Eternity's End
ETERNITY'SEND
A TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK
(novelization)
Volume One
Volume Two
Volume Three
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
Chapter 1: Escape from Captivity
Chapter 7: The Fandrang Report
Chapter 10: El'ken the Historian
Chapter 12: Narseil Mission Center
Prologue: Pirate Patrol: Freem'n Deutsch
Chapter 19: Into the Heart of Darkness
Chapter 26: Faber Eridani: Harriet
Chapter 27: In Search of
Impris
Chapter 29: The Flying Dutchman
Chapter 32: Sailing the Quantum Flaw
Chapter 34: The Centrist Connection
Chapter 39: Return to Faber Eridani
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.