Eternity's End Read online

  ETERNITY'S

  END

  Jeffrey A. Carver

  A TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK

  NEW YORK

  Books by Jeffrey A. Carver

  The Infinity Link

  The Rapture Effect

  Roger Zelazny's Alien Speedway: Clypsis

  From a Changeling Star

  Down the Stream of Stars

  Battlestar Galactica (novelization)

  The Star Rigger Universe

  Seas of Ernathe

  Star Rigger's Way

  Panglor

  Dragons in the Stars

  Dragon Rigger

  Eternity's End

  The Chaos Chronicles

  Neptune Crossing: Volume One

  Strange Attractors: Volume Two

  The Infinite Sea: Volume Three

  Sunborn: Volume Four

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

  ETERNITY'S END

  Copyright © 2000 by Jeffrey A. Carver

  All rights reserved.

  Author's web site: http://www.starrigger.net/

  This e-book edition has been prepared by the author for a limited, free-distribution offer to the reading public. Read it, enjoy it, share it with friends! But the author's trying to make a living, too, and he reserves the right to withdraw the offer at any time. Commercial and derivative uses are not authorized without express permission from the author or his agent.

  [The following details are reproduced from the Tor hardcover edition of the book, for completeness.]

  Edited by James Frenkel

  Cover art by Stephen Youll

  Ebook design and formatting by Anne King

  A Tor Book

  Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC

  175 Fifth Avenue

  New York, NY 10010

  www.tor-forge.com

  Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Carver, Jeffrey A.

  Eternity's End / Jeffrey A. Carver.—1st ed.

  p. cm.—

  "A Tom Doherty Associates book."

  ISBN 0-312-85642-2 (alk. paper)

  1. Interplanetary voyages—Fiction 2. Life on other planets—Fiction.

  I. Title.

  PS3553.A7892 E84 2000

  813'.54—dc21

  2008034301

  First Edition: December 2000

  Eternity's End

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  PART ONE

  Prologue: Ghost Ship

  Chapter 1: Escape from Captivity

  Chapter 2: Inquest

  Chapter 3: Harriet Mahoney

  Chapter 4: Comrade in Arms

  Chapter 5: Harriet's Way

  Chapter 6: Historical Truths

  Chapter 7: The Fandrang Report

  Chapter 8: Further Truths

  Chapter 9: To the Asteroids

  Chapter 10: El'ken the Historian

  Chapter 11: Decisions

  Chapter 12: Narseil Mission Center

  Chapter 13: Mission Away

  PART TWO

  Prologue: Pirate Patrol: Freem'n Deutsch

  Chapter 14: Pirate Search

  Chapter 15: Capture!

  Chapter 16: Out of the Ashes

  Chapter 17: Faber Eridani

  Chapter 18: Meeting of Minds

  Chapter 19: Into the Heart of Darkness

  Chapter 20: Raid!

  Chapter 21: The Kyber Law

  Chapter 22: Outpost Ivan

  Chapter 23: The Maintainers

  Chapter 24: Joinings

  Chapter 25: Yankee-Zulu/Ivan

  PART THREE

  Prologue: Impris

  Chapter 26: Faber Eridani: Harriet

  Chapter 27: In Search of Impris

  Chapter 28: Ghost Hunting

  Chapter 29: The Flying Dutchman

  Chapter 30: Ghost Ship

  Chapter 31: Splinters in Time

  Chapter 32: Sailing the Quantum Flaw

  Chapter 33: Hunted

  PART FOUR

  Prologue: Awakening

  Chapter 34: The Centrist Connection

  Chapter 35: Maris

  Chapter 36: Return to Ivan

  Chapter 37: Final Analysis

  Chapter 38: Going Public

  Chapter 39: Return to Faber Eridani

  Chapter 40: Power Play

  Chapter 41: Reunion

  Chapter 42: Beginnings

  About the Author

  For my family, with love—

  Allysen, Alexandra, and Julia

  Acknowledgments

  This book took four years to write: forever, it seemed; an impossible task. But at last it is done. I owe more than the usual debt to those who helped me through it, and this is where I get to thank them publicly.

  It's customary to save one's family for the end in this sort of thing, but I'm going to break with custom and start with the very best: my wife Allysen, without whose love and support this book would never have been written. Thanks for that and so much more. And what better fans could any writer ask for than my own smiling daughters? They've spent more time in my office than anyone but me, and I doubt they've known what a wonderful, continual encouragement they were to me. (Note to A. and J.: I look forward to many more years of having you peer over my shoulder asking, "Are you almost done yet, Daddy?") And thanks to my brother, Charles S. Carver; he knows why. (Note: if you happen to be in the fields of personality or social or health psychology, you may know his books, too.)

  Next in line comes my dauntless writing group, more than twenty years old now! Mary Aldridge, Richard Bowker, Craig Gardner, Victoria Bolles. Three times—and more!—they read this book through, in all of its stages of semi-intelligibility. They helped me think through many a complex twist of plot and character, and circled the dumb parts so you wouldn't have to. I am forever grateful. Whatever the flaws in this book, you can't blame them.

  Nor can you blame my friend and editor, Jim Frenkel, who waited patiently, patiently, while I wrote, and rewrote, and rewrote some more. Thanks, Jim—and not just for that, but for the hard editing, too. And while I'm at it, thanks to Tom Doherty and the rest of Tor Books, and my agent Richard Curtis, for letting me take the time I needed, not just to finish the book but to finish it right.

  Thanks are also due to Freeman Deutsch and Noel Friedman, for their generous contributions to the Big Sisters auctions. I hope you enjoy your namesakes' appearances.

  And finally, there's you the reader. Some of you are new; some of you have been waiting a lonnng time for the next book. Some of you, in the CompuServe and SFF Net forums, helped me search for a title. Well, here it is, and welcome aboard! Thanks for waiting, and for all the letters and emails that helped me persevere. You can't imagine how much they meant to me.

  Now, enjoy.

  Arlington, MA

  August, 1999

  PART ONE

  Time is the Image of Eternity

  —Plato

  They who see the Flying Dutchman never,

  never reach the shore.

  —John Boyle O'Reilly

  Prologue

  Ghost Ship

  Streamers of light seemed to coil in slow motion through the corridors of the starship.

  The passengers and crew moved in great straining ripples as they walked through the ship, carrying on the business of living, if living you could call it.

  The passengers breathed and ate and slept, and socialized after a fashion. And the crew carried out their duties, seeing to the needs of the passengers, repairing machinery,
and tending the makeshift hydroponics gardens that supplied the nutritional needs of the five hundred-plus souls on board. The riggers on the bridge continued to search the skies for a way home, peering into the bewildering mists of the Flux and wondering what in the name of creation had gone wrong. Their lives consisted of ennui and bewilderment, interrupted at long intervals by heart-pounding excitement when they sighted another ship... followed inevitably by piercing despair, when their efforts to make contact ended in failure.

  It was a strange and terrifying limbo, here where the starship floated, trapped in some enigmatic layering of the Flux, exiled from the "normal" regions of the Flux—never, it now seemed clear, to restore contact with the universe of its origin. Time had ceased to flow in a rational or comprehensible manner. It wafted through the ship unpredictably, a drafty breath sighing through unseen holes in the walls of eternity.

  Among the passengers was the Jones couple, married on the ship two days after departure, who now passed their time in each other's arms—not in perpetual bliss as they had once imagined, but huddled despairingly in their cabin where time, through some twist of fate, had slowed to an even more glacial crawl than elsewhere on the ship. There they found, if not hope, then at least a hint of sorrowful consolation in each other's company, as their bodies lay entwined in near-stasis.

  In the lounge one level down, a pair of old men played the same game of chess they'd been playing for who knew how many years. Had they ever gotten up to eat or sleep? No one could quite remember. The ship's captain seemed always to be nearby, moving more speedily than the chess players and yet without aging, stumping up and down the corridors, muttering to himself like a tormented Ahab of the stars.

  And in his own cabin, the tailor stared for the thousandth time at a slip-needle and bind-thread as though he had just now found them in his hand. His movements stretched out in ghostly projections; he felt as if his life were hardening in amber. He could not fathom what was happening, and had long ago given up trying. And yet, even as he worked, his thoughts reached out to his sister and her family. It was their homeworld he had been bound for, their home lost now across the twin gulfs of time and space. He no longer held any hope of seeing them again, but he could not stop wondering how much time had passed on the outside, and whether anyone he had known off the ship was still alive.

  With a prolonged sigh, the tailor drew the slip-needle in a slow, glittering slide down the shoulder seam of the coat he was altering. The seam split, and came together again a centimeter to the right. He studied the results for half a lifetime... and then, with great deliberation, moved on to the next stitch.

  Chapter 1

  Escape from Captivity

  Renwald Legroeder's eyes darted frantically, scanning for traffic as he guided the scout craft away from the spacedocks. His heart pounded with fear. No general alarms yet, thank God; but how long could that last? The scout's flux reactor hummed, alive and ready. The rigger-net would spring to life at his command; but first he had to get clear of the outpost.

  The raider outpost loomed like a threatening mountain cliff over his back as he powered the tiny ship away. The spacedocks were an enormous, malignant structure, blotting out most of the view of the Great Barrier Nebula that stretched across the emptiness of space behind him. He felt terribly alone.

  He snapped on the intercom. "Maris—if you can hear me, we're away from the docks!" She couldn't answer, and probably couldn't hear. She was the only other person aboard—the only one with the guts to flee with him.

  Guts—or insanity? Don't be distracted. Switch over now...

  He lurched out of the pilot's seat and climbed into the rigger-station, yanking the secondary maneuvering controls into position over him. The scout crawled toward the departure area; he dared not go faster. Don't draw attention.

  Had they been spotted yet?

  Their only hope was stealth. Any of a dozen ships of the pirate fleet could destroy him at a moment's notice. Clear of the docking zone, he popped thrust toward the inner marker. Gently! He ached to punch full power... to sprint away... Keep it slow, keep to the traffic patterns, don't arouse suspicions...

  About ten minutes had passed since their shootout with the guards at the maintenance docks. Only a miracle would get them away from here and out of pirate space alive.

  Was Maris alive even now? He risked a glance, toggling a monitor to the first-aid compartment. Maris lay in the med-unit, eyes closed, arm flung across her chest. Neutraser burns ran down her neck and shoulder. Life signs flickered on the screen... URGENT: SHOCK: IMMINENT NEURAL FAILURE... He'd started the suppression-field; there was nothing more he could do.

  The com blasted, jolting him back: "SCOUT SIX-NINER-SEVEN. STATE YOUR CLEARANCE."

  His breath caught as he jabbed down the volume. He stalled, keyed the mike, held it as Departure Control repeated its demand through the static. Every second took him a little farther out. If stealth didn't work, confusion might.

  He drew a ragged breath. "Departure Control, Scout Six Niner Seven, emergency departure Bravo Eleven Alfa. No delay, please—answering an emergency call from sector—"

  Something lit up behind him, and he choked off his words. A blaze of lights in the central docking region, and at least one large craft moving out. After him? He scanned hastily. Weapons arrays were coming to life at three key defense points.

  "SCOUT SIX-NINER-SEVEN, TERMINATE YOUR VECTOR AT ONCE. WE HAVE NO EMERGENCY CLEARANCE ACTIVE. BRAKE TO DEAD STOP! PREPARE FOR INSPECTION! REPEAT—"

  Legroeder cursed, shut his eyes for an instant, and hit the fusion thrusters.

  The scout ship rocketed past the marker buoys, shot across traffic lanes, leaving a plasma trail in its wake. Scan ahead, behind... The weapons arrays on the station were opening fire now, a cluster of neutraser bursts glittering against the dark of space. He veered far out of the departure path, away from the direction they'd expect him to flee, and aimed for the guard field that flanked the channel, all energy and spatial distortions. A neutraser beam flashed over his screen.

  Hold tight, Maris!

  Another blaze of neutraser fire caught his port-side sensor, partially blinding him. He veered left, then down, and right. The ship tumbled as it hit the guard field. The hull shuddered, and he nearly lost control. Then he was through the field, into the Dead Man's Zone that enclosed the departure lanes.

  Clouds of plasma swirled over the ship's prow. There was a reason for this place's name. The spatial distortions were nearly impossible to maneuver through. But if he could manage it, pursuit should be impossible.

  A neutraser burst leaked through the field and spun weirdly around the ship. His viewscreen and console began to glow with St. Elmo's fire. He couldn't wait any longer. He slammed the maneuvering controls shut, drew a deep breath, and closed his eyes. At his silent command, the rigger-net billowed out into space, a shimmering sensory web. He caught some fragmentary words on the com: "—Going under in the Zone—must be crazy—!

  And then he reached out with his arms in the net like wings on a plane, and banked the ship down out of the fiery cauldron of normal-space and into the chaos of the Flux.

  * * *

  The star rigger's Flux: a higher-dimensional realm where reality and fantasy became strangely merged, where landscapes of the mind intersected with the real fabric of space, where space itself flowed and surged with movement—and where a rigger's skills could vault him across light-years, or send him spiraling to his death.

  Legroeder was flying in a thunderstorm, wind shear and lightning buffeting and rocking him. His senses stretched through the net into the Flux, as though his head and torso were the bowsprit of the ship. His arms embraced the storm, mists of streaming air coiling through his fingers. He drew around him the only image he could think of: a stubby-winged airplane bouncing through cumulonimbus, stubbornly refusing to surrender.

  The craft bucked violently. It was hard to keep a heading in the turbulence—but he had to, if he was going to get through th
e Dead Man's Zone and out the other side. The raiders had sown mines throughout the Zone, which was almost redundant; the place itself was a natural minefield. Everything was distorted here, normal-space and the Flux alike. A fragmentary remnant of some ancient violence of creation, it was a perfect place of concealment for the raider base. Only a maniac would try what Legroeder was trying now...

  He fought back a rush of fear as he skidded through the wind shear. Why had he thought he could do this? It's impossible!

  No sooner had he thought it than the turbulence grew worse. He realized why, and fought to control himself. His mere thoughts could reverberate disastrously into the Flux; he dared not allow panic or fear.

  Stay calm!

  He drew a long, slow breath and tried to refocus the image. Keep flying the ship. Whatever happens, we're away, better off than before.

  What lay ahead? Mines. Treacherous shoals. Dead ships. But where? Change the image: make it transparent. Sooner imagined than done; the energies swirling before him were too powerful to easily remap. He blinked once to alter the contrast, and now he could make out distant flecks of darkness against the glowing whirlwinds of the storm. Shipwrecks? He couldn't tell.

  WHOOM!

  Something blazed off his port-side, a mine exploding. He veered hard, avoiding damage. His heart raced. The explosion had opened a path through the storm, a shadowy tunnel in the clouds. A way through? It wouldn't last long. He circled back, scanning for pursuit. Nothing: maybe they'd given him up for dead. Fly, now—fly! The currents were tricky; he had to scull with his arms to bring the ship back.

  As he banked into the tunnel, the winds seemed favorable—but at once he sensed his mistake. A trap. He banked hard the other way, back into the current. It was too strong now—it was pulling him into the passage. He cursed and hit the fusion motors—dangerous in the Flux!—and continued thrusting until he'd veered past the opening. At that instant the passage twisted closed, then erupted with a belch of fire. The blast caught his wingtip and snapped him head over heels.