Webdancers by Brian Herbert Read Free Book Online Page A

body would happen, and Noah sensed—very strongly—that neither he nor anyone else could do anything about it.
    The night before, while sleeping in accommodations that had been provided for him in the headquarters building, he’d experienced an odd dream about Francella in which she had chased him across the Parvii Fold. It had seemed so real, but had been utterly impossible, since Francella had died after injecting herself with an immortality elixir—a substance that turned against her and made her age rapidly. It was with that tainted blood that she had injected Noah, just before dying herself prematurely. His relationship with her had been a real nightmare. No matter how many good things Noah had tried to do for her during his lifetime, nothing had worked and she had never appreciated any of it. To the end she had remained bitter toward him, irrationally blaming him for her troubles and trying to kill him.
    Now Noah saw Eshaz watching him closely, as the Tulyan sometimes did.
    Then Noah remembered Eshaz touching his affected arm a few minutes ago. With their truthing touch ability, Tulyans could read thoughts if they desired to do so. But Noah had been wearing the long-sleeve shirt, and Eshaz hadn’t felt the skin directly. Noah had always assumed that direct skin contact was necessary, but what if that wasn’t the case? What if Tulyan mental probes could penetrate the fabric?
    With Noah staring back at him, Eshaz lowered his gaze.
    In privacy that evening, Noah examined his arm closely, and an unavoidable thought occurred to him. The affected area that he’d been trying to hide reminded him of podship skin.

Chapter Nine
    Great historical events can be illusory to their participants, and to the historians who write about them afterward. Even with the passage of time and the seasoning of history, the truth can still be elusive.
    —Sister Janiko, one of the “veiled historians” of Lost Earth
    After reading a holo-report that floated above his desktop, Pimyt paused and looked up. “This looks good,” he said to the dignitary sitting across from him, an insectoid man in a white-and-gold suit.
    Ambassador VV Uncel did not respond. He stared at a small handheld screen.
    “VV?”
    “Eh?” The Adurian’s voice squeaked. “Oh, sorry, my roommate gave me a list of things he wants me to do. Household tasks.”
    “Ah yes, what Humans call the ‘honey-do’ list.”
    “Yes. He’s quite demanding.”
    Even though Uncel and his male roommate were in what the Adurians called an ‘affectionate relationship,’ Pimyt knew it was not sexually intimate. It couldn’t possibly be, because the androgynous Adurians, renowned for their laboratory breeding methods, even relied upon them entirely for the propagation of their own race.
    “Now what were you saying?” the Ambassador asked.
    “Just that the report looks good. The results are exactly as I expected.”
    “As we expected,” Ambassador VV Uncel said. Like all of his race, he was entirely hairless, a mixture of mammalian and insectoid features with a small head and large bulbous eyes. His skin was a bright patchwork of multicolored caste markings, symbolizing high social status.
    “Don’t take that tone with me. The minute I learned about Human military operations on Canopa, I found out their purpose, and I knew instantly they would fail against Parvii telepathic weapons. That was all in my initial report to the Coalition, predating anything you wrote.”
    The Ambassador raised his chin haughtily. “Your report would not have gone anywhere if I hadn’t concurred with your guess .”
    “What do you mean, guess ?” Pimyt felt his face flush hot, and considered hurling something at the irritating diplomat. For a moment, he scanned the objects on his desk, a glax paperweight that could kill him, a paper spike that could do the same, or put out an eye.…
    The Hibbil’s gaze settled on a book that was heavy enough to cause pain if hurled accurately, but