Eternity's Mind (39 page)

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 CDF 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.

“I am aware of Terry's condition and I understand the human need not to raise false hope,” OK continued. “You can trust me to provide you with an accurate and objective assessment of potential medical treatments. Have you also reviewed the records of more recent Rakkem studies?”

Xander shuddered at the thought of the biological black market. “I don't want to be sold any snake oil.”

“None of the proposed treatments involve reptilian distillates in any form. Some experiments, however, investigated the ability of lizards to regrow severed tails as a possible means of restoring the degenerated spinal nerves that patients such as Terry Handon suffer.”

Xander rolled his eyes. “Not quite what I meant, OK.”

With the compy beside him, he called up the records old Omar had given him, reviewing the summaries and case studies. There were images of patients before and after, success stories of people who seemed able to walk again following the new treatment. Such test cases supposedly suffered from the same form of neurological degeneration that Terry did. Cleanly severed spinal nerves and damaged legs had been reparable for some time, but Terry's condition was intrinsic to his nervous system, and the motor control from his brain was disrupted.

“Can we find any of these patients?” Xander asked. “I'd like to interview them in person to verify that this isn't just an elaborate scam.”

“Due to medical legal requirements, the names of all patients are confidential. Their identities are not revealed in these studies, so we are unable to speak with them.”

“In other words, we just have to take the researchers at their word—and their price tag.”

“I can provide no further information, Xander Brindle. I've reviewed their medical tests thoroughly, and some work is indeed connected to less-than-reputable biomerchants. Since Rakkem has been shut down, we will be forced to rely on secondary providers.”

Xander felt a lump in his throat, as he experienced second thoughts. Terry was happy, claimed he didn't need his legs, and got along just fine. Xander couldn't dispute that, but every time he walked through Kett headquarters on Earth or hurried down the normal-grav corridors in Newstation, he was reminded that Terry couldn't do the same thing. Surely he wanted to be whole again.

On the other hand, Xander couldn't forget the wife of the Dremen colony leader, who had been tricked into paying for a skin and body rejuvenation “miracle.” The treatment had caused her to reject her own skin, so that it sloughed off in great chunks, leaving her body a flayed mass of suppurating muscles. He recalled the horrific sight of her lying moaning on her medical bed while the enraged colony leader forced them to watch, because the
Verne
had inadvertently delivered more of Rakkem's “miracle treatments.”

Xander felt nauseated to think of Terry suffering something that way if a treatment went wrong. The risk was too great. On the other hand, if it really was a cure …

He studied the medical claims again, noting that the researcher made no guarantees, offered no refunds, promised no satisfaction. Instead, the man was selling the experimental treatment entirely on hope and faith. And although Xander had plenty of both, he wasn't sure he wanted to apply it here.

Omar Selise sent another message, in text this time, to Xander's private message slot. “Anything yet? Does my grandson have hope?”

He answered, “Not yet. Still checking. And hoping…”

 

CHAPTER

68

LEE ISWANDER

When he went to see his wife on Newstation, Iswander made every effort to hide how discouraged he was. He had made an agreement with Londa long ago that each of them had their own roles, and he would be the good husband she expected. He would not bring home the burdens of his business and weigh her down with his stresses.

He had Elisa Enturi, Alec Pannebaker, and any number of line supervisors and crew chiefs with whom he could discuss operational difficulties or management problems. His home life with Londa was an island of refuge.

He could have had a more dynamic spouse, a partner at his side in all things, with whom he could build a grand Iswander empire—a partner like Elisa, for instance, whose mindset was the same as his, with the determination and drive to focus on success.

But that wasn't what Iswander wanted in a wife. He had thought long and hard before asking Londa to marry him. It was all part of his plan, and Londa had her own plans. He knew exactly what he wanted, and she got exactly what she needed in her role. Others might not understand. Why didn't Londa want to run a division of Iswander Industries? Why didn't she put her name in the ring for political office?

Instead, she built the home that Iswander required, provided a safe haven that let him be what he needed to be. Because she did her part so smoothly, he realized he often didn't notice her—and that was unfair.

Now, when he went to see Londa in her new quarters, he set aside his resentment over how the clans had treated him. Instead, he felt happy and welcome, and she greeted him with a warm smile. The new suite was bright, beautiful, cozy.

“I fit right in here, Lee,” she said. “I didn't want to leave you out there, but Newstation feels like home to me. I can see Arden as often as I like.” Her expression clouded. “There are still a lot of people angry at you.”

“I'm sorry,” he told her, looking around at the new furniture, the decorations. It all seemed just right. “I'm an ambitious man. I've taken risks, and at times there have been costs—like on Sheol. But if I never attempted anything, I would never accomplish anything.” He put a hand on her arms. “I'm sorry for the hurt it causes you, though.”

She straightened and looked at him with a bright intensity in her eyes. “It doesn't hurt me—it makes me angry at those complainers. And believe me, I've given them a piece of my mind. I said I would listen to their grumbling the moment one of them achieved a tenth of what you have.” She sniffed. “You've changed the Spiral Arm. You've helped the Confederation more than anyone can know. And they were all perfectly happy to buy your stardrive fuel.”

He clenched his jaws, refraining from telling her that none of the Roamers wanted to buy his ekti-X after all, but he felt a surprised warmth to hear her talk. “You don't need to stand up for me like that. I don't care what fools think.”

“
I
care what they think,” she said. “And I do have to stand up for you. You're my husband. I'm an Iswander. This isn't just about our lives, but our legacy. Arden faces the same criticism at Academ.”

“I know,” Iswander said. “I'm sure he resents me, but he'll get over it. I know how strong he is.”

Londa drew back, looking astonished. “He doesn't resent you! You're his father, Lee. He's proud of you.”

He took a seat in their spacious relaxing room, and Londa sat beside him, facing him. He noted the artwork she had placed on the walls, how she had picked some of his favorite things: Roamer tapestries, Ildiran glass knots, even an illuminated prisdiamond that glowed from its stand.

He considered her statement. “Do you really think Arden is proud of me?” He didn't often consider his son's opinion of him. Arden was well aware of the Sheol tragedy and how many people had been lost in the lava disaster. He also understood that his father had been disgraced in the Speaker election. And because of Elisa's crimes—which became Iswander's crimes in the minds of Roamers—the Iswander name was more stained than ever. What must Arden think?

“Of course he's proud of you. He's told me that many times. You can see it in his eyes, if you look. He wants to be just like you.” She touched his hand and leaned close. “Lee Iswander, you listen to me. You told me yourself that the road to success is full of bumps and potholes. If it was easy, everyone could get there, but smooth roads don't lead to the most rewarding destinations.”

“I said that?” he asked with half a smile.

“More than once.”

“Then you must be married to a very wise man. Thank you for reminding me.” He leaned back on the sofa and put his arm around her. “Should we have Arden over for dinner? Can we bring him from Academ that quickly?”

“I'll arrange it.”

Ordinarily, Iswander would have taken them to celebrate at a fine restaurant, but he didn't want to deal with surly managers or resentful stares from other customers. He needed peaceful time with his family.

Londa didn't ask what he wanted to eat. He'd always been satisfied with whatever she suggested. His appetite right now was for an evening in his sanctuary. He would not waste that time talking about business or his disappointments and frustrations. He would just spend time with Londa and Arden and listen to what they had to say about their lives. He didn't often have a chance—no, he corrected himself, he didn't often
take
the chance—to get to know his wife and son. It was an opportunity he didn't want to miss.