He hated the quiet.
He disliked the emptiness that lay between states of active consciousness. While every death remained unique from the one before, all instances shared certain similarities in physical sensation and mundane forms of psychological stress.
In the beginning, silence always met him.
Therefore, whatever the desirability of said state, the most intelligent course of action lay in accepting this fact with some attempt at grace...even introspection.
Philosophical musings should accompany death, he thought, no matter how temporary. Death, like life, should not be viewed as being without consequence. This mental ritual contained a vestigial superstition and yet, Terian liked the idea of being appreciative of his own ample gifts, particularly those of his mind and character.
Gradually, memory began its stealthy return, too.
Pieces of his past filtered through Terian’s consciousness like leaves falling in cold wind. Some stuck, eliminating gaps.
Technically, all of his memories had been connected to this new body since the raw technique of transfer, but with every body came a new set of nonphysical structures, a combination of Terian’s mind and the mind of whomever’s body he now wore. Gaps remained while his aleimi relearned pathways to access the material world.
More time passed.
He applied pressure to the process of his rebirth, trying to access his previous body’s final moments. This early remembering took work, mainly in the form of separating his own, multi-life memories from those of the body he now wore...which of course carried only one mortal life’s worth. Well, really, not even that.#p#分页标题#e#
Terian liked his bodies young.
When they finally surfaced, the images and sensations came with no warning, a movie that began and ended without prompt or fanfare. A shadow rose from the dark; Terian heard the sound of another’s stressed breathing. The touch of wet fingers flattened his forehead, grinding his head into soaked ground littered with pebbles and sharp leaves. He saw a dull flash of jagged metal, felt a shocking splash of warmth on his neck and face.
Dehgoies Revik. Of course.
If he could have, Terian would have chuckled. His friend was perhaps not so changed after all. Perhaps there was still a lot of the old Revi’ in him, even now.
Terian should have brought more than one body.
As he thought it, a shadow fell over him, blocking the white, pock-marked ceiling.
“Sir?” a voice said. “It is too soon. You must rest.”
Fatigue encumbered him, a stress borne of birthing, of straining back to life...even as drugs aided his return to a blissfully dreamless sleep.
Does he remember? a familiar voice said over him.
Terian cannot open his eyes.
He floats over himself, watching as they speak within his mind like it were a conference room on one of Galaith’s many private planes. Terian hovers there, listens.
He remembers his death, she comments.
It was Dehgoies, was it not?
Her thoughts turn affirmative. The images we’ve pulled indicate that is probable. Would you like to see?
The other’s light indicates yes.
She plays the memories, as one plays a film excerpt, or a video from television.
Ah. The voice sighs as its owner watches, but the emotion behind it feels complex, a flavor of pride mixed with regret. His words remain all business. Are you checking for anomalies each time our Terian returns to a new body? Each and every time, Xarethe...no exceptions?
Yes, she says, her voice stiffly certain. He is not resurrected without a thorough examination, father Galaith. There are no anomalies. No irregularities of any kind.
There is another silence while he thinks about her words.
She breaks it, her voice cautious that time.
Sir, if you don’t mind my asking. Dehgoies. Is it strictly necessary that he—
I do mind, Xarethe, Galaith’s voice holds the faintest of warnings. Ensure that our friend Terian remains stable, happy and free of any disturbing thoughts with which any good and loyal friend of mine should not be burdened. And ask him to contact me as soon as he is able...
Of course, she sends.
...As she speaks, the voices begin to fade from Terian’s hearing, drifting from his consciousness like a boat blown further and further away by a cool breeze.
The next time he woke, the old doctor was there in person, bent over the main monitor.
How long have I been out? he sent to her.
She made a few final adjustments before she glanced down at him, smiling. “Approximately thirty-two hours in total, brother.”
Terian blinked, tried to move his jaw. It remained sore.
Tracking has continued? he sent.
“Of course.”
How many?
“Three squads. And we have utilized the human media.”
Where is he now? he sent. Dehgoies.
“We are still compiling the last set of memories,” Xarethe said, rather than answering him. When she looked over next, she smiled. “Your diligence is noteworthy, brother. But your recent imprints of his light will have to be collated before we will have a realtime track. Until then, the usual channels are being utilized.”