The Timeweb Chronicles: Timeweb Trilogy Omnibus Page 3

  Now her bête noire had entered the building only a few floors down. She wished their father had consulted her about such an important matter, for she might have used her considerable wiles to steer him away from making the invitation. Recently, though, the old man had seemed distant and had been making excuses to avoid or delay the appointments she had requested with him.

  He would regret that soon, because Francella had set in motion a new and climactic plan … one that would take both her father and brother out of the picture, while allowing her to obtain everything she so richly deserved.

  A two-pronged attack.

  She wished it didn’t have to be this way, and her conscience had been giving her some trouble over it. But she had been driven to do this, with no other choice. Events … and people … were conspiring against her, and she needed to strike fast, in order to protect her position.

  Hearing familiar noises behind her, she felt her pulse quicken. Francella flipped off the telebeam and turned to see her aged father opening the door and lurching into the room in his stiff-jointed way, tapping the hardwood floor with one of his ornate walking sticks. He had arrived only the day before from Timian One, where he had been attending to his duties on the Council of Forty, a powerful clique of noblemen who ruled with the Doge.

  Prince Saito Watanabe had a large collection of fancy canes, many of them carved in the images of animals. This one, of canopa white teak, had a bull elephant head carved on top of the handle and the end of an elephant snout at the bottom.

  All around the CorpOne complex, as well as in his lavish homes and vehicles, the obese old man had representations of the grand, extinct beasts. Images of the pachyderms were on wall hangings, pillow cases, and statuary; even articles of furniture were carved in their likeness. In addition, Prince Watanabe had commissioned paleontology expeditions to Earth and other far planets where the creatures used to roam … scientific ventures that brought back remains of elephants for genetic testing.

  “You requested an urgent conference with me,” the industrialist said to her, in a coarse tone. “I grant you five minutes, before my appointment with Noah.”

  “Five minutes?” She felt her face flush, and noticed her father looking at her closely with his intense, dark eyes.

  “My schedule is very tight,” he said.

  “Too tight for your own daughter?”

  “I’m sorry if it appears that way, but I have been planning for this important rendezvous with Noah, going over what I will say to him.”

  “Are you certain it is wise to do this now?” she asked, already knowing his answer.

  Saito Watanabe studied his statuesque, redheaded daughter, who wore a white lace dress with gold brocade, and a high, star-shaped headdress. For an additional fashion statement, she had shaved off her eyebrows and hair at the front of her head, creating a high forehead.

  He heard the displeasure in her voice, saw it etched on her face … and wondered what had gone wrong with the relationship between her and Noah. For years Saito had not failed to notice the raw hatred between them, the destructive sparks and flames that flared whenever they were together.

  “I will see your brother alone,” he said to her. “It is best for the two of you to remain apart.”

  “Daddy, Noah hates us. Don’t you realize that?”

  With deep sadness, the heavyset man looked away. He felt his eyes misting over, and didn’t say what had been in his heart for a long time, a primogenitary hope that Noah would take over for him.

  A son should follow in his father’s footsteps, the Prince thought. It is the natural order of things.

  But Noah had been defiant and headstrong. So much so that the Prince had not expected him to accept the invitation. But he had.

  What is Noah thinking? What are his wishes, his dreams?

  “It is time,” the Prince announced to his daughter. And he ordered her out of his office, hardly noticing the fiery glare she shot back at him.

  * * * * *

  The reception room where Noah had been told to wait was on the fourth level of the upside-down pyramid, with a wide picture window that looked out on the gardens and fountains below. Since each floor was larger than the one below it, he saw an overhang outside the window, and knew that each floor all the way to the top was like this as well, in a dizzying arrangement of inverted tiers.

  He was pondering the upcoming session with his enigmatic father, and only half noticed a number of CorpOne security police in silver uniforms gathering on a flagstone area outside. Over their heads, blue-and-silver CorpOne banners fluttered, each bearing the stylized designs of elephants.

  Suddenly he heard the violent pop-pop of gunfire. The private police took cover behind plants, benches, and fountains, and drew their weapons. But many of them were not quick enough, and they fell under the onslaught.

  Stunned, Noah saw a squadron of green-and-brown uniformed soldiers running onto the flagstones, carrying shiny blue puissant rifles, setting up a ferocious volley of high-intensity fire that drove the defenders for cover. Many died in the onslaught.

  The uniforms looked like those of Noah’s own Guardians! But they couldn’t possibly be his people. He had not ordered this! Oblivious to any danger, he pressed his face against the window glax. He didn’t recognize any of the individuals. Who were they and why were they doing this?

  Noah’s thoughts went wild. He couldn’t imagine what was occurring. Now the attackers were hurling explosives that detonated and shook the building.

  Furious and confused, Noah hurried into the corridor, where he met his entourage of six Guardians, all with their weapons drawn. “Follow me!” he shouted. And he led them back the way they had come in.

  * * * * *

  Only moments before, Saito Watanabe had been standing at a window of his large office, considering what he would say to his son. It had been a long time since the two of them had spoken at all, so it would be an extremely awkward situation. Lifting a tall glass to his lips the old man took a long drink of sakeli, a syrupy liqueur, and admitted to himself that he was afraid the meeting would not go well. A tiny remark could set off yet another argument, so he would be careful about what he said … and try not to take offense too easily.

  We need to get to know one another again.

  His dark gaze flickered around the room and settled on a scroll attached to the wall. It was his Document of Patronage from Doge Lorenzo, the legal instrument attesting to the fact that Saito had been elevated to the status of a nobleman, even though he had not been born to such a station. Saito’s entire corporate empire rested upon that piece of inscribed tigerhorse skin, and upon the ancient political system that supported it.

  My son should receive this some day.

  Like other merchant princes, Saito believed that a strong son could carry on the family traditions in ways that a daughter could never do. Francella had been trying to fill that role, but something had been missing. The Prince knew it, and she must as well.

  Canopa, one of the wealthiest Human-ruled worlds, was dominated by CorpOne, the mega-company owned by Prince Saito Watanabe. Under grant from Doge del Velli, the Prince owned industrial facilities on more than a hundred moons and planets, including distant Polée, a mineral-rich but sparsely populated world that generated immense profits. With a wide range of operations, Watanabe was especially proud of his medical laboratories, which had developed remarkable products to extend and improve the quality of life through “cellteck”—advanced cellular technology.

  In recent years, Noah had become wealthy in his own right as Master of the Guardians, demonstrating considerable business acumen. The young man’s operations were on nowhere near the scale of the Prince’s, but nonetheless they showed great ability. In sharp contrast, Francella had never done anything on her own. She just whiled away her time as an officer of the firm, without showing any creative spark of her own.

  An eruption of gunfire brought the old man out of his thoughts. As if in a bad dream, he stared in shock
at the outbreak of violence and pandemonium outside. Guardian forces were attacking CorpOne! He could not believe that his own son would commit such an atrocity against him, no matter the differences they’d had in the past. They were the same blood, the same heredity, and the Prince had sought a reconciliation with him. Was there no honor in Noah, no familial loyalty?

  Dark fury infused Saito Watanabe, the raw, unforgiving rage brought on by deception and betrayal. Somehow his son’s Guardians had disabled the building’s electronic-pulse security system to gain entry!

  Why would Noah do this?

  All hope for rapprochement between the two of them exploded. A gloomy darkness settled around the Prince. Prior to this, he had been reconsidering his entire business philosophy, wondering if his son’s environmental activist position might have some merit after all. Saito had wanted to suggest to Noah that perhaps CorpOne’s polluting factories might be dismantled or redesigned after all, no matter the cost.

  Now they would never have that conversation.

  The door of Watanabe’s office burst open, and his silver-uniformed security police rushed in. Their faces were red, their eyes wild. “This way, My Prince!” one of them shouted, a corporal.

  The police formed a protective cocoon around the big man, and rushed him out into the corridor.

  Chapter Five

  The noble-born princes have too much time on their hands.

  —Doge Lorenzo del Velli

  General Mah Sajak stood impatiently while an Adurian slave put a clean red-and-gold uniform on him, replacing one that was covered with fresh purple blood stains. The General had been torturing a Mutati with an evisceration machine, and the prisoner of war had not died well.

  The next time, Sajak would stand in a different position while supervising the interrogation and punishment process, to avoid being splattered with the filthy alien fluid. Sometimes when he got excited and stepped too close to a captive this sort of thing happened. It was all part of the job, he supposed, but he didn’t like it. A stickler for decorum, he wanted everything clean and tidy, both in both his profession and his personal life.

  “Hurry up, hurry up,” Sajak admonished the slave, for the General was anxious to get back to Regimental HQ and take care of other business.

  The captive Adurian was a male hairless homopod, a mixture of mammalian and insectoid features with a small head, bulbous eyes, and no bodily hair. His skin, a blotchy patchwork of faded colors, poked out around the wrinkled but clean rags he wore. He perspired profusely as he worked, and made the mistake of leaving spots of moisture on the General’s new uniform. Because of this, Sajak marked him for death, but would keep it a secret until a suitable replacement had been trained, and administered the necessary psychological testing.

  This one should have received a perspiration test.

  “Sorry, sir,” the Adurian said, as he noticed the sweat dripping from his own wide forehead onto the clothing. “Shall I get another jacket?”

  “No time for that now,” Mah Sajak growled. “Do you really think I have time to wait for such things?”

  “No, sir. It’s just that … “ The slave’s oversized eyes became even larger from fear, and he perspired even more, a torrent that ran from his brow down his face.

  Grumbling to himself, Sajak left the nervous alien and stepped into the hot, silvery light of a security scanner that identified him and allowed him to pass through to a corridor. His body and uniform glowed faintly silver, and would until he reached the next security checkpoint.

  A slideway transported him through a long series of corridors in the Gaol of Brimrock, past dismal cells, torture chambers, and body handling rooms. Unpleasant odors seeped into the hallways, mixed with sweet disinfectant sprays that never quite masked them. Other officers, guards, and civilians passed by, all glowing with metallic illumination that indicated which checkpoints they had been through. Here and there, through tiny windows, he caught glimpses of another world outside, the blue waters of the Grand Canal and the glittering buildings of the opulent city.

  The officer barely noticed any of it, however, so engrossed was he in his own concerns, which were extremely important. Mah Sajak—in his oversized uniform and cap—took seriously his duties as Supreme General of the Merchant Prince Armed Forces. Eleven and a half years ago, he had dispatched a military fleet to attack the Mutati homeworld of Paradij, where the Zultan lived in his ostentatious citadel. That fleet should be arriving soon.

  I’d like to hoist Meshdi’s fat carcass onto one of my interrogation machines, the General thought, and he considered the wide array of torture devices at his disposal—automatic, semi-mechanized, and manual. Each had a specific, deadly purpose, and worked to great effect on the Mutati race.

  Beneath the small, bony-featured officer, the slideway squeaked as it flowed forward jerkily. He gripped a shimmering electronic handrail that moved alongside.

  So much responsibility on his shoulders, and sometimes it weighed heavily on him. Especially now, with the climactic moment approaching. The “Grand Fleet” of MPA fighter-bombers was aboard a bundle of vacuum rockets that had been traveling through space at sub-light speed for all those years, moving inexorably toward the Mutati homeworld of Paradij. He expected complete military success, but there were always little nagging worries that kept him awake at night.

  The General had assured the Doge that all would go well. The renowned Mutati-killer, Admiral Nils Obidos, headed the task force, a man who had won two important military victories against the shapeshifters. He had selected more than twenty-four thousand of the finest men and women in the armed forces, including the top fighter-bomber pilots in the Merchant Prince Alliance. In addition, all ships had redundant mechanical systems and even a backup crew of the finest sentient robots from the Hibbil Cluster Worlds … intelligent machines that could operate the whole fleet without Human involvement, if necessary. In some respects the General considered them better than Humans; if he told them what to do, they did it, without delays, complaints, or questions.

  Doge Lorenzo del Velli was so convinced of a huge victory that he had begun preparations for a gala celebration on Timian One, with the exact date to be announced. It was widely known that there would be a festival, but the Doge had not told anyone what the occasion was. Rumors spread like fire on oil. The best entertainers—Human and alien—would be brought in from all over the galaxy. Even Mutati captives would participate. Under the high security of a huge containment field, terramutatis, hydromutatis, and aeromutatis would perform shapeshifting acts in a golden amphitheater.

  At Sajak’s thought command, he felt the tiny computer strapped to his wrist imprint his skin with a nubraille pattern, telling him what time it was at that moment. The device, containing a vast encyclopedia of information that he could access, required only that he think what he wanted to know, and the message would be received almost immediately. Now it was early evening, and in the zealousness of his interrogation he had neglected dinner.

  During the first six years in which merchant prince fleet had been advancing toward the enemy, General Sajak had received coded nehrcom transmissions from the task force admiral informing him that the operation was progressing well. Nehrcoms (invented by Prince Jacopo Nehr) were audio-video signals transmitted across the galaxy at many times the speed of light … an instantaneous communication system in which messages were fired from solar system to solar system at precise angles of deflection, using amplified solar energy. Nehrcom Industries, with a monopoly on the system, had installed transceivers in key sectors of the galaxy—sealed units that would detonate if anyone tried to scan or open them, thus protecting the priceless technological secrets. But the inventor still worried about military and industrial espionage by military enemies and business competitors, and refused to install transceivers in locations he did not consider secure.

  And, although the remarkable transceivers could transmit instantaneously across space, they only operated to and from land-based facilities … for
reasons known only to the secretive Nehr. The General and his staff had discussed sending status reports via messengers on board podships … but it had been known from the beginning that this would be an unreliable, dangerous method. Podships operated on their own schedules, often following circuitous routes with numerous pod station stops—thus risking detection by Mutati operatives. The mission planners agreed that it would be better to transmit no messages at all than to take such chances.

  So, during the more than five years that the fleet had been beyond nehrcom range, the General had heard nothing at all. His huge task force was taking the long way to the Mutati homeworld, approaching it from an unexpected, poorly patrolled direction. If the Grand Fleet encountered Mutati forces, they would only be small ones, easily crushed.

  The arrogant Jacopo Nehr irritated Sajak, for more reasons than one. The self-serving inventor should be forced to share his technology with the Merchant Prince Armed Forces, so that military strategists could employ it more effectively. It might even be possible to improve the system, so that it was no longer dependent upon land-based installations.

  The Supreme General sucked in a deep breath. That would be a tremendous advance. But Nehr would not give up the information easily. Attempts had been made—through friendly persuasion and otherwise—and all had failed.

  Jacopo Nehr and Prince Saito Watanabe were often seated beside the Doge during torture sessions that the General conducted. For Sajak, this created an awkward situation. Born to a noble station, he secretly resented princely appointments such as the ones received by the two business tycoons, and would prefer a return to the old ways. While Sajak had done well personally through his own efforts, many of his relatives and noble friends had suffered setbacks—having been supplanted by the new breed of entrepreneurs and inventors that the Doge favored. Even worse than his father, Doge Paolantonio IV, who started all of this foolishness, the merchant prince sovereign was surrounding himself with scientists and industrialists, upsetting the old, proven ways of doing things.