Eternity's Mind

by Kevin J. Anderson

  The misbreed Alaa’kh fed himself from a nutrient tube, pouring specially processed gruel down his throat. Mungl’eh, who looked comfortable and relaxed despite her inability to move, began to hum a lilting wordless melody. Gaining strength, Mungl’eh sang out, and as her voice grew louder, the technicians paused in their work. The medical kithmen looked up. The misbreed’s voice made the air vibrate, and the sunlight seemed to brighten.

  Hearing the music, Muree’n felt her heart lift. She looked over at Yazra’h, and they both smiled at each other in wonder. Whatever else might have gone wrong with this offspring, her voice was unlike any sound the Ildiran race had ever experienced, a music played on the strings of the thism.

  Medical kithmen moved among the patients, working with biological implements. A group of surgical specialists entered; their large eyes and long nimble fingers were well adapted to their healing arts. They set to work studying the misbreeds.

  Mungl’eh continued to sing.

  In a watery, mucus-filled voice, Gor’ka said to Muree’n, “We miss Tamo’l. We are worried about her.”

  Muree’n frowned. “I also want to know where she went. You have no idea where she might be?”

  Har’lc came close. “You have a bond—you are her sister. Can you not tell us where she is?”

  “I have been trying. I cannot find her. Our connection is usually strong, but … it seems darker now.” Tentative, she concentrated, reached out with her mind to try to touch the thoughts of Tamo’l. She closed her eyes.

  That was when the surgical kith struck.

  Muree’n felt a chill in the air and spun, instinctively raising her weapon. Yazra’h sensed the same thing and dropped into a crouch.

  The medical kithmen all began moving in a jerky unison. Their eyes had gone eerily black.

  On the table where his boils were being drained, Pol’ux lay back with his arms at his sides. Surgical kithmen moved in a frenetic flurry and stabbed repeatedly with their scalpels. They killed Pol’ux before he could even cry out in pain, before Muree’n could jump into action.

  The technicians tending the misbreeds lunged together toward Mungl’eh. The malformed singer went silent and looked up with wide, wet eyes. This new attack seemed to be focused on her, as if the shadows hated the ethereal mathematics of her music. Maddened Ildirans advanced on her, and she tried to squirm away, but her body wouldn’t cooperate.

  Shawn Fennis crashed into the medical kithmen, knocking two aside. More kept coming. Chiar’h put herself in front of Mungl’eh. The possessed kith members slashed at her with their scalpels, but Chiar’h refused to abandon the singer. They sliced Chiar’h’s face and arms. She fought, clawing at them.

  Then Muree’n was there, using her katana to stab several in the back, decapitating two, and slashing with her blade to cut down the last one. Bodies piled up next to the pallet that held the misbreed singer.

  Yazra’h fought a group of four possessed kithmen that closed in on Gor’ka and Har’lc. The mob showed no fear and seemed to feel no pain. They kept coming.

  With flapping cartilaginous arms, Alaa’kh tried to fight off attackers, spraying mealy gray gruel at them. Two lunged in, wielding sharp medical instruments. Although Alaa’kh gurgled in alarm, Muree’n could not get there in time. Swinging her katana, she fought the mob members, broke through those that had closed around the misbreed. But by the time she killed them, they had managed to slash Alaa’kh’s long rubbery throat.

  Fennis grabbed his wife and dragged her away. Chiar’h was bleeding from several long cuts, and he tried to tend her while blocking further attacks. He grimaced, showing his teeth like a vicious predator. He would not let anyone come close to her.

  Many of the misbreeds were terrified, but others stood their ground to fight. Gor’ka grabbed an attacker from behind, wrapped his loose, snakelike arm around the man’s neck, squeezing and twisting so hard he lifted the body up in the air, before discarding the broken form on the floor.

  Another misbreed snatched a scalpel from one of the dead attackers and flailed in a whirlwind, stabbing and slashing at any mob members who came close. When the misbreed could not cause enough damage from where he stood, he lurched after them. The possessed medical kithmen made no effort to preserve themselves as the misbreed flew into them, and both sides kept stabbing indiscriminately until they all fell dead.

  Yazra’h threw two attackers into the fountains, knocking others into the decorative foliage. Ten possessed attackers remained, and Muree’n knew these tainted medical kith members could never be cured or cleansed. “We have to kill them,” she said, panting. “All of them.”

  Yazra’h nodded. Her skin was splattered with blood. “Yes. Yes, we do.”

  While the injured misbreeds moaned, others fought back with disjointed arms and any defenses they could find. They were wild with panic, but they did not surrender. The two warrior women stormed through the medical center, methodically ruthless. The black taint had seeped in through the thism and manifested inside these poor victims. The possessed Ildirans were as tragic as the misbreeds they had slain, but the Shana Rei had shown no mercy. Neither could Muree’n and Yazra’h.

  When Shawn Fennis saw that the attackers were dealt with, that he had a brief respite from the threat, he grabbed a healing kit and set to work saving his wife. Chiar’h was wounded but would survive.

  Unlike the possessed Ildirans.

  Unlike the misbreeds they had killed.

  Exhausted, Muree’n wiped blood from her eyes, and saw far too much blood all around them. The fountains continued to trickle, but the sound was no longer soothing.

  Mungl’eh sang again, this time in a weak, thready voice, a song of tragedy and despair.

  CHAPTER

  65

  TAMO’L

  Gray mist swirled through the poison skies of Pergamus, but the greatest darkness was inside her research dome. Tamo’l could feel it.

  When she stared at the bright facility lights, the shadows at the fringes of her vision retreated, but just barely. She gritted her teeth, once again tried to convince herself that she was only imagining the possession inside her, and again she knew she wasn’t being truthful.

  Tom Rom was gone on his expedition, and the rest of the Pergamus researchers left her alone. Each day Tamo’l submitted a progress report to Zoe Alakis, as required, and during her times of intense focus, she had made significant headway in unraveling the genetic complexities of the misbreeds. She had already found surprising branchpoints and masked abilities.

  Tamo’l made sure she fulfilled the requirements of her research because failure to perform might draw attention. If she didn’t produce sufficient data, Zoe Alakis might send in laboratory technicians to “assist” her—which Tamo’l didn’t want. She didn’t dare let herself be around anyone else, because she didn’t understand the danger that she herself posed.

  With her access to the Pergamus medical databases, Tamo’l also studied neurological viruses, paralytic bacteriological toxins, brain parasites, the deadliest plagues—including the Onthos plague, the most lethal of any catalogued disease. As deadly as a nerve gas, the Onthos plague once released would kill and keep killing. According to Pergamus studies, the organism in Tom Rom’s blood samples had mutated to become even more deadly, and the only effective treatment—an extract from Klikiss royal jelly—was no longer effective.

  Tamo’l did not know what made her so interested in deadly diseases. She felt a growing chill as she realized that her fascination with pathogens did not arise from her innate medical curiosity. With her misbreed work, she had always studied infirmities and genetic failures with an eye toward developing treatments that minimized suffering and alleviated pain, rather than increasing them. But now a darkness flowed through her veins that often put her into an unwilling fugue state, where she could lose herself for hours.

  Tamo’l realized that something else wanted to know the deadly potential of everything stored at Pergamus: the shadows, the Shana Rei. They were
outside in the universe, yet inside, too—as a darkness that trickled through her, through the thism, and through the Ildiran race. She had felt it ever since her last desperate link with Rod’h before she escaped from Kuivahr.

  Tom Rom had rescued her for his own reasons and brought her here. The misbreeds had escaped through the Klikiss transportal. But where had Shawn Fennis and Chiar’h taken them? She wished she could be with them, instead of here. But she couldn’t leave Pergamus. As Tamo’l thought of those poor patchwork people, her friends, a sensation of warmth and caring made her vision grow bright again. It gave her a way to brush aside the clouds that darkened her mind, at least temporarily.

  As a human-Ildiran halfbreed, shouldn’t she be able to resist the Shana Rei? All five of Nira’s children supposedly had some sort of genetic key that made them resistant to the creatures of darkness; Gale’nh had been held hostage by the shadows, but they hadn’t been able to corrupt him. And Rod’h still drifted in agony within their black void, but he remained unbroken.

  Somehow, there was a flaw within her, a weakness. Tamo’l could sense that the shadows had gained a foothold in her mind and soul. She needed to understand the reason as much as the Shana Rei did.

  When she held complete control over her faculties, Tamo’l called up her own research that included a detailed map of her genome. She compared chromosome by chromosome, trying to understand how she and her halfbreed siblings were different … and why she was weaker than her brothers and sisters. How had the Shana Rei found a way into her? Although she was upset that Zoe Alakis was secretly holding her on Pergamus, she was also relieved to be safely isolated. Tamo’l could not cause any damage if she wasn’t with any of her people.

  Or could she?

  Once again, her fingers moved of their own accord. She searched databases, calling up various files to hover in front of her, while she studied the catalogue of deadly plagues stored here in vaults, domes, and Orbiting Research Spheres. So much potential for wild, unchecked death! And as she absorbed the information, she knew that something else was reading it too.

  CHAPTER

  66

  TOM ROM

  Even though he believed the reports from the Confederation, Tom Rom wanted to see for himself. And Zoe needed proof.

  When he arrived at the shut-down biomarkets of Rakkem, he felt no triumph, but he did experience a warm and all-consuming satisfaction. A thousand times the devastation would never make up for all the horrors they had inflicted on others.

  In exchange for Zoe’s hoarded medical data on Prince Reynald’s illness, the CDF military had shut down all illegal operations on the awful planet. No more victims would get duped, no one else would suffer due to the appalling ministrations of Rakkem’s researchers.

  Tom Rom’s ship arrived in stealth mode: sensors muted, energy signature masked, running lights off. He slipped in unnoticed and darted toward the mostly dark commerce zone. A lone CDF Manta remained on station as a menacing guard dog, and squadrons of Remora fighters patrolled the skies to maintain the crackdown, but the military force was mostly for show. By now, King Peter and Queen Estarra must have far more pressing concerns.

  Tom Rom had no difficulty eluding the patrols. He had personal business here, and even though he wouldn’t break any Confederation rules, he didn’t want to answer unnecessary questions. He just needed to see Rakkem in shambles—with his own eyes.

  He cruised in low before local dawn and landed in an outlying cargo pickup zone that was now abandoned, its pavement pocked and divoted from explosions during the CDF crackdown. No one would use this facility anytime soon. Nearby, he noticed the hulking ruin of a bombed-out illicit biowarehouse. The roof was collapsed, the walls fallen in, all lights extinguished. Scavengers would pick over the ruins as soon as the CDF lowered its guard. With the increasing Shana Rei attacks, Tom Rom supposed the Confederation would quickly withdraw from here. Rakkem was a defeated place. A dangerous place.

  It was entirely possible that some eager scavengers could accidentally crack open and unleash a plague, killing anyone who remained here. It would serve them right, he thought.

  At Pergamus, Zoe kept her deadly organisms under extreme security; they were protected and coveted, but never sold. That wasn’t why she was in the business.

  Rakkem was one of the reasons why Zoe had decided not to offer her results to others. She had seen too many cure sellers who were greedy parasites that took advantage of the sick and helpless. Zoe was not a dispenser of aid or cures. She and Tom Rom had fought against the corrupt Spiral Arm, and they had learned to take care of themselves.

  As dawn brightened, Tom Rom made his way into the main commercial center. The streets were scattered with rubble, and haunted-looking inhabitants stood around with no way off the planet and no way to survive here. Diseases had begun to spread among the survivors. Swamp-borne illnesses came out of the marshes and seeped like pus into the low-lying city.

  Zoe would take a pained satisfaction in seeing what remained here. Rakkem was still a festering wound for her, and just knowing that the place had been put out of business would allow her to heal. He couldn’t wait to show her.

  Patrol Remoras streaked overhead, leaving vapor trails across the sky. The people in the cities cringed, but Tom Rom did not. He knew the patrol flights weren’t looking for him.

  CDF occupying forces had stripped the biowarehouses. According to General Keah’s logs, the soldiers had debated whether to confiscate any useful replacement organs or seize the supposed vaccines and cures, but their own horror and disgust convinced them that nothing could be considered reliable here. Replacement organs might even be intentionally contaminated. He had heard of how some Rakkem organ sellers filled their wares with timed shutdown retroviruses that would render the organs defective after a certain time, thereby requiring the recipients to pay again and again if they wanted to survive.

  Tom Rom loathed this place.

  As he continued his furtive inspection, he made sure that every private medical facility had its doors barricaded, although many windows were smashed, rendering security moot. Any scavengers ransacking the few intact storehouses would not likely be searching for helpful treatments but for drugs to be sold on the black market—if they could get away from Rakkem.

  Worst were the birthing centers where surrogate wombs had pumped out babies as mere sources of cellular material and organs. He was grimly pleased to see that all such places had been leveled. Tom Rom considered the loathsome factory mothers to be as guilty as the researchers. He hoped they were all dead.

  He clenched his fist in cleansing anger as he regarded the rubble in the streets, the shadowy people, the dark dwellings. He took countless images of the ruins, knowing Zoe would want to see them all. When she was young and naïve, Zoe would have come here willing to pay any price to cure her father’s Heidegger’s Syndrome. She would have been duped, and the Rakkem “cure” would probably have killed Adam Alakis even faster than the disease did.

  Now that he was convinced the Rakkem biomarkets were permanently out of business, Tom Rom returned to his ship. He ignored the pleas of the survivors, who saw that he was healthy and strong. They had become pathetic wisps of themselves, and he supposed they must all be guilty of something.

  He had to use his hand blaster to kill four refugees who were attempting to break into his ship. He left their bodies on the cratered pavement and took off, flying low beneath the CDF sensor grid before he shot up into orbit. He gained speed and raced out of the system before the patrol ships could notice or pursue him. Some officer would log that his ship had escaped, but it was just one small vessel, nothing to cause any particular uproar.

  Tom Rom was ready to go back to Zoe. He had completed his mission, and now he could focus on other things.

  CHAPTER

  67

  XANDER BRINDLE

  In the salvage zone above the graveyard of Relleker, Xander Brindle stayed aboard the Verne, letting other Roamer workers gather the remnants of C
DF battleships and civilian craft.

  In the cockpit, Terry shook his head. “Maria started her station with intact Ildiran warliners to refurbish. But all this…” He gestured toward the drifting debris. “It’s just a scrap pile.”

  “Then we’ll make do with the scrap, Terry. Round up anything we can use. Roamers like to use every piece, several times if possible, but I suppose we have the budget to buy brand-new components for whatever we need.”

  Terry frowned. “That’s not how I want to run Handon Station.”

  “Hey, you got the name right!” Xander clapped him on the shoulder.

  “I’ve given up on changing your mind.”

  The clan Selise ships scoured the debris field, even though their battered vessels weren’t in much better shape than some of the drifting wrecks. As Terry headed to the Verne’s galley for an evening glass of wine, Omar Selise contacted Xander on the comm. The grizzled old clan head raised his eyebrows on the screen. “So? Anything yet, Brindle?”

  Xander lowered his voice, hoping Terry wouldn’t hear. “We’re still analyzing. I’ll let you know.” He quickly terminated the comm session.

  His partner popped his head back into the cockpit. “What was he talking about?”

  “Just an esoteric question about salvage components. Don’t worry about it.” He warned OK to silence before the compy could supply a cheerful answer.

  Later, after Terry had gone to sleep in their cabin, Xander quietly debriefed OK, who had secretly been compiling medical records, studying and comparing research proposals, and evaluating supposed cures offered by the former Rakkem doctor. The compy lowered his voice to a conspiratorial volume. “I understand that you wish to keep my investigation confidential, because you want our news to be a surprise for Terry.”

  “Exactly,” Xander said, but he didn’t think the compy actually understood his reasons for caution.