Excerpt: The Index, Book 4: Revival

The operating theatre was what one may expect from any other hospital setting across the civilized universe: brightly lit, starkly white and clean of any and all intruding agents. The operating table was a single, thin plate of sheet metal that hovered seemingly of its own volition in the center of the room and an enormous computer screen took up the entire wall of the hexagonal structure.

The computer console was directly in front of the operating table and, though there were no wires, there was a small table next to the console with a small camera-like instrument: a round ball with three distinct lenses that would hover to the patient and screen their body as the surgeon worked.

The anesthesia machine was another round ball, one that would sit on the patient’s body, on a part that the surgeon wouldn’t need to touch and administer the variety of draughts and modern medications to keep the patient from feeling anything until the surgeon was done.

Many breakthrough procedures had taken place in this room and many lives of various origins were saved. There were countless survivors of otherwise deadly illnesses, debilitating injuries, traumatic battles and otherwise that owed their lives to Akkiru and Krianau’s medical skills, as well as anyone who ever served as their understudies.

This time, however, the anesthesia machine was turned off – today, it was not needed. The person whose body was laid out on the table brought back an unpleasant reminder that the Galactic Hospital also doubled as the morgue – the final stopping point for all Cosmic-affiliated personnel who did not die by natural means or whose death was under investigation. Regardless of where the spirit went to, or if it did at all, the body’s final stopping point before burial was under Akkiru’s scalpel in this very room.

Akkiru’s slate-gray eyes closed for a moment as the surgeon bowed his head in a show of respect for the Mage on the table. He was on this table himself once, his entire skeleton being reset by a team of his own understudies; he had friends and foes alike laid out on this table and most of them walked away from this table, thanking him for his services, whether or not they had a personal connection of any kind. This table was meant, first and foremost, for the purpose of saving lives.

This life could not be saved and, as a medical practitioner, it did not sit well with Akkiru in the least.

Why..? And…how?

Of all the people he encountered on this table, Akkiru did not relish the idea that one day, he would find a friend in front of him with an opened case file in need of an autopsy report. It was the less pleasant part of being the chief surgeon; the investigation of deaths of those close to him. Necessary, and at the same time, it took so much out of him that he often wondered if he truly wanted to remain in his position. As a doctor, he had a certain amount of objectivity, which went out the window the minute that he encountered a familiar face.

Krianau, his son, the half-Mage that worked as his second-in-command, had a far easier time with detaching and thus served as the coroner in addition to his medical duties. However, Shourron I asked Akkiru specifically to perform this autopsy, not so much out of the doubt for Krianau’s abilities, but out of respect for the surgeon and the Mages as a whole – honoring one of their own by working with another of their own to find out the hard questions.

Akkiru was beyond surprised when he received the request. The relationship between himself and Shourron I was still somewhat strained, but nonetheless respectful and, despite his personal misgivings and post-trauma at the elder Shourron’s earlier deeds, Akkiru did not refuse.

“I am sorry for your loss,” he said once the former High Mage entered and took in the latter’s red-rimmed eyes, somber countenance and pained gaze. “I can’t imagine this is easy for you.”

“This will…definitely…not be easy,” Shourron said softly. “Aside from ‘Nara, Shou was the first to treat me like a family member after…well, you know.”

He didn’t have to finish his sentence; Akkiru knew very well what he was remembering and reached over to put a calming hand on his shoulder.

“You don’t have to be here, you know.”

“I must. This is my son.”

Akkiru released a long sigh and approached the table where Shourron II lay, still fully robed. Telekinetically, he activated the computer console and initiated the recording module.

“Case file number M289-ARJ19,” he said, his voice clear, strong and somber. “The victim’s name is Shourron II. Origin is Mage, of a dual elemental inclination, air and ice. Stands at two meters, average build for his height. Born on Jemeria to Shourron I and Vannara, twin brother is Makkian. Brought in dead on arrival by Jason of Earth after battle.”

Victim…

Shourron I remained silent as Akkiru opened the case recording but couldn’t help but shiver at the words. The finality of his son’s death was still sinking in and the autopsy, however defining in his hunt for closure, only drove the point further that his son, his firstborn and one named after him, was never coming home.

Could someone have killed him because of what I had done..?

The possibility was certainly there; Shourron could not ignore it, but he couldn’t fathom how it could be possible.

“The victim presents with facial abrasions and contusions that originate from an ambush fight. Aftertraces of energy point to at least three assailants in regards to facial contusions alone. The victim’s robes present with a variety of energetic attacks, originating from five distinct sources, some simultaneous. The robes are burnt away over the heart, no scorch marks.”

Akkiru’s polymer-gloved hands gently unfastened the robes of the dead Mage and levitated the body to remove the over-robe of navy threaded with silver, which was burnt in several places. The burn over the heart was enormous and the diameter of it was almost the size of Akkiru’s forearm.

Shourron watched as Akkiru set the body of his son back on the table and suspended the robe telekinetically and spread it out in midair.

“Assisting and observing is Shourron I, the decedent’s father and the former High Mage,” Akkiru acknowledged. “Shourron, the viewer, please.”

He switched on the camera-like instrument next to the console and came over to Akkiru’s side.

“The robe of the victim,” he said slowly, as though addressing his son in such a manner was still unreal, “presents with several scorch burns commonly associated with aura-source attacks. The main damage to the fabric is a through-and-through blast without a scorch mark, a circular burn approximately a half-meter in diameter.”

The viewer clicked and whirred as it took photographs of the robe, hovering around the suspended garment. One by one, the photographs showed on the enormous screen and shrank into thumbnail size images in a neat row at the top.

With a gesture, Akkiru folded the robe and placed it on another table. Together, the two Mages walked over to the body on the operating table and Shourron inadvertently cringed as he saw something very familiar.

Next to him, Akkiru narrated for the case file, putting the observation on record.

“The scar over the victim’s chest is a starburst shape; the skin is very pale in contrast to the overall skin tone. The scar is not raised against the skin and on sensory observation, it is shown that the nerves are destroyed under the surface. Sensory observation also shows that the originating energy behind the scar is artificial in nature and prior cases show that this energy forces an aura integrity breach. For reference on properties of the breaching effect, see Medical Recovery File AR577-KI29.”

Shourron bent over his son’s face to check for any trace evidence but found none. There was nothing in the hair either – no fiber, nothing extraneous aside from dirt and debris; undoubtedly, wherever they fought definitely had a wreckage of a building somewhere, seeing as the dust was concrete, reinforced steel and masonry.

Akkiru raised a questioning eyebrow and Shourron I shook his head. Nothing.
The surgeon-turned-coroner lifted a hand and flared slightly. Right away, a small, thin water hose descended from the ceiling and another wave of the hand slid open some panels in the operating theatre floor to reveal a set of drains. Slowly, carefully, Akkiru washed the dust, debris and blood from Shourron II’s face.

The blood had already begun to settle in the body and the top half of him looked ashen even in the bright, all-exacerbating glare of the theatre lamp. As the lividity set in, the pale skin of the victim began to show the extent of the bruising. His handsome face bore severe damage that slowly became obvious as Akkiru’s hands swept over his head with the washing.

“His occipital bone is broken in, blunt-force trauma,” Akkiru remarked. “Source is a punch, aura trace says it’s the same person who got him in the ribs earlier…” he pointed out a contusion on the left side of the ribcage.

His gloved hands gently palpated the scalp to check for further fractures as he continued washing the decedent’s hair and all the while, Shourron I watched. Whatever emotional response that he fought to stifle immediately after finding out the news was bubbling to the surface and he couldn’t help but recall the circumstances under which he found out that he had children.

He was sealed at the time, still evil but unable to work with his aura in any way, shape or form. The seals also put limiters on his physical strength and, if his appearance were to be considered, he was able to pass for a fifty-year-old human male with ease at the time. Few things ever infuriated him back then quite as much as being forced to hide who he was; he was the High Mage in title as well as in address. Whether or not that title was spoken with relish or revulsion, that title was his point of pride; that was who he was and he resented having a collar put on him like a breed of animal.

He never saw Vannara pregnant. He saw her right before he went to the Lower Sector planets in his campaign and had a hostile takeover in progress on one of the worlds – Kuir, if he recalled correctly, a shipping planet – thus preventing him from spending any time with his wife past a two-hour brief meeting in the Jemerian country.

She must have found out that she was pregnant shortly thereafter – and nearly right away followed the knowledge of what he was really doing when he was away on business. Of course, this was not easy knowledge to swallow and Rena knew that there was no way that she would give up the children, although many women in her place would not have made this choice. And, steadfastly believing that he wasn’t acting of his own will, she agreed to the condition of sequestering Shourron II and Makkian, to keep them from him until they were old enough to make the choice to meet him on their own.

The rush of water stopped for a moment as Akkiru gently flared to dry off Shourron II’s hair. The surgeon didn’t notice his companion cringe in his contemplation.

He was old enough to make the choice at fifty, Shourron I thought. He was old enough…and I’m sure was talked out of it so many times beforehand…

It was…unnerving at the time it happened, to say the least. Knowing that Vannara put her own life on the line to save his own was enough of a guilt-riddling that he never expected that she had children by him while he was away.

At the time, he lived in the Compound, under constant supervision. Black market operation was not an easy thing to conduct under monitoring, but he managed anyway – innocuous-looking e-mails sent to several key individuals ensured that his work was done. His every move was watched. His senses were curtailed to near nonexistence and he had no idea who was about to visit him until he opened the door.

And he knew, through all the while that he was sealed, that whatever it was that made him kill, conquer and destroy with a near-sociopathic detachment was not natural, nor was it his own. The awareness was pervasive enough for Vannara to catch on and notice and the persuasion was enough to spare his life, but no one bothered to consider that he was not himself. He knew his mother’s amethyst eyes and was sure that he inherited them along with her elemental inclination to the wind and weather patterns.

To look in the mirror and see nothing but obsidian was both infuriating and unsettling. And to see those eyes on someone claiming to be his son was outright painful, but at the time, there was no way Shou could’ve known.

Shourron I cringed a little as the memory resurfaced in full and forced himself to come back to the table as Akkiru washed the dried-on blood off his son’s face.

“He looks…at peace…” he thought to the surgeon.

“I hope that is truly the case,” Akkiru responded softly. “Sometimes, the dead don’t rest.”

“And that’s when they go to Kirare,” Shourron would’ve snorted in different circumstances, but the thought, intended to break the somber mood, was bitter.

Akkiru’s eyes turned to the former High Mage, the deepest sympathy in them.

“I’m so sorry, Shourron.”

“Continue, please. My memories are my own, but I need to know what killed him.”

The surgeon’s hands gently slid down the victim’s exposed torso and down the arms, taking stock of the energetic record and the viewer followed the exact movements of his hands, recording the energetic readouts of every signature that Akkiru managed to glean. The aura signatures, though all black, were all quite distinctly separated; it was plain by the time that his hands reached the abdominals that there were upwards of thirty attackers.

“Signature recording shows the preliminary number of attackers stands at thirty-four,” Akkiru said. “Heavy contusions on the torso. Lividity fixes time of death at yesterday night Cosmic time.”

Shourron I knew the next step and levitated his son’s body to turn him over.

“Contusions extend along the back and,” Akkiru paused a little as Shourron set the body back onto the table and slid a gentle finger along the spinal column, “among the injuries is a broken spinal column…” a series of quick, light palpations with slight aura-bursts to check integrity, “in…nearly every vertebra.”

“How is that possible?” Shourron I choked out despite himself, not caring that this was going on record. “Mage bones are about as dense as Orl-sourced steel, and that’s just for the Borns!”

Akkiru shook his head, also baffled. “Also presence of a sizable blasting scar matching in location to the starburst scar on the chest. The size and positioning all indicate that he had taken a black-energy blast quoted in the aforementioned Medical Recovery file point-blank. “

Shourron turned the body over again for Akkiru to remove the rest of the clothing and motioned for the viewer to screen the body from the feet up. X-ray images began blossoming on the screen one at a time and both Mages went over to the enormous computer.

“Skeletal imaging shows at least three broken bones in every extremity,” Akkiru said softly for the record. “Every rib is cracked and some vertebrae are fragmented. Nerve damage is doubtless. Likely paralysis.”

Akkiru hit the pause button on the recording and turned to Shourron I, his eyes sympathetic.

“I don’t think you should be here when I open him up,” he said softly. “I saw what you were remembering. It’s a toll that you won’t be able to bear.”

“…I need to know…”

“I’ll tell you,” Akkiru said gently. “I’ll let you know everything. But please, talk to ‘Nara and go to Earth. They will need you there.”

Slowly, Shourron I nodded and swallowed back the rapidly building lump in his throat. Akkiru was right; while a Mage first, he was also the decedent’s kin. Even his presence at the autopsy was a conflict of interest. While he needed to know – required to know this, if only for his own restless conscience -

“Just tell me this… What were the attackers? Were they from Underworld? Or anyone at all in the system?”

Akkiru punched a few keys on the console and started when the result surfaced on the screen.

Distinctly, in black letters on white backdrop was a single word identifying the attackers’ aura type: Mage.