Eternity's Mind

by Kevin J. Anderson

“Based on their relationship with the trees, we thought they were symbiotes, but they have become parasites. They use the trees, infest them. That’s how they reproduce like spores—dozens of Onthos created from each worldtree—and that process kills the tree. The shadows destroyed their original grove of worldtrees back on their home planet. That’s why the verdani mind has no memory of it, and now the same memory loss is spreading here.”

  Arita was horrified. “But if they always reproduce like that, how could the worldforest not know about it?”

  “Normally there was a balance in the ecosystem. It started as a symbiotic relationship. Only older or damaged trees were used as incubators—that was how the Gardeners were born. Trees did die in the process, but the Gardeners tended the forest in exchange and the trees flourished. Because of the Shana Rei, though, the Onthos are nearly extinct, and they’re desperate. They’re now breeding far faster than the forest can sustain.”

  “They’ve got to be aware of the damage they’re causing,” Arita said, feeling the anger again. “They know damn well what they’re doing. That’s why they tried to kill us.”

  She landed their flyer in a small clearing near Sarein’s isolated home, the hiveworm-nest dwelling where she lived as a hermit. As they climbed into the dry, silent structure, Arita called out repeatedly, holding out hope that her aunt would step onto the open balcony to scold them for causing such a ruckus.

  But the place remained silent, as ominous as the too-quiet worldforest.

  “I don’t think she’s here,” Collin said.

  Arita insisted on searching the dwelling for clues. Sarein’s chambers were full of shadows and the beginnings of dust. Some cooking implements were still out, and the bed was unmade, as if she had disregarded any chance that anyone would visit. A cup of cold klee sat on a counter.

  Sarein had been working on memoirs that chronicled her own activities and some sad crimes, back in the final days of the Terran Hanseatic League. She had told Arita she wanted to preserve an accurate history, without excuses. The bound, physical journals rested on a shelf, with a half-finished one still open on the table. Sarein had written some of her memories by hand because it served a cathartic purpose. The journals seemed so archaic, yet so appropriate. Arita picked one up, flipped the pages, then closed it. Tears pooled in her eyes.

  “She’s not here,” Arita said. “Kennebar must have been telling the truth.” She remained quiet for a long moment, not sure what to do, hoping like a naïve little girl that Sarein would simply return from an expedition of gathering food in the forest. But they both knew that wasn’t going to happen.

  Sarein was gone.

  The Onthos had killed her.

  She had been all alone here, with no one to hear her call for help, no one to be with her. Sarein was gone.…

  Collin waited patiently, not pressuring her, but Arita realized they needed to go. The worldforest itself was at stake.

  Before she left the empty nest dwelling, however, Arita gathered all the volumes of Sarein’s writings. Her aunt had set them down as a kind of confessional, and they were historically important. Arita slid them into a satchel that Sarein kept near her shelves and slung the satchel over her shoulder. Once they got back to the fungus-reef city, she would make sure that her mother, Anton Colicos, and any interested historian would have access to them.

  It was the best way to remember Sarein.

  CHAPTER

  24

  ADAR ZAN’NH

  The septa of warliners arrived in the Kuivahr system, where Adar Zan’nh expected to find nothing but a graveyard. He remembered full well what he had left behind here after the battle with the Shana Rei.

  His warliners spread throughout the system, all defenses alert, scanning for any evidence of the ominous shadow clouds. The Ildiran crew were uneasy, not because of something they sensed, but because of what they knew.

  Anton Colicos waited in the command nucleus next to the Adar. Tal Gale’nh had been assigned to lead another warliner on the expedition. Now he transmitted from his own command nucleus, “Sensors indicate significant debris in the vicinity, Adar. It may be worthwhile to analyze the black robot ships that we managed to destroy.”

  “If the sun bombs left anything worth studying,” Zan’nh said, but gave his permission for the scouts to retrieve any wreckage. Fortunately, the space battle had completely eradicated the black robots, so that enemy would no longer pose any threat. “Approach Kuivahr.”

  One of the technicians frowned, the lobes on his face flushing with consternation. “Nothing appears on our sensors, Adar. The planet is gone.”

  “It is there,” Zan’nh insisted. “But you might not be able to see it.”

  With careful study, the warliners located the black sphere that had only recently been a vibrant ocean planet. Now it was a polished black ball, encased in a shell that allowed no light whatsoever, in or out.

  “We will have to break through,” Zan’nh said. “I do not expect to find survivors but we may still learn something.”

  The seven warliners went into orbit around the black world, cruising over the shell of interlocking hexagonal plates. Just like the vastly larger barricade that had enclosed the entire Onthos system.

  With a laser-cannon barrage, the Solar Navy ships targeted the vertices of the hexagonal plates. Back at the Onthos system, they had discovered the precise energy and impact point that could break the plates apart. Now the warliners hammered away at the opaque shell, and finally the hexagonal plates shuddered and broke apart like a disintegrating mosaic. Black pieces spilled into empty orbital space and drifted aimlessly; some plates remained intact while others evaporated into clots of nothingness and dark energy.

  With part of the shell blasted open, the seven ships hovered at the opening.

  Rememberer Anton pointed out, “It’s only been a week since the shell was completed. Even if all sunlight was cut off, some of the deep ocean species might have survived, maybe plankton or dormant spores drifting in the waters. Do you think the oceans are frozen over?”

  “If that was all that happened, something may have survived,” Zan’nh said. “But I believe the Shana Rei darkness represents a complete absence of life as well as light.”

  Using caution, the Adar dispatched automated probes ahead into the darkness. As the deployed probes streaked toward the planet’s surface, they shone inspection blazers down on the smooth surface of black water, but they found no sign of life, light, or movement whatsoever.

  “Tamo’l is not there, but I know she is still alive,” Gale’nh said. In his image on the screen, he seemed deep in thought. “It makes me glad. At least the shadows do not have her as they have Rod’h.”

  After the warliners blasted away an even larger equatorial swath of the hex plates, creating an obvious escape path, Zan’nh guided his flagship inside, followed by the other six warliners. The ships’ combined running lights illuminated the inky nothingness ahead of them, and the interior blazers brightened to reassure them. They flew low over the oceans; there were no weather patterns, no tides, no waves. The darkness was absolute—not just an absence of light, but an absence of all things living.

  Adar Zan’nh stood at the command rail, staring at the screens. He breathed slowly, focusing on their mission. Even knowing what he expected to find, he was struck by the hopeless emptiness, the black erasure of all that had been Kuivahr.

  The warliners located thready remnants of what had been enormous kelp rafts in the oceans, now decayed and disintegrating. And then, using stored coordinates, they reached Tamo’l’s sanctuary domes, which until recently had risen like blisters out of the water. They had been a safe place for the surviving misbreeds, but those domes had collapsed. The structures appeared to be thousands of years old, although only seven days had passed.

  The Ildiran crew just stared. Anton Colicos took more notes. “It’s as if chaos itself is reclaiming the planet.”

  On their expedition to the Onthos home system, when he and Genera
l Keah had breached the black outer shell and explored the smothered solar system, they knew that millennia had passed. Kuivahr, however, had been englobed only days earlier. There should have been hope. Zan’nh shook his head.

  Rememberer Anton said, “There’s no one alive and waiting for rescue, that’s for sure.”

  Gale’nh said over the comm, “I wish Tamo’l had evacuated with us, but they must have made it through the Klikiss transportal.”

  “We will continue our survey,” Zan’nh said. “We have come all this way. We will be thorough for the Mage-Imperator.”

  Finally, they reached the towers of the abandoned Kellum distillery, where the structures creaked and crumbled, the girders collapsing, the distillery platforms tumbling into the reefs.

  Tal Gale’nh’s warliner arrived first and circled slowly overhead to take images of the ruins. His voice sounded startled. “Adar, there is a ship down there—a small shielded craft. I am detecting a very faint energy signature.”

  The command nucleus fell into an immediate hushed silence. “How can that be?” Zan’nh asked.

  Rememberer Anton looked intently at the Adar, struggling to maintain optimism. “That’s what we’re here to investigate. We should have a look.”

  The rest of the warliners converged above the collapsing distillery towers, and under enhanced magnification, Zan’nh made out a small craft resting askew in the mudflats against the foundation reefs. Dazzling blazers from the warliners shone down to illuminate the derelict craft. Its hull looked corroded, darkened. Judging from the collapsed platform above, Zan’nh guessed that the vessel had landed on the distillery’s deck, which had since crumbled, dumping the ship into the soft mud.

  “The energy signature is barely detectable, Adar,” said one of his sensor techs. “Not much more than one functional power block. If the rest of this world weren’t so completely dead, I doubt we would have detected it.”

  Anton sounded excited. “Someone must have been trapped, unable to get away before the black shell was finished. The ship is small enough for us to bring aboard the warliner, isn’t it? Can we retrieve the whole thing intact?”

  Zan’nh nodded. “It is a personal craft. We can easily bring it into our landing bay. We will want the ship’s log, if nothing else.”

  Anton licked his lower lip. “That would be a record we’ve never had before—an eyewitness account.”

  The Adar’s flagship descended gently with its lower launching bay open. A tractor beam and secondary cables attached to the small derelict ship and uprooted it from the mud. As the craft was lifted into the air, however, it began to lose structural integrity. Obvious cracks in the hull split open. Wisps of atmosphere vented out.

  “The ship is disintegrating,” Anton said.

  “Quickly,” Zan’nh barked to his crew. “Whatever is inside will not remain intact for long.” Extending shields to encompass the craft and taking intense care, the Ildirans lifted the derelict ship up into the warliner’s lower hold.

  Zan’nh and the historian hurried together down to the bay. “If nothing else,” Anton said, “we’ll find out who the pilot was and give him a proper memorial.”

  The retrieved Kellum ship rested on the bay deck, sagging under the weight of its decay. Hull plates slipped off and clattered to the deck, and the ship groaned as it settled.

  Solar Navy engineers gathered around the vessel, taking readings but keeping their distance. Traceries of frost ran along the hull. Rememberer Anton put his hands on his hips and stepped forward. “We need to get inside.”

  The structural braces groaned, and part of the roof collapsed into the interior. Two engineers stepped up to the opening. When they tried to activate the main hatch, it simply fell off. The engineers lifted it aside.

  “It is not safe,” Zan’nh said.

  One of the engineers studied readings from his scanner screen. “There is an energy signature inside, Adar, the last flickers of a power block … and a life sign.”

  “Someone’s alive in there?” Anton pushed to the lopsided opening of the craft.

  “Very low level,” the engineer replied.

  “Well, there won’t be any life sign if this ship collapses around whoever it is.” The historian turned to the nearest Ildiran engineer. “Come on, help me.”

  “You do not—” said the engineer.

  The Adar snapped, “Do as he says. If there is someone to be saved…”

  The ship continued to fall apart as the historian and Ildiran engineer ducked inside. Adar Zan’nh waited, quelling his worry so the others would not sense it through the thism. He swallowed hard, glanced at the other tense crewmembers. He heard movement inside the craft, then Anton’s shout. “It’s a survivor!”

  “We are retrieving one human male,” called the Ildiran engineer. “Please send for medical kith.”

  Moments later, the two carried out a limp, pale form—an unconscious dark-haired man in his late forties. “He powered everything down, wrapped himself in insulating blankets,” said Anton. “Based on the medical kits out on the table, it looks as if he took a sustained dose of tranquilizers.”

  “He was trying to extend his resources, to last as long as possible,” said Zan’nh. “A very resourceful man.”

  “A Roamer,” said Anton. “I’m sure of it.”

  The medical technicians quickly brought their diagnostics. “He is cold, his metabolism at a bare minimum, but there is still brain activity.” The lead doctor looked up. “This is most unexpected.”

  “It is indeed,” said Adar Zan’nh. “Let us warm him, give him stimulants and nourishment—and we will see what he has to say.”

  The salvaged craft groaned, and its hull sagged further. Rememberer Anton wiped perspiration from his brow. “I suggest you send someone to retrieve the ship’s log before it’s too late, Adar.”

  * * *

  The survivor’s name was Marius Denva, facility chief of the Kellum distillery. Despite being terrified and constantly chilled, he was unharmed.

  Adar Zan’nh stood at Denva’s bedside in the medical bay with the human historian. Anton nodded to the food tray at the bedside. “The ordeal doesn’t seem to have affected your appetite.”

  “Not at all,” said Denva. “I’ve got time to make up for. It seemed like I was trapped aboard there for a hundred years.”

  “Seven days,” said the Adar.

  By now they had reviewed his log. Some of the files were corrupted, the audio filled with static, but Anton had been able to gather the gist of what the survivor had been through.

  “The last of the Kellum ships got into orbit,” said Denva, propping himself up in the sickbay bed. “I had only my small craft, couldn’t carry any refugees, didn’t even make it to orbit. I was stupidly protective of our operations. Guess I stayed too long.”

  He shook his head, then took a slow slurp of the hot broth in front of him. He shivered, pulled the blankets closer around him. “I can’t believe how fast the shadows assembled that shell. I saw the sky dwindling, the mosaic building up piece by piece. I raced to the opening, but my ship wasn’t fast enough. I watched the gap close in front of me, and then the whole planet was sealed off.

  “I knew I was the last one at the distillery, so I flew to the sanctuary domes, but the Ildirans had evacuated, too. Most of them escaped through the Klikiss transportal, I think. No one answered my signal. The entire world was dark, the comm bands totally silent.

  “I had only one chance to get away, so I raced to the Klikiss transportal.” He leaned forward, looked up at Zan’nh with an intense and astonished expression. “Even that didn’t work. The transportal was cut off. I couldn’t get away. The darkness was strangling everything.”

  His eyes took on a faraway look. “It wasn’t just emptiness—I’ve been out in deep space before. This was something different. The darkness was tangible and threatening. I’m not a little kid to be afraid of the dark.” He swallowed hard. “But I was afraid of this.”

  “Now you und
erstand how all Ildirans feel in complete darkness,” Zan’nh said.

  “I didn’t think I’d ever get away,” Denva said. “I flew back to the distillery again, figuring I may as well go home. I landed my ship on the deck, locked down all my systems, ate my fill of the supplies I had on board.” His voice cracked. “I made sure my log was in order, and I increased shields, hoping they might help the ship last just a little longer.

  “I combined all the power blocks I had left, buried myself under emergency blankets, and hooked up the slow-release tranquilizer. By my calculations, I figured I could last for a month, maybe six weeks. I’m sure glad you came when you did.”

  Zan’nh said, “We arrived in seven days.”

  Denva let out a nervous laugh. “A week? Did you see the condition of my ship?”

  “Seven days,” Rememberer Anton repeated.

  Denva gulped the rest of his broth. “Then I’m doubly glad you got to me when you did.” He looked up. “What about Del Kellum and the rest of the crew from the distillery? Did they get out?”

  “They are safe,” Zan’nh said. “We retrieved them.”

  “We’ll take you back to them,” said Anton Colicos.

  Denva let out a long sigh. He seemed very weary, but his lips formed a wry smile. “Del Kellum will put me right back to work … in whatever new business he’s come up with.”

  The Adar turned to leave the sickbay. “We have finished our mission on Kuivahr. We will return you to your people.”

  CHAPTER

  25

  EXXOS

  More and more black clouds appeared across the Spiral Arm as the Shana Rei broke through the walls of space, forming doorways through which they could slide their enormous hexagonal ships. The stain of darkness spread as if seeping through holes poked through the structure of the universe.

  Exxos monitored the incursions of the creatures of darkness—like a thousand cuts torturing and killing the cosmos. The process would eventually lead to the obliteration of the human race, the Ildiran Empire, and the cacophony of sentient thoughts that caused the shadows such agony.