On a distant planet of the Homeworld Alliance, Dr. Stephen Weller, acclaimed expert in behaviour, is about to penetrate one of the great mysteries of his field.
After months of determined planning and care, he will finally enter Altair Base, a high security experimental research facility, whose dark work has as its only focus the war efforts against the hostile planets of the Outworlds.
There he will meet the being known as Tau 4, the terrible, and now uncontrollable brainchild of Dyle Carzon – brilliant, enigmatic, and ruthless – the force behind a military project that has traveled a shadowed and increasingly bloody path from medical miracle to the edge of horrific destruction.
But Weller is not what he appears to be.
This is a story of deceit and betrayal, of obsession and determination. It chronicles the universal struggle between strength and right, the clash between creator and created. TAU 4 takes the reader to strange worlds of storm and ancient jungle, to the life and death battle of a warrior people and to the unavoidable conflict of a man who refuses to accept the limits of his own humanity, and a creature who is just beginning to learn her own.
“Dr. Weller.” The voice was soft, precise, non- intrusive. Well trained.
Stephen Weller's grey eyes narrowed as he looked up. In the brittle calcimine light of the shuttlecraft cabin, his digital notepad shone brightly before him, throwing a rainbow of coloured lights across his chest. And in the panel screen beside his seat, the image of the visored head of the shuttle pilot had just materialised into inquisitive life.
“Excuse me, Sir. Just letting you know. We'll be landing at Altair Base in less than an hour.”
Weller nodded.
Then he smiled, very deliberately. He wanted to convey a clear message of innocent compliance, a compliance which would be registered in the visual record that he knew the pilot was making, a record that was even now being sent on to the Base itself.
The screen went to a satisfied black.
How many lies? How many lies does it take to make one thing true?
Weller pushed back his dark hair and looked down one last time at the file opened so mockingly before him. Explicitly and very descriptively, it told him what everyone already knew about what awaited him at the Base. Absolutely nothing. He glanced out the shuttle's window, his eyes finding the second moon rising creamy white against the glowing hues of the Altairan dusk. The shuttle banked gently. He shifted in his seat to better appreciate the view. Below them, an endless expanse of rainforest stretched in all directions; ancient, mysterious, trees marching in unbroken line, from horizon to horizon, as far as Weller could see.
There was no end to it. It was an old forest, old almost beyond record. Of all the planets in the Homeworld Alliance, few other than Altair had the perfect union of lush climate and isolation to support anywhere near such luxuriant growth. This was true frontier. Altair had seen its first settlers a scant three hundred years before and the burden of serious technology for less than a century. And still the jungles successfully resisted every attempt at real penetration. All in all, it was the ideal setting for a high security research venture like the Base.
It's because we're not here, thought Weller, wryly. We can hardly get into this place. To this forest, we're nothing; we're not really here at all.
He drew closer to the view port. In the clear light of dusk, he picked out flocks of basilisks, their red-tipped leathery wings flapping noiselessly as they made their way just above the canopy. As ubiquitous as birds on other worlds, they were not yet as populous as the wdji-ko, those tiny prosimian hermaphrodites whose numbers had swollen to near pest proportions on so many of the tropical Rim Planets. Here, these colourful little dragons were known as palú; small and feisty, they were as eager to feast on one another as on anything else. Two paused mid-flight, pirouetting fantastically, flashing scimitar- edged claws at one another in brief display, their raucous cries nearly drowned out by the sibilant purr of the shuttle.
Weller's gaze returned to the small, efficient cabin. For a brief moment, his bright eyes focused on nothing as his thoughts raced ahead to his destination. Altair Base.
Then for the last time, he afforded himself the luxury of a real smile, deep and sardonic. The pilot would continue to watch him; right up to the moment they landed. He knew that. But he had never needed any reminders of his peril. From now on, the only Stephen Weller that would be seen by anyone here would be as carefully composed and as obscure as the smile he had flashed only moments ago. And just as meaningless.