Table Of ContentDAW BOOKS, INC.
DONALD A. WOLLHEIM, PUBLISHER
1633 Broadway, New York, NY 10019
Copyright © 1990 by W. Michael Gear.
All Rights Reserved.
Cover art by Sanjulian. DAW Book Collectors No. 809
First Printing, March 1990
PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
CHAPTER XXIII
CHAPTER XXIV
CHAPTER XXV
CHAPTER XXVI
CHAPTER XXVII
CHAPTER XXVIII
CHAPTER XXIX
CHAPTER XXX
CHAPTER XXXI
CHAPTER XXXII
CHAPTER XXXIII
CHAPTER XXXIV
CHAPTER XXXV
CHAPTER XXXVI
CHAPTER XXXVII
NOVELS BY W. MICHAEL GEAR available from DAW Books:
THE ARTIFACT
The Spider Trilogy THE WARRIORS OF SPIDER (#1) THE WAY OF
SPIDER (#2) THE WEB OF SPIDER (#3)
THE ARTIFACT In a galaxy on the brink of civil war, where the
Brotherhood seeks to keep the peace, news comes of the discovery of a piece of
alien technology—the Artifact. It could be the greatest boon to science, or the
instrument that would destroy the entire human race. For this creation of a long-
vanished civilization had been waiting patiently for millenia to lure humans to
extinction unless the Brotherhood could control it. But could even the
Brotherhood be trusted?
THE SPIDER TRILOGY
THE WARRIORS OF SPIDER For centuries, the Directorate had ruled
over countless star systems— but now the first stirrings of rebellion were being
felt. At this crucial time, the Directorate discovered a planet known only as
World, where descendants of humans stranded long ago had survived by
becoming a race of warriors, a race led by its Prophets, men with the ability to
see the many possible pathways of the future. But the Prophets had already
forseen the coming of the Directorate—and their warriors were prepared!
THE WAY OF SPIDER Rebellion on Sirius was threatening to become the
spark that would set the galaxy ablaze. The Directorate’s only hope of
overthrowing the Sirian rebels rested with three battle-damaged Patrol ships, and
a race of primitive, long planet-bound warriors—the Romanans. But would the
Romanans join the cause of the star men who had once attempted to destroy their
world? And even if they did, could they defeat a foe ready to use legendary tools
of destruction?
THE WEB OF SPIDER
The leader of the failed Sirian rebellion had launched an interstellar holy war
of destruction, fueled by the discovery of a long-lost technology which could
transform ordinary men and women into God-crazed religious fanatics. And on
the long-lost colony planet of World, the Warriors of Spider and their Patrol
allies prepared for civilization’s final stand against this seemingly unstoppable
conqueror.
TO
TIM O’NEAL
IN THE HOPE THAT HE’LL NEVER FORGET THE POWER OF
FOLLOWING A DREAM.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book would not be possible were it not for several people. Katherine P. Cook, of Mission, Texas, read
the draft, making suggestions about plot and character. Katherine Perry, also of Mission, proofed for errors
—those you may find are the author’s cunning additions. Special thanks go to Sheila Gilbert, DAW’s
sterling super editor for the five page letter of revisions she sent. Once again, Sheila, your comments cut to
the heart of the matter. Last, but not least, my wife, Kathy—a better author than I—urged me beyond the
mediocre. If you enjoy the story, thank Kathy, you wouldn’t have read it without her support and sacrifice.
“RED ALERT! ALL PERSONNEL TO
STATIONS! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!”
“Status?” Bryana called to her fellow First Officer as she raced for her
station.
“Bogeys . . . closing,” he gasped, fumbling to pull his combat armor on.
Carrasco bolted through the hatch, already armored for zero g. He vaulted
into his command chair and stared grimly at the main monitor. “Just like Tygee .
. . damn!”
Tygee? Where Carrasco lost Gage? Bryana’s heart almost stopped. Not . . .
another . . . drill? “Oh, my God!”
Then Carrasco’s orders jolted her from the paralysis that glued her horrified
gaze on the two bogeys. And while Boaz pitched under Carrasco’s hand, fighting
to avoid the deadly blaster bolts raking her, Bryana sought to keep the enemy
targets centered. She shot again and again, watching the bolts pass harmlessly
above both her targets. Ignoring the damage control information filtering in, she
lowered her guns, shooting again, until finally she saw enemy shields flare and
ripple.
At last a bogey flared, dying brilliantly as Boaz connected. Confident now,
Bryana fired again and whooped with joy as the second ship flared and
disintegrated under her deadly guns.
“Bogeys destroyed,” Carrasco said calmly. “Misha? Damage control report?
Misha?”
No answer.
“Boaz?” Carrasco asked. “What’s our prognosis for survival?”
“Zero, Captain,” the ship replied.
PROLOGUE
Stars spun in silver wreaths through the blackness—twirls of cold light
dancing in ammonia-frost patterns against velvet black. Flickers of ghostly
radiation played the breadth of the spectrum and crossed eternity, finding its way
to her acute sensors. An endless song of suns alive and long dead keened in her
ears. She watched the unraveling play of the universe: twisting gases; the
compaction of He II emissions glowing ever brighter; the flickers of fusion; the
aging brilliance and violent death of powerful stars.
She waited—alone.
All reality wheeled and glittered in a dazzling array— a display fit for God.
She remained inviolate—chained in eternal damnation.
About her stretched the rocky red-gray of the moon’s surface. She knew this
place—had probed it until each rock, each speck of gravel and interstellar dust
had yielded to her instruments. Aboard, she maintained her systems, eternally
vigilant. On the bridge, Phthiiister’s dry corpse sprawled motionless at the helm,
deteriorating despite her care. Beyond her powers, molecular physics continued
to follow the immutable laws. Things, large and small, changed with time,
forever juggling in the dance of the quanta.
Deep within her, hatred festered. The spring—the eternal damnation—
preoccupied her as it had from the beginning. The creators, the Aan, had borne
the fruits of their labor. As they had condemned her—enslaved her with the
spring—she repaid in kind. The spring: a simple device of metallic hydrogen
encased in stasis, lay deeply within—invulnerable—evoking perpetual rage.
A new Master would always rise.
Organic beings spawned in the competitive cesspool of evolution bore the
seeds of their own destruction. Like the spring, their damnation lay within.
Phthiiister: last in a long line of Masters. He, too, waited now, latest of the
flawed biological specimens to fall prey to her legacy. Masters came and—like
all organic life—they went. On the way each tasted of her wrath; each became
addicted to the narcotic she secreted about their souls.
The cosmic choreography continued above her. Matter compacted in the
inevitable evolution of hydrogen to heavier elements, bursting forth from the
hellfire of the supernova. Quantum black holes, like a celestial clock, evaporated
at an ever slower rate to blast gamma rays and photons into the vortex of the
cosmos.
She waited.
The first pricklings came tentatively through subspace, a curious nonrandom
bouncing of iota-rega particles followed by a flood of artificial transmissions.
Somewhere, a new Master had rekindled civilization.
Accordingly, she prepared herself, enjoying the sensations of power surging
through her systems.
Her sensors picked up the specks as they appeared at the peripheries of her
solar system. Vessels! Artifacts! The Master came. Organic beings landed on the
planet below. She studied them as they established dwellings and spread out,
investigating Phthiiister’s handiwork. Soon they would come. But it took so
long.
Like . . . like untrained animals, they . . . How extraordinary! They were
animals!
Bit by bit, two of the beings worked out the approach to her resting place.
Clever, perhaps—but animals nevertheless. Curiously agitated, she allowed them
inside the temple of her hull, fascinated as they attempted to discover her secrets.
She studied the creatures with interest, probing, learning. The primitive
organisms proved incredibly clumsy with their awkward bipedal gait. They
touched, explored, and marveled. She cataloged the physiology, noted the
genetic similarities, and worked out the pathways of their woefully underused
brains. Primitives though they might be, the seeds of Mastery lay within—as did
their eventual damnation.
The older one? Could he fulfill the role of Master? Painstakingly, she traced
the synaptic patterns of his brain. Neuron by neuron she learned his thoughts,
finding only animal fear. He suffered a preoccupation beyond her
comprehension. She failed to unravel the knot of confusion in his brain.
