The Web and the Stars (23 page)

Chapter Fifty-Two

Beginnings and endings: we pay so much attention to them, and yet, we do not really see. It is said that even gods must begin someplace, and end as well. But such reference points are not the sharp demarcations we think they are; they only seem to occur when we notice them. Before that, and afterward, there is a continuous flow of one thing leading to another, and back around again. It is the flow of time and space and wonder. It is the flow of joy and sadness.

—Noah Watanabe,
Drifting in the Ether
(unpublished notes)

As his name suggested, Thinker had spent much of his life in contemplation, and was not known as a robot of action.

There had been exceptions, such as the times he had led his robot troops in practice battle maneuvers on Ignem, but that had not been his forte. Rather, he had a proven knack for gathering information and organizing it in his ever-expanding data banks. For some time now, he had been searching unsuccessfully for facts about the whereabouts of Noah Watanabe, but most of it had been rumors. In the robot’s own data banks, he had the earlier download of the contents of Noah’s brain, but that was of little help in determining where others were hiding him.

He also kept running through details of the strange experience in which Noah had seemed to come to life in the simulation that Thinker carried with him in his robot torso. Most peculiar, and most unexplainable, except he kept coming back to the probability that said it had something to do with the cosmic infrastructure that spanned space and time.

Thinker’s information on that paranormal realm was sketchy at best, but it seemed clear that Noah Watanabe had a connection with it—or
thought
he did—that enabled him to enter and leave it on both a physical and ethereal basis. The robot had a difficult time comprehending anything that was not entirely tangible, but supposedly Master Noah could project his mind out into the far galaxy. Unfortunately, the Guardian leader might only be imagining that, from a unique form of Human insanity. One thing was certain. The whole concept of Timeweb was most peculiar, indeed.

Concerning Master Noah’s location, the robot had other sources of information. The day before, he received a reported sighting of Noah as a passenger under restraint in a blue-and-silver security vehicle, the colors of Corp One. He had already added this to all of the other information on the Guardian leader in his robotic data banks. This, when added to the earlier information, enabled Thinker to run a decent probability program. He had done this once before on Noah, before the two of them ever met. At the time, Thinker had been searching the galaxy to find him and the Guardians, so that the cerebral robot and his followers could join the group of eco-warriors. Now the search area was much smaller—Canopa and nearby planets—but the situation was far more urgent. Master Noah was in danger.

The new probability program pinpointed Noah. He had to be in the CorpOne medical laboratory complex.

Now he opened up Noah’s simulation, causing his image to appear on the robot’s torso screen.

Glancing down at the screen, though he could “see” the image without doing so, Thinker said, “Greetings, Master Noah. You will be pleased to learn that we know where you are now, and that we have set in motion a plan for your rescue.”

“A
good
plan, I hope,” the simulation said.

“Even better. An excellent one. We embark tonight.”

“I am pleased to hear that.”

“One thing, though, Master Noah. I have burned through my circuitry trying to understand the unusual properties of the realm you call Timeweb.”

“Au contraire, my metal friend. / did not make up that name. It is already long-established.”

“Of course. I was only using what you Humans call a figure of speech. It has occurred to me that I should perhaps make a further effort to comprehend Timeweb before we make the rescue attempt. After all, you seem to have both physical and mental properties that are extraordinary, and the more data we have the better. I am running through more programs as we speak.”

“And you expect me to give you something new? But you know I can only reveal what I knew when you used the organic interface to download the contents of my mind.”

“Logically, that is so. But there was a recent episode when you—the simulation—seemed to come to life. Subi and I saw a strange mist dart into your image and disappear. At that very moment, your eyes and face seemed to become more animated. I have confirmed that this occurred, Master Noah, but there is no explanation for it… and you spoke words that were not in my operating circuits.”

“Am I speaking such words now?”

“No. I know what you are going to say a fraction of a second ahead of time.”

“So, it is as if you are talking to yourself?”

“That statement has no relevance in a mind of my caliber and complexity. Many times, one portion of my circuitry will ‘talk’ with another portion—or portions—of it. There is no Human correlation that you would be likely to understand.”

“With the exception of insanity. From your probes, I see that you have investigated that with respect to my mind.”

“As I should. Just one of the possibilities that I must explore.”

“And your conclusion?”

“I do not have enough information about Timeweb to offer a conclusion, but all indications are that the ethereal realm does in fact exist. It could be true that the realm exists but you are still—pardon me for saying so—mentally unbalanced. Sanity is not an exact science with Human beings. It is more a matter of coping and balance. All of you seem to have aberrations.”

“No argument about that.”

I will leave your simulation operable for a while, but you do not look animated, as you were before.”

“Are you going to leave me on during the rescue, too? That would be odd, me rescuing myself.”

“My analysis tells me to shut off your programming before we leave, to keep things less confusing. We don’t want a circumstance where you think you must take charge of the operation. No, Master Noah, in this instance I must override you.”

“For my own good.”

“Exactly.”

“See you soon, then. Good luck.”

“And good luck to you, Master.”

That evening, Thinker and a small band of robotic commandos waited in the darkness outside the largest laboratory building. Transmitting an electronic signal, Thinker read the security code, disabled it and hurried through, ahead of the others.

Scanning forward, the robots disabled the motion and sound detectors and all pressure pads in the corridor, then surged onward, making surprisingly little noise for mechanical men. Thinker had designed this squad for stealth, and had fitted everyone with sound-softening mechanisms for their moving parts. Two Human guards were struck with stun darts, and slumped at their posts as the robots hurried past them.

Through the glax wall of a room, Thinker saw the Guardian leader lying on a bed, in low light. As if sensing something, Noah opened his eyes, even though the commandos made virtually no noise.

The robots had no way of knowing it, but Noah had been lying awake in his cell with his eyes closed, feeling trapped and dismal. Moments before the arrival of the commandos, he had been engaged in a mental struggle, and had succeeded in entering the paranormal realm of Timeweb. But as he vaulted into the heavens and tried to connect with podships, they had scattered away from him yet again, fleeing into space. Wherever he went, however he tried, it was the same. The podships avoided him like a dread disease.

At one time Noah’s sojourns into the cosmic domain had been welcome respites for him, an exhilarating means of refreshing his mind. He had piloted podships by remote control, but he couldn’t do that anymore. Not even close. The glorious experiences were gone, lingering only in his memory.

Then, sensing something, Noah opened his eyes just as the commandos burst into his room.

Another form of escape had become available to him.

Accompanied by the robots, Noah hurried into the corridor, in bare feet and pajamas. “Let’s go!” he said.

The squad ran down the corridor with him in their midst, forming a protective metal cocoon around him.

Just before exiting the building, Thinker placed an incendiary bomb, and set the timer.

Francella’s villa overlooking the Valley of the Princes had several interesting features, one of which she had discovered only recently. Accessed through a hidden doorway, she’d found a large sealed chamber cut into the cliffside beneath the villa, a sparse room with a hundred comfortable chairs fronting a podium and a transceiver box hanging from the ceiling. Documents left in the room said it was a nehrcom relay station her father had set up for corporate reasons, to keep critical business operations secret, and he had paid the Nehrs handsomely for it. The facility came with Jacopo Nehr’s impregnable, built-in security system.

To her delight she’d discovered that the equipment was still operational, so she had arranged for a virtual conference that was about to begin. At her invitation half a dozen noblemen sat in chairs fronting the podium, wearing elegant surcoats and leggings.

Switching on the system from the podium, Francella saw holo projections fill the rest of the room, additional chairs with noblemen from all over the galaxy either in them, or taking their seats. In addition to these projected nobles were the ones from Canopa who actually sat in front of her.

As the meeting progressed, Francella noted that the video clarity was even worse than usual, as it flickered on and off. The audio quality—always crystal clear before—was poor as well, with bursts of static and brief, irritating periods of dead silence. All of the attendees were noble-born princes, some of whom were openly critical of Lorenzo the Magnificent’s governmental policies.

Over the nehrcom transmission the dignitaries voiced several complaints about this. Then a plump man in their midst, Prince Giancarlo Paggatini, said from his projected image, “Some nobles believe in you, Francella, while others are only here on fact-finding missions, to see what you’re all about. I’m one of the latter.”

“Please believe me,” she said. “I want to see a reversion to old ways, before the Doge began appointing princes without regard to their ancestry. He has forsaken the tried and true ways, abandoning the traditions that have always formed the cornerstones of our civilization.”

“But you are a commoner yourself,” Paggatini said. “Your father was one of Lorenzo’s appointees, and you’ve always been … close … to the Doge. Why should we believe you?”

“Because I no longer believe in Lorenzo. He must have known that Princess Meghina was a Mutati and concealed it, the liar. It’s a scandal! He denies knowing, but how can anyone trust him after this? And after what he’s done to all of you, denying you your birthrights.”

The conference participants conversed back and forth across the galactic link, discussing all the reasons they despised Doge Lorenzo. In loud, angry voices they complained that he was awarding appointments that belonged to princes, and hiding a Mutati. In addition, he was focusing too much of his efforts on his luxurious orbital casino, The Pleasure Palace, while neglecting important matters in the Merchant Prince Alliance.

“It’s more like the Plunder Palace,” a tall prince with a monocle quipped, eliciting the laughter of his companions. “He’s profiting at our expense.” This was Santino Aggi, a notorious drinker who slurred his words now, as he often did.

“It’s his fault the nehrcom isn’t working right, too,” another nobleman said.

As the conference nehrcom continued far into the night, Francella and the princes discussed options for dealing with Doge Lorenzo. Ultimately the conversation turned to getting rid of him, one way or another.

“There is one more thing to discuss,” Francella said, having waited for just the right moment to bring it up. “Some of you have heard about what happened at the pod station, when I shot Noah and he healed, right in front of our eyes. Just before that, a young man shouted at me to stop. He called me ‘Mother.’ We had him arrested, and he is still locked up.”

“Anton Glavine,” Giancarlo Paggatini said.

“That’s right. He really is my son, and Lorenzo is his father. The implications are clear. We have the next Doge, the one who is entitled to the position by his bloodline.”

“The princes are not obligated to choose a Doge’s son,” Paggatini said, his cheeks reddening. “If Lorenzo abdicates … or dies … we can elect someone else.”

“But we’re here to uphold tradition, aren’t we?” she said. “And primogeniture is one of the oldest traditions in the Alliance, the eldest son taking over the duties of his father. Anton deserves the chance. Anton
del Velli.”

“We need to think about this,” Paggatini said.

“What about Anton’s political views?” another asked. “Who will he appoint to high offices?”

“I can keep him in line,” Francella said.

“He’ll appoint nobles to high office instead of commoners?”

“He will,” she said, assuming that Anton—as the son of nobility himself—would be inclined to agree with her views on this issue. All she’d heard about him indicated that he was a decent person and she thought he’d eventually forgive her. No matter the unkind words he’d spoke to her; she had seen something more gentle in his eyes, perhaps a longing for his mother. And she had to admit to herself, she’d been feeling an increasing maternal instinct toward him herself. This made her want him to do well.

As they discussed Anton, and Francella continued to expound his real and purported virtues, a number of the noblemen began to warm to the idea of him as Doge. This pleased Francella immensely. Just as she had hoped, they were beginning to rally around Anton del Velli as a figurehead. She had financial reasons for her political plans, as she expected to receive a generous share of her son’s tax collections … money she needed badly.

Though Francella Watanabe had concealed it with deft manipulation of financial records, CorpOne—the late Prince Saito’s pride and joy—was near bankruptcy. While her father was still alive, she had drained the assets of his company, transferring a large amount of money off-planet and converting it to hard assets in her own name—assets that were rightfully hers, but which were subsequently lost in the destruction of Timian One. To make matters worse, the unrelenting Guardian attacks on her Canopan operations were cutting so deeply into profits that she could not make the payments on huge operational loans that she’d had to take out.