“You desire cuttings today?” the other asked in a similar tone.

“These are vinemasters,” Eshaz said, looking down at his pocket passenger.

The Tulyan pair looked at her closely, and one of them asked, “Is that a … Parvii?
Here?”

“It is,” Eshaz said, calmly.

“And the Overseer approves of this?” the other asked. The voices of the vinemasters bordered on hysteria.

“I am here by direction of the Council of Elders,” Eshaz replied, calmly. “Shall I wait while you go and consult the Overseer?”

“That will not be necessary,” a voice said. Another Tulyan appeared, this one as large as Eshaz, with a creased, bronze face and deep-set, slitted eyes. He looked very, very old. “I have been in contact with the Council, and they told me to expect our distinguished visitor.”

“Tesh, meet Pluj, the eminent Overseer of Tarbu.”

Peeking out of the pocket, she waved to him.

As the Tulyans talked, Tesh felt out of place, and had a lot of questions to ask, but she didn’t feel the time was appropriate. She remained unclear about the ages of the “young” vinemasters, since she had heard that a Tulyan lived for millions of years, and was, in effect, immortal. It appeared that they had some type of breeding system anyway, and that these were the Tulyan equivalent of children. She suspected that this could still make them tens of thousands, or even hundreds of thousands, of years old.

Eshaz and the Overseer, followed by the vinemasters, walked up and down rows of thorn growths, selecting the vines that Eshaz needed—for a use that was not discussed among them, and which had not yet been disclosed to Tesh.

On the way back to the shuttleport, with Eshaz carrying five large wooden cases that were strapped together, she asked him how old the vinemasters were.

“Oh, much older than you might think.”

“But are they children?”

“Not in the sense that you mean, or they would never be entrusted with such important responsibilities. The way we breed and age is quite different from any other race. One day, I will explain it to you, perhaps.”

“We’ll trade stories,” she said, in her tiny voice.

“Yes, we’ll do that, perhaps around a campfire.”

She laughed.…

Later that day, Eshaz and Tesh returned to the shuttleport with the burnished wood cases, containing the special thorn vines and other supplies (including foodstuffs) that had been provided for them by the vinemasters.

When this was completed, Eshaz provided new galactic coordinates to Tesh, and pointed into a region of space where few stars were visible. “That way,” he said.

With a nod, she hurried forward to the navigation room, one of her own secrets. Eshaz smiled as he watched her shrink and disappear into a corridor.

One day,
he mused as the podship took off,
our races might not keep such secrets from each other.

Chapter Thirty-one

Nothing works by itself. Everything in this galaxy, from micro to macro, is linked to something else.

—Master Noah Watanabe

Even when podships crisscrossed the galaxy, the Zultan Abal Meshdi had not enjoyed traveling beyond the worlds of the Mutati Kingdom. Such journeys had invariably proved a disappointment to him, showing him planets and peoples that were far inferior to his own, far less than his glorious homeworld of Paradij and the jewel-like Citadel from which he ruled the multi-planet shapeshifter empire.

For him, Paradij was the center of the entire universe, but once this had been a barren, unappealing world. The Mutatis, after being driven to planets like this by Human aggression, had completely terraformed it, with massive hydraulic engineering and planting projects that transformed gray into green and blue. In their centuries-long task, generations of shapeshifters had been guided by God-on-High. This beautiful place was proof of what they could accomplish with determination and holy guidance.

As Meshdi strolled through his ornamental gardens one morning, he marveled at the towering fountains on each side of the stone path, water spouts that had been engineered to change color and shape by the hour, so that they looked new to him all the time. They were reflections of Mutatis themselves, who could metamorphose their own appearances at will, thus preventing boredom and constantly opening creative possibilities.

He considered the beauty around him a reward for his good deeds in a prior life. Certainly, no mortal being could ask for more.

Truly, I am blessed.

From this cosmic jewel, the Zultan ruled the Mutati Kingdom. He sighed. If not for constant Human aggression, this would be more than enough for him. But they forced him to lash out, to draw a line in space that he would not permit them to cross.

The Zultan adored technology, especially the personal gyrodome in his suite and the various types of minigyros, devices provided to him so generously by his Adurian allies. Each day he used the large unit to purify his thoughts, giving him the clarity he needed to lead his people. And whenever he went out, he liked to wear one of the portable minigyros on his head, not only to maintain his own thinking processes, but as an example for his people. In increasing numbers, they were using the devices as well.

The loyal Adurians, while adept at technological innovation, were nonetheless not as skilled in robotics as Hibbils, who were allied with his enemies, the merchant princes. The Humans also had their nehrcom cross-space communication system, which enabled them to remain in contact with one another instantaneously, across vast distances. Surprisingly, that had been the invention of a Human, Jacopo Nehr.

But in a blessing from God-on-High, the inventor’s discontented brother, Giovanni Nehr, had come to Paradij to reveal the secret of the technology. The nai’ve Human had turned it over to Meshdi to get even with his brother and to ingratiate himself with the Mutatis, thinking he would be rewarded with a proverbial king’s ransom. Instead, Meshdi, after accepting the information, had placed the traitorous man in prison. Somehow he had escaped, but no matter. Now the Mutatis had the technology, or at least a large part of it. They were able to communicate across space with their own system, although the reception was fuzzy and sometimes went offline. His scientists were working on the problem now, along with other important military matters.

In particular, the Mutati scientists had successfully cloned podships, and were now hard at work on the next step, solving the very difficult guidance problem. But it had occurred to Meshdi that the guidance of podships might not be technological at all. He still had technicians working on it, but in the meantime he was relying on God-on-High to guide the sentient pods to their destinations. For a Mutati, that was always the best course of action.

Recently he had ordered the launch of a lab-pod against Siriki, a key enemy world chosen because of its proximity. With much publicity, a brave Mutati had been selected to pilot a schooner that would be carried aboard that pod, a schooner that was being fitted at that very moment with a planet-busting torpedo. The holy Demolio, his doomsday weapon that had been so successful in destroying four enemy planets, prior to the cutoff of podship travel.

Frenzied preparations were underway on Paradij, and soon all would be in readiness.

For some reason, the Adurians had expressed concern about continued attacks against enemy targets. He couldn’t understand why, as they weren’t providing him with good reasons, only requests that he delay for a “better opportunity,” whatever that meant. The fools would not deter him, even if they were allies. War was war, after all.

Technology alone cannot win this war,
Abal Meshdi thought.
God-on-High must guide our bombs.

Upon returning to the heavily fortified keep of the Citadel, an aide handed him a nehrcom transmission, written in ornate script by one of the royal scribes. The communication was from an operative on Canopa who had been able to sneak into one of the Doge’s nehrcom facilities.

The Zultan was pleased to learn of Human-against-Human warfare on Canopa, with Noah Watanabe’s Guardians fighting against the forces of the Doge and Watanabe’s own sister. With the blessing of God, they would all annihilate themselves, thus reducing the number of targets that the Mutatis needed to strike.…

* * * * *

On far-away Canopa—now the capital world of the Merchant Prince Alliance—Doge Lorenzo amused himself by torturing a Mutati prisoner while General Jacopo Nehr looked on. They were in a deep dungeon of Max Two, which had become the largest prison on the planet, as a result of recent additions. One day the Doge might change the names around, but it was low on his priority list.

As a result of his recent emphasis on identifying Humans through medical examinations and then labeling them with implants, many disguised Mutati infiltrators had been uncovered. The Doge’s police operations had been going well.

This particular Mutati was what Lorenzo called “a screamer.” The creature started crying and howling on the way here and continued in a frenzy of emotion when the pain amplification machines were used. So much energy this one had, and how it hated being caught! It increased Lorenzo’s pleasure.

Two guards used sharp pikes to keep the Mutati from escaping, prodding it each time it tried to veer one way or the other. All the while, dancing around the victim, Lorenzo used a large pair of clippers to cut off flaps and folds of fat from the creature’s body, causing it to writhe in pain and attempt to create shapes that could not be cut so easily.

Cackling gleefully, Lorenzo saw it as a game. Snip, snip, snip! He danced around the creature, looking for new places to cut, moving in quickly and then retreating. Piles of flesh lay all around, saturated in purple Mutati blood.

“I think that’s enough,” Nehr said. “Unless you want to kill this one. Keep in mind, we can still get information out of it, using other methods.”