Jump.
The second jump was worse than the first.
Colors and temperatures jumbled into flashing, searing extremes that lasted forever, yet did not, before pummeling Van into a deep blackness.
At some time, he slowly woke, his breathing ragged, held in place only by the acceleration harness of the command couch. He lifted his head.
Electric pain surged through every nerve, and another wave of blackness engulfed him.
The second time he woke, countless spiderwebs of pain seared through his arms and legs, and the emptiness of the Dharel system pulsed through his optic nerves like a dance of infinitesimal and unending needles.
He made one course correction, then another.
In time, and it could have been hours or days, the Joyau neared the gas giant around which orbited the unseen and unseeable Farhkan installation.
Van had to concentrate on each word he pulsed into the darkness beyond the Joyau, hoping that the station was there, somewhere. Farhka station Two…Coalition ship Joyau, code name Double Negative…pilot Albert … What else was he supposed to say? What else…oh, the patron……patron Rhule Ghere, request assistance…medical assistance…
Van had to close his eyes, but that barely helped against the pain that seemed everywhere within him. Time passed.
More time passed.
Ship Joyau, pilot Albert, you are cleared for approach and locking. Do you have the beacon?
Farhka Station…affirmative…have the beacon. Proceeding…
Van made each correction deliberately, carefully, but he still slewed the Joyau into the dampers, and for a moment, feared the ship would rebound. The Farhkan dampers held, unlike human ones, Van thought.
You…may unlock and enter the station…
Van fumbled with the harness. He had to visualize each movement to get his fingers to move. Then he floated up in the null gee and slammed into the bulkhead aft of the command couch.
He did manage to check the atmospherics before cracking the lock.
He took one step beyond the lock, into full grav, and his legs collapsed.
Van just sat there in the gray corridor that smelled musky and clean until the blackness tapped him on the shoulder, and he fell over.
Chapter 97
The blackness lifted, but the grayness that replaced it was filled with white-and-red pain. Then a greenish coolness swept across Van, followed by a deeper darkness. Words and thoughts marched through him from somewhere, but he could understand none of them, not before the restful green carried him away once more.
Van woke abruptly, his head clear. He lay on something that was neither a recliner nor a medcenter bed, but partook of both. A thin sheet of something lay across him, folded back to his waist. The first thing he noticed was that he didn’t hurt. Looking at the gray bulkheads didn’t send knives into his skull, nor did thinking and wondering where he was. After all that had happened, he felt relatively good. He should have been sore, aching, not to mention discouraged, overwhelmed, and depressed. He didn’t, and that worried him. What had happened? Was he truly in the Farhkan station?
You may dress. Do not be alarmed. Someone will be with you shortly. The all-too-clear words scrolled through his mind. They had the Farhkan overtone, the one he could not describe, but felt so clearly.
Van sat up, looking around, finally locating his shipsuit, hanging from…something beside the bulkhead. Beneath it were under-clothes, and his boots. He eased back the thin grayish covering. His body, what of it he could see without a mirror, looked normal, without scars, without change. He eased off the med-table-recliner. His legs held him as he walked to the clothing. He dressed quickly and pulled on the boots.
A Farhkan appeared. Van did not see how he entered the room, but he did recognize Erelon Jhare. The clean/musky scent intensified.
I must be better, or I’d be seeing Dr. Fhale.
Dr. Fhale has already seen you and done what was required.
What was that?
You were injured. Your gross physical injuries were not excessively severe, but the damage to your nerve and mental systems would have rendered you unable to function normally and caused you to die at an early age, even for a human. That was judged to be unacceptable. So Dr. Fhale reconstructed those aspects of your being in a more durable fashion.
He rebuilt me? Van glanced down at his chest and abdomen. I didn’t look any different.
You would not.
While the Farhkan’s words had not been spoken, as had also been the case the last time he was on the station, Van now sensed them far more clearly than ever before.
That is true. Your implant has been removed and integrated into your neural functions. It is more effective that way.
Thank you. I don’t think I would have made it back to Perdya.
You would not have. You created some damage in docking here, and your ship was failing. We repaired that as well.
Have I been here that long? Or could the Farhkans do miracles with ships as well?
You have been here some time. Several months of your time.
Thank you.
It is a form of payment.
Payment? I didn’t do…
No…you must repay the debts incurred by the other and by your own actions. You would not have lived long enough to do so had Dr. Fhale not reconstructed and strengthened certain of your aspects…
Debts? Is that why you’re here?
You will need many centuries to rectify what you have done. You misapplied the technology the human Desoll obtained. So did he.
What would you have had us do? Let more millions be enslaved and murdered over generations?
Always…you think in terms of absolutes.
Those words ignited an anger close to fury in Van. He forced his response to be as cool as he could make it. No. I do not think in terms of absolutes. Neither did Trystin. But all too many humans in positions of power do. They exploit the nature of other humans to seek and obtain simple and absolute answers. The universe does not allow such simple answers. The result is unethical, immoral, and impossibly cruel behavior. Trystin worked for years trying not to use absolute means, but absolute
