Eternity's Mind

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Osira’h was enjoying a dish of stewed pollen-filled stamens from treelilies, while Arita and Collin ate roasted butterbeetles right out of the shells. They all remarked on the delicious tastes.

  “Thank you again,” Reyn said. “We’ll be certain to tell Rlinda when she arrives.”

  “You’re welcome, I’m sure.” Wisskoff departed.

  When he finished eating, Reyn picked up the documents he had been reading. “Summaries of the recent events in the Spiral Arm. If I’m going to be the next King, I have to learn how to lead people.”

  Osira’h hugged him again. “One of the most important things you can do as King is make sure you have a solid alliance with the Ildiran Empire. Therefore, you should stick with me.”

  Reyn hugged her back … and then Arita wanted part of it, and then Collin was hugging her. Osira’h didn’t need the light of the seven suns to know how bright the future was.

  CHAPTER

  132

  XANDER BRINDLE

  Back at the site of Rendezvous—Handon Station, Xander corrected himself—more ships came in every day. Finally one brought the long-awaited medical-analysis reports that Xander had secretly requested.

  He compiled his full case for Terry, wanting to be sure he had all of the options and all of the risks. Xander had to be as convincing as possible, although he wasn’t sure Terry wanted to be convinced.

  After their side trip to Theroc to bring Arita and Collin home, the Prodigal Son had flown back to Rendezvous, and Garrison resumed his admin duties. He got to work organizing all the new arrivals and ranking the necessary repairs, assigning teams to the vessels that could be most quickly returned to service. Even with the cessation of bloater harvesting, the market for new and repaired ships was going to be huge. Xander had no doubt that Handon Station would thrive, and the two of them would triple their fortune.

  Orli set up her shop for compy maintenance and program upgrades. She was quite content to be with Garrison. DD was her ever-faithful companion, and Seth Reeves seemed to be a budding genius himself, eager to help Orli with the compies. Xander was glad Handon Station could provide the opportunity.

  He looked out at the screens on the control center walls. The souped-up Verne was docked in the thick of all the busy traffic. Omar Selise returned with another haul of salvage from Relleker, clearly impatient. “Do you have it yet, Brindle?” he said in an open transmission while they were inside the main control center. “I’ve got to know.”

  Xander drew a breath and replied to the old clan leader on the comm. “I compiled a full report for Terry to consider. You can look it over and make your own decision.”

  “I want to be damn sure. This is my grandson we’re talking about.”

  “I understand completely. Here it is.” Xander transmitted the data while Terry stared at him wide-eyed.

  “What is he talking about? What are you two scheming? You and Omar aren’t even friends.”

  “We have some things in common.” He straightened. OK stood silently by. Xander had taken a lot of time to convince the compy to keep the secret, and OK had admirably kept the confidence. But now it was out in the open.

  “All right, explain it to me!” Terry said, sounding exasperated. “If it’s good news, go ahead and ruin the surprise. If it’s bad news, I can handle it.”

  “What if it’s just something serious I want you to consider?”

  “Of course I’ll consider it. We’re partners. You and I have been through enough. I’d just like to get back to normal and have some calm stability so that the only headache I have to worry about is running our new station.”

  Xander swallowed hard and began to explain. “Omar has a grandson with a degenerative spinal condition very similar to yours. That’s what this is about. I’ve got something to ask you. Come with me to the galley—I hope you keep an open mind.”

  Terry maneuvered very well without the use of his legs in the asteroid’s low gravity. The analysis reports he had received were a mixed blessing; some touted enthusiastic successes, some failures, some extremely happy customers (which may have been faked or otherwise solicited), and some disappointments. There were clearly risks. It would have to be Terry’s decision.

  OK said to him, “I wish you the best of luck, Xander Brindle.”

  Terry had taken a seat at the galley table, fidgeting with his fingers. Xander activated a screen, called up his files, and jumped right in. He had put this off long enough already. “I’m going to present you with a medical possibility for restoring your legs. It’s expensive, and it’s risky. There are possible side effects.” Xander turned to look at his partner. “And I think it might be real.”

  Terry frowned. “There’s no cure for my condition. I’ve been through all that, had every one of the tests. And I moved on a long time ago.”

  “But something’s changed—two things, actually. There’s been continuing research in a new treatment process that shows promise. The other thing that’s changed is that we can afford it now, no matter how much it costs.”

  “How come I haven’t heard about this research before?” Terry asked.

  “It’s not exactly orthodox. I won’t kid you, the primary researcher had some connections to Rakkem.”

  “Rakkem? Then the answer is no.”

  “Everything about Rakkem wasn’t corrupt or useless.” He displayed the report. “I tracked down several patients who have had the procedure, people who suffered from a similar condition … the same one Omar Selise’s grandson has. The treatment didn’t always work—I won’t lie to you—but the success rate is better than fifty percent. I want you to be realistic about the pain and the recovery.”

  “And what if it fails?” Terry said.

  “Then you’ll be in the same condition you are now, and at least I’ll know that we tried everything.”

  “Side effects?”

  “Serious tremors, possibly. Loss of vision in a few rare cases. It’s not a walk in the park.” Xander winced as he realized how blithely he had mentioned “walking.”

  Terry skimmed through the files, but didn’t seem to be interested. Instead, he was frustrated. “We’ve talked about this over and over again. I’m excited about the good things happening here, but I don’t understand your obsession to fix me. Have I led you to believe that I’m unhappy? That I’m somehow desperate enough to take risks like that?”

  “I just thought that you’d want it,” Xander said. “I keep trying to think of something I could do for you, something you could do for yourself, with all the money from Maria.”

  “I’m happy with who I am.” Terry gestured generally toward the walls of the room. “And when I’m out there, with the salvage yard and the repair facilities, I’m just as capable as anybody else. Does it bother you that I can’t walk?”

  “No!” Xander felt he was tied in knots, and he realized he was crying. “I was just doing it for you.”

  “I’m fine, really.” Terry reached out to clasp his forearm. “I don’t feel like I’m any less of a person. I wouldn’t risk the pain, the recuperation time away from you, and what if something went wrong with the treatment? Tremors or blindness? Honest, I’m happy as I am.” He looked up. “Aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I’m perfectly happy, and I’m happy with you.” He gave Terry a tight embrace, and they held on to each other for a long time.

  Xander explained about Omar’s grandson, who was considering the same treatment, waiting for the more thorough investigation in light of the huge expense involved.

  Terry said, “Then I’ll pay for it. If that’s what Omar and his grandson really want to do—once they’ve reviewed all the possibilities and drawbacks—we’ll give them the funds.”

  Xander felt a rush of happiness. “That would be wonderful. But it has to be their decision.”

  “It will be,” Terry said, and responded with an unexpected quirk of a smile. “Now, it may surprise you that I haven’t been entirely ignoring my situation either. I’ve been thinking of a
few other options myself.” He called for OK to come in to the galley. “I’ve got some news of my own, Xander.” He grinned. “I guess it shows just how much you and I understand each other. But I found an alternative solution.”

  OK trudged in carrying a long cybernetic apparatus in his outstretched arms. Xander could see the adhesive straps attached to leggings, embedded flexmesh tendons and pulleys.

  “Since Orli Covitz is so good with compies,” Terry explained, “I had her develop these for me. I think they just might work.”

  Xander reached out and took the apparatus from OK. “What are they?”

  “Compy leg augmentations. I can strap them on and be able to walk just like a compy does. I won’t wear them all the time, because I can still get around faster than you.” He grinned. “But under other circumstances I won’t need to hold OK’s shoulder anymore, and I can go into gravity environments just like other people.”

  Xander turned to the compy. “You knew about this?”

  “Yes, Xander Brindle,” OK said. “He made me promise not to say anything. You yourself taught me how to keep secrets.”

  “But I thought…” Xander said, then he burst into laughter, as did Terry.

  “I believe they’ll work out exactly as planned,” Terry said.

  CHAPTER

  133

  MAGE-IMPERATOR JORA’H

  He had not seen shadows in his dreams for days, and Jora’h knew that the Shana Rei were indeed gone from the universe. He still felt incredibly weak from having nearly bled to death, but he had pulled through, thanks to the sacrifice of Gale’nh. At the critical moment, the Mage-Imperator was strong enough to call the faeros to the last battle.

  And they had won.

  For the first time in days, he felt strong enough to go to the skysphere audience chamber. Taking his rightful place, he sat in the chrysalis chair under the projection of his smiling visage on the mists overhead. Beside him, Nira rested her hand on his arm.

  The Ildiran people had sensed when their Mage-Imperator was on the brink of death, and now they needed reassurance. For so long, they had lived with a shadow inside the thism; they hadn’t noticed its debilitating power until it was gone. Now, the entire Ildiran race seemed revitalized. People of all kiths made the pilgrimage to Mijistra by the thousands, wending their way up the ellipsoidal hill to the Prism Palace. Just to see him. One after another they came forward to give him their good wishes, to reaffirm their loyalty, or perhaps just to see with their own eyes that he was still alive and well.

  Gale’nh had also recovered, and he stood proudly in his fine Solar Navy uniform next to Muree’n and Yazra’h. Nira’s son was as strong as she claimed he would be. He had clung to life and helped pull Jora’h back. Osira’h was still on Theroc with the recovering Prince Reynald, but she had contacted her mother through the green priests.

  After the battle in the Fireheart nebula, Nira had only three children now, but Jora’h would honor Rod’h and Tamo’l, knowing what they had done, how their sacrifice was one of the most important death blows to the creatures of darkness.

  That shock had thrummed through Gale’nh, nearly killing him as he recovered from giving so much of his blood. As the doctors struggled to save him from that terrible setback, Muree’n had also stumbled into the medical center, looking weak and shaken. She had grabbed the medical kithmen. “Take my blood, give it to my brother. We have to share strength.” And the doctors had drained as much from her as they needed to stabilize Gale’nh, strengthening him, saving him.

  Now in the audience chamber, Nira rested her hand on Jora’h’s arm. She leaned close to whisper, “Thank you for helping to save us all. Rod’h and Tamo’l know how much we appreciate what they did—I can sense it.”

  She had been connected to the verdani mind, listening to reports, when Rod’h had uttered his last mental outcry. Though telink rarely let her connect with her halfbreed children, this time she had sensed him and Tamo’l. They had been her children, after all. Nira had been quite shaken by the experience, but also glad that she’d had a last moment of contact. She believed that Rod’h and Tamo’l had sensed her for the briefest fraction of a second before the faeros engulfed them.…

  Now the shadows were gone. The Ildiran people would not transform into mindless killers—nor did Jora’h have to worry about the corruption inside himself. He shuddered to recall what he had done in the banquet hall.

  But that blackness was behind him now, and the seven suns shone bright in the skies of Ildira.

  Many pilgrims insisted on providing a small sample of their blood to be added to the Mage-Imperator’s next transfusion. As the nexus of the entire race, Jora’h could receive blood from any Ildiran of any kith. They all wanted to help, and as a symbolic gesture, he ordered that every one of the samples (after testing pure) be mixed together in a large sample, and he would take it into his veins to reaffirm himself to all of his people. His blood flowed through the entire Ildiran race, and now they would know that their blood flowed in him as well.

  The Ildiran Empire was strong, as Jora’h was strong.

  A lens kith pilgrim bowed before the dais. “Thank you, Liege. Thank you!” Then he moved away, and a miner female took his place; she, likewise, bowed and expressed her gratitude. They needed to say it, and he didn’t ask them to explain.

  Then a murmur of alarm and excitement rippled through the court, and Jora’h felt an ominous thrum through the thism. Looking up, he saw the light brightening overhead through the skysphere dome.

  Prime Designate Daro’h drew in a quick breath, pointing upward. “It is the faeros! The faeros have come back.”

  This time, though, Jora’h felt no panic or dismay. He could sense that the fiery elementals had not come here to destroy. “Let us go to the rooftop. We need to thank them.”

  Reaching the top of the Palace, they watched a parade of fireballs come down like shooting stars. The faeros swirled overhead, circling the Prism Palace like ignited comets. The Ildirans gasped, and Jora’h raised his hands in acknowledgment. The flaming ellipsoids rippled past, making the air shimmer with their heat. Their erratic patterns seemed to salute the Mage-Imperator.

  Jora’h could no longer control the elementals, of that he was certain. The faeros did not wish to remain connected with the Ildiran Empire. They could return to live inside their suns, never needing to come out. Now that the Shana Rei were firmly defeated, the fiery elementals were safe, as was the rest of the Spiral Arm.

  The people stared in awe as the sky filled with fireballs. The rememberers drank in the sight, as if deciding which words they would use to record this in the Saga of Seven Suns. Anton Colicos was with them, and his eyes sparkled. “This will make an excellent story,” he said, then paused to consider. “In fact, all of this will. I have a lot of writing ahead of me.”

  The faeros hovered in silence, as if communicating, and then they streaked away, leaving smoky vapor trails crisscrossing the sky.

  Out in the open air, Jora’h took Nira’s hand. “We should hold court up here, where the whole universe can see us.”

  Soon, with much assistance from medical escorts, Chiar’h and Shawn Fennis came up to join the Mage-Imperator, leading the misbreeds that had been rescued from Kuivahr, in all their shapes and forms. “We know what Tamo’l did at the end,” Chiar’h said. She had many bandages on her face and arms.

  “We all know what she and Rod’h accomplished, and I also know what the misbreeds did,” said Jora’h. “You will all be honored for your part in helping to win this war. You awakened Eternity’s Mind, and that force was instrumental to defeating the Shana Rei. We are grateful for you as well. All of you.”

  Nira added, “If there is anything you need, any request you’d like to make of the Mage-Imperator, he will grant it.”

  “We already have what we need,” said Shawn Fennis.

  “Then there is one thing I would ask of you,” Jora’h said, looking at the group of misbreeds. He saw their mismatched genetics, the
ir odd adaptations, and although he remained sad for the breeding program that had created them, he was not disappointed that they existed. They had much to share.

  “How can we help, Liege?” asked Har’lc, one of the most hideously deformed misbreeds. His skin was a canvas of rashes and peeling patches. “We will serve, if we are able.”

  “I know you are able,” he answered with a smile. “I would ask Mungl’eh to sing, and all of you to sing. I already know how beautiful it sounds, but the rest of our people should hear it.” He looked over at Nira. “It will move you.”

  “I do so with great pleasure,” Mungl’eh said. The other misbreeds joined her.

  The woman’s misshapen face formed into what was clearly a grin. With her voice that could—and did—change everything, she and the other misbreeds sang a song of joy to the Mage-Imperator.

  CHAPTER

  134

  ZHETT KELLUM

  It was exhilarating to feel the wind on her face and stirring her long black hair. Zhett drew a breath, inhaling the scents of odd chemical mixtures that wafted from the cloud layers below. She extended her arms to either side, splayed her fingers to revel in the infinite sky.

  “Enjoying yourself, I see,” Patrick said.

  She closed her eyes and turned slowly around. “Absolutely.” The wind picked up, whistling around the upright antennas that studded the dome of the cloud harvester. On the underside of the structure, kilometers-long whisker probes snaked down into different layers of the cloud deck, analyzing and sending signals to guide the skymine where the ekti concentration was heaviest.

  Patrick came up from behind and slipped his arms around her waist. They stood close in a hug. “I can’t let you fall.”

  “I don’t think I was at risk,” she said as she snuggled up against him, “but you’re welcome to keep holding me steady.”

  A noisy skimmer zoomed out and around the cloud harvester, an airbike that did tricky barrel rolls and loops in the sky. Zhett recognized Kristof flying the thing. “Those stunts are completely unnecessary.”