The Restoration of Flaws (The Phantom of the Earth Book 5)

by Zen, Raeden

  Kaspasparon, as always, sensed Brody’s troubles. “The people are praying for her swift recovery, as am I.”

  “There’s only one way to bring her back,” Brody said.

  “The extremophiles,” Pasha said. He let go of Oriana’s hand and stood. Soot still covered his sweaty face. He’d refused to bathe or change out of his ripped bodysuit since they’d arrived in the city, days ago. He never left Oriana’s side. Even with the developmental enhancements and alterations to his physical appearance, he reminded Brody much of Damy with his curly dark blue hair and sharp tongue.

  “Do you believe you can travel to the Earth’s core?” Kaspasparon asked.

  “I do,” Brody said assuredly, though he had his doubts. While he’d been pulled to the center of Vigna by the Lorum, that exoplanet was their home world, where they’d mastered their planetary machine. Before Reassortment, transhumans had mined much of the Earth’s crust but neither they nor Livellans nor Beimenians had penetrated the mantle, much less the outer or inner cores.

  “How?” Kaspasparon wanted to know.

  “The Lorum will guide us,” Pasha said.

  Brody had learned about Antosha’s experimentation with the Lorum orb on his son and Dr. Shrader. “The Lorum may not be what they seem, son.”

  “I agree,” Kaspasparon said, “do you think we can truly trust the Lorum?” The minister took long strides across the thick rug ringed by dragon’s tails. He looked down to Oriana and scrunched his brow. “We’ve seen what they can do.”

  Brody leaned over his daughter and pushed her long hair away from her face, placing it behind her ear. The thought that his baby had saved them all had filled him with joy, never more so than when the people chanted her name upon their arrival to Portage City. He held her hand, and though it felt warm and alive to his touch, Brody didn’t truly know whether she still lived the way a transhuman should—with a consciousness and free will. Nor did he know if ever her body and mind could be reunited.

  “You’re right,” Pasha said. “We’ll have to speak with her.” He turned to his father. “Captain Holcombe and his strike team served at Candor Chasma on Mars before they returned to the Earth. He told us he communicated with the Lorum through the ansible. We should—”

  “The problem is that Antosha recalled all the teams in the solar system to the commonwealth for his inauguration. It’ll take some time before we could redeploy to Mars, given the damage caused by the BP—”

  “That’s not good enough!” Pasha said. He stood abruptly and put his hand on his forehead.

  Much of his mother in him, Brody thought. He sighed. “Pasha, look at me.” His son turned, bristling. “Heywood intercepted the signals sent by the Lorum through the ZPF during the battle.” Brody learned that Antosha had enhanced the z-wall that he’d installed around the Lorum orb after the Mark ceremony. The Lorum broke through it and transmigrated to the Earth after Antosha perished. “He thinks he can replicate their methodology.”

  “You’ve lost me, Captain,” Kaspasparon said.

  Pasha’s expression brightened. “Heywood believes he can reverse engineer an ansible capable of instantaneous communication from the Earth.” He looked at Oriana and smiled sadly. “The Lorum did this to her,” he said. He spoke louder. “I want her back, I want to lead the Mission to the Earth’s Core.” He turned to his father. “When will this new ansible be ready?”

  Brody thought his son now sounded much like himself and Nero after development, brash, confident, and oblivious to the dangers surrounding them: a commonwealth in disrepair; an imminent, unsustainable population explosion; dissension in Underground North, South, East, and West; a capital city destroyed; millions and millions of refugees; and most alarming of all—Reassortment seepage near the Beimeni zone.

  It was enough to make Brody’s head explode.

  He looked out the window nearest him as if he’d find the solutions to the dilemmas facing his people and his family in the Portagen horizon. He wished he had all the answers to their problems, to the Reassortment Strain, to the extremophiles, the treaty with the Lorum, and to his daughter’s transmigration back to the Earth.

  “Father?” Pasha said.

  Brody found his voice. “The Earth-based ansible should be ready by the first trimester next year.”

  “The Lorum will die before then,” Pasha insisted, “and take Oriana to the grave with them.”

  “I’ll go to Huelel myself to oversee Heywood’s progress,” Brody said.

  “No,” Kaspasparon said, looking at Pasha, “your son should go. He’s familiar with the Lorum’s transmissions.” Kaspasparon paused, stepping closer to Brody. “The commonwealth will turn to you now, they’ll seek your leadership in reconstruction of their country below and aboveground. The ministry and board will be voting this afternoon to reinstate you to Supreme Scientist of Reassortment, which by Beimeni law would make you the chancellor-designate.”

  “What about Tethys?” Brody asked. “Wasn’t he appointed the next prime minister?”

  “Aye,” Kaspasparon admitted, “but he didn’t take his oath of office. I expect the ministry to again confirm his designation but the line of succession will be maintained. You will become the chancellor-designate and, I expect, the second Chancellor of the Great Commonwealth of Beimeni.”

  Brody licked his dried lips, nodding. “It sounds like we all have a lot to do, best get to it.” There wasn’t anything more he could do for Oriana by her side, and Kaspasparon was right; his people needed him, none more so than those trapped in the Lower Level.

  Brody left the citadel and Portage City in a synsuit. He traveled to Farino Prison with more than a million Janzers, survivors of the Battle for Beimeni City, who carried enough synsuits and Vitex to liberate the Lower Level exiles. They took the same elevators Brody had traveled in not long ago, going deeper into the Earth. They arrived at the edge of the Infernus Sea. They sailed on the carbyne vessel across the churning magma, and when they arrived at the other end, Brody rushed through the registration area. He took another elevator down into the Lower Level and Region 7 and searched. Dead bodies were strewn about. Where could they be? Then Brody rushed to the elevator to the mine. When the doors opened, he dashed out. He stopped. He gasped.

  Millions and millions of exiles had gathered in Black Square!

  The survivors startled at first when the hoard of Janzers poured into the mine. Many of them scattered. Others screamed. All distrusted the Janzer host until Brody declared, “My people, you have nothing to fear. We’re all going home!”

  The exiles soon calmed and Brody ordered the Janzers to inject them all with Vitex. He learned that they’d stormed the High Castle of the Controller and killed the overseer of the Lower Level. Part of Brody was relieved the Controller received justice, but another part of him was disappointed he didn’t deliver it himself. He watched as the Janzers fit the survivors into synsuits, then brought them back to the Beimeni zone in trip after trip after trip across the Infernus Sea.

  That’s one, Brody thought, when the last of the exiles emerged in Farino Prison. They, along with the prisoners on the islands who survived the war, were sent to refugee camps spread about Zereaux, Farino, and Xerean Territories.

  Next, Brody changed into a white bodysuit with the mark of the strike teams woven over his chest. He took several transports until he arrived at the Outer Boundary Village where he’d attend the Selendia funeral. By the time he arrived, he learned from Minister Kaspasparon that the ministry had reinstated him as Supreme Scientist of Reassortment, which by design made him chancellor-designate. Brody prayed he’d be the leader the people deserved, the leader he’d wished Chancellor Masimovian would’ve been, fair, reasonable, and wise.

  He entered Mission Control, where Nero, Verena, Aera, and Jocelyn greeted him at the top layer of the conical-shaped room. They also wore white bodysuits with the mark of the strike teams woven over their chests, even the little girl. Brody knelt to her.

  “I remember you from the
Spa of Delphi,” he said, “and Portage Citadel.” He flicked one of Jocelyn’s sausage curls. “I heard what you did at the Volano Gates, tricking the Janzers.” He hugged her. “I’m glad you survived the war, Miss Jocelyn.”

  “So am I,” Jocelyn said.

  When Brody stood, Verena embraced him and asked, “How is Oriana?”

  “She’s breathing,” Brody said. He stepped back, holding Verena at arm’s length. “Her body’s here.” He looked up, then to his former strategist. “Her consciousness is with the Lorum inside Vigna, I hope.”

  We’ll get her back, Brodes,” Nero said, pulling his captain away from Verena, holding him close. “I promise.”

  “I know,” Brody said. He cupped Nero’s cheek and jaw with his hand. “I knew you’d find a way to survive.”

  “Likewise.”

  “I also heard about your parents. I’m so sorry. I’ll help you find your biological father, with all the resources I have.”

  Nero swiped his nose. “Fair enough.” Whether it was anguish or anger in Nero’s face, Brody couldn’t tell. He knew his brother-in-development hated his parents for abandoning him. But now that Nero had learned the truth—that his mother saved him from his stepfather’s wrath—did that change how he felt about them?

  Brody turned to Aera. She gave him a slight bow. She looked thinner than he remembered when he’d seen her in Blackeye Cavern, but not as sickly as he’d heard she’d become in Farino Prison; the Janzers had been ordered by Lady Isabelle to starve the First Aera to weaken her.

  “Will you rejoin the teams?” Brody asked.

  “I never left them,” Aera said.

  Brody gave her a slight smile, then peered down into Mission Control’s conical room. The strike teams lined layer after layer of it, all the captains, strategists, strikers, and aeras who had survived the Battle for Beimeni City. Connor stood at the bottommost layer next to General Mariner and the fossilized remains of his family, which lay in a half-opened missile casket. The boy no longer looked like the underdeveloped Polemon whom Brody had first met in Blackeye Cavern. Instead, he appeared much like Jeremiah, with a trimmed beard that swooped from ear to ear, sharp facial features, a crested hairline, long uncombed hair, leather boots tied at his ankles and knees, and a tanned fur-lined cape.

  Nero put his hand on Brody’s shoulder. “After you, Cap …” Nero hesitated. “Chancellor.”

  It was odd for Brody to hear that word uttered for him, even from his former striker’s lips. He moved swiftly down the stairs with his former strike team beside him. When he arrived at the bottommost layer, he greeted Connor, who said, “My chancellor, you honor my family with a burial worthy of the strike teams.”

  Brody glanced down at the fossilized remains of Jeremiah Selendia, Solstice Rupel, Johann Selendia, Maribel Hunter, and Zorian Selendia, their arms draped over one another. Brody had ordered the Janzers to retrieve Solstice’s and Maribel’s bodies from a graveyard in Piscator, Jeremiah’s from Gaia, and Zorian’s from Artemis Square. The Janzers sent them all to quarantine in Area 55, where Johann’s body remained interred. Undertaker bots in quarantine first exposed Johann’s body to gamma radiation to destroy any trace of Reassortment, then placed his body with the others in sediment. By adjusting the heat and pressure surrounding the bodies, the bots quickened the fossilization processes, turning them into external molds.

  “We were wrong about your father,” Brody said. “I hope you can forgive us.” Connor nodded, his eyes glossy. Brody inclined his head, staring at the teams. He sensed their unease with this ceremony. “Jeremiah Selendia atoned for any wrong the teams hold against him.” Brody paused. “For those of you who were privileged to know our last commander, Vastar Alalia, I don’t have to tell you he’d also approve of what we’re doing for the Selendia family.

  “For those of you born after his death, you should know that Vastar was the kindest, gentlest, toughest man I ever knew, a man who would’ve viewed the ultimate sacrifices made by this family worthy of the strike teams and our ultimate cause, to protect the people of the underground.” Many of the teams, including the Holcombe Strike Team, moved their chins up and down.

  Brody telekinetically lifted a z-disk from his belt and handed it to Connor, who looked upon it in wonderment. Connor activated the z-disk, and its signals sent instructions for E. pigmentation into his neurochip and skin cells. He rolled up his sleeve and smiled. The mark of the strike teams soon formed in his skin, decorating his forearm.

  Brody raised his voice. “The Selendia family gave their lives so that we can stand here today, free to think, free to let our emotions control us rather than us feigning our thoughts and emotions, knowing that if we failed to do so, we might be sent to the Lower Level, or worse … the surface.”

  Brody looked at Connor, who stared at the fossilized indentation of Hans, then turned back to the strike teams. “For their service to transhumankind we will send this great family to the Twin Gods of the Cosmos, the way we’ve done for all our fallen comrades in the past and,” Brody put his hand upon Connor’s forearm, over the mark, “name Cornelius Selendia an honorary strike team member.” Applause echoed throughout the room.

  A carbyne cylinder rotated around the fossilized bodies, closing the missile casket. General Mariner hand-signaled his engineers on the bottommost layer, who operated six workstations, and the casket moved forward, as did Brody and Connor, their elbows locked.

  “I shall never forget this, my chancellor,” Connor said. “I’m at the commonwealth’s service for as long as I live.”

  Brody patted Connor’s arm. “We owe you more than you could ever give.”

  The missile casket entered the silo, then lifted perpendicular to the launchpad. The sounds of rotating carbyne sheets echoed throughout Mission Control as each layer in the silo opened and as the launchpad moved up, up, up to the surface of the Earth. Granville panels in all the territories where they functioned displayed the launch as the fuel ignited and smoke billowed above the launchpad.

  The missile took off, flying into the clouds to the edge of the Earth’s atmosphere and finally, outer space, where the commonwealth’s satellites picked it up.

  “Goodbye, Mother, Father, Mari, and my brothers,” Connor said. A tear streaked down his cheek. “You will be missed.” The rocket disappeared from view as it sailed into the void.

  That’s two, Brody thought. He spent the rest of the evening catching up with the strike team survivors, and at the end of night he agreed the Comb Cove should be reopened. Verena, Nero, and Aera would make sure it happened in all haste. That’s three.

  Livelle City

  Natura, Underground West

  The next morning, Brody and a Janzer division took an interterritory transport to Livelle City, then an intracity transport to Livelle Cemetery, where Antosha’s body had been prepared for burial. It didn’t surprise him that no one else attended. The Janzers carried a canoe with Antosha’s body inside. Together with Brody they descended the cliffs beside the Zwillerzweller River, then trudged along the shoreline to where a network of prehistoric streams snaked into the underground, deeper into the Earth’s crust.

  The Janzers placed the canoe at the side of one of those streams. Inside the canoe, across many slats, the former supreme scientist of the Regenesis and Reassortment projects, and the former supreme chancellor-designate of the Great Commonwealth of Beimeni lay. His face looked less grotesque, molded by undertaker bots, while his arms lay folded across his chest.

  Brody didn’t know why he carried Antosha’s body out of Masimovian Tower during the Battle for Beimeni City. Later on, he realized a part of him wanted to believe his former shadow survived, somehow, that perhaps the Antosha he knew before he discovered the Lorum and before Haleya Decca’s death might awaken, replacing the demon he’d turned into. Of course, that didn’t happen, and against the strike teams’ wishes, Brody had ordered Antosha’s body prepped for an offering to the Earth. This was how the Elders, the mortal skilled telepaths who had h
elped Chancellor Livelle create the strike teams, had sent off their deceased.

  Now Brody used the ZPF to push the canoe off the shoreline, and it eased into the murky water. Slowly, then swiftly, the current took the canoe, and Antosha. He would follow the way of the Earth’s geological history, its layers beneath the continental crust, and onward to the mantle. Brody hoped he would find some peace in death that he couldn’t find here, reunited with his beloved Haleya, as some part of Brody longed to join his eternal partner, even now.

  That’s four, Brody thought when he lost sight of Antosha’s canoe.

  He connected to the ZPF and to the Pendant of the Chancellor. All the Janzers who remained in the commonwealth, besides those with him, had gathered in Beimeni City’s ruins, awaiting his orders. When Brody arrived at the rebuilt Tortonia Station, he questioned whether the rubble strewn about the great city for kilometer after kilometer was the city he’d lived in with Damy for so many decades. Ash danced in the dusty air, as did the smell of burnt minerals and death. Scaffolding scattered throughout the burned-out wards where the engineering consortiums collaborated to rebuild the homes for more than fifteen million people, many of whom had perished during the Evolutionary War’s final battle.

  Brody stepped over the soot of North Boardwalk and onto the charred marble of Artemis Square, where more than one million Janzers lined up in row after row after row before him. What was he to do with them? Surely he’d not commission the creation of more, but he couldn’t bring himself to punish those who’d survived the war, either; incapable of reproduction, without athanasia they’d eventually perish of old age. Indeed, the more Brody thought about it, the more he realized no one in the Great Commonwealth should have access to athanasia, at least not until the population growth rate settled to a more sustainable rate.

  One problem at a time, he thought. He moved through their lines, observing them. Without their helmets, visors, and body armor, they did resemble Chancellor Masimovian with their curly brownish-gold hair, dark brownish-red eyes, trimmed goatees, pointed noses, high cheek bones, and pouty lips.