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The Aeolian Master - Book One - Revival


up again. The foam and the spray being carried for miles in the torrid wind. The clouds jamming together,
bringing down thunder and letting loose . . .
He felt the wind in his soul. It was his life's power. It made him feel easy. There was peace in the storm,
that which was absent in the other world.
Suddenly, he heard the voices again, low and soft, sneaking into his world. There must be a way to cease
their meaningless yammer.
Concentrate. Will them away.
But this time it didn't work. They became louder.
The storm faded into the background.
"Professor," said the relentless voice, "come look at the heart monitor. The heartbeat is nearly normal."
There was a pause, then movement. Somebody was walking across a metal floor.
"His recovery rate is very rapid," said another voice from somewhere out there. The voice didn't seem
pleased nor displeased. The tone portrayed puzzlement and wonder. "Maybe we've been feeding him too much
juice," he continued.
"Impossible," said the first voice. "The whole program has been computerized. "If we've been . . ."
"I know. I know," interrupted the second voice. "I was merely making a point that he is indeed recovering
very rapidly." The voice sounded as if it wanted to say, ‘Why oh why am I surrounded by fools?’ It chuckled
and then became serious.
"Maybe he is 'a' God," said the first voice. "The legend of the Aeolian Master come true."
"Surely you jest."
"Well, you're the one who gave it credence in your thesis."
"Not that there was a God. Merely that there was probably an underground complex somewhere on Ar, with
the slight off chance that there might be a man, most likely dead, in a suspended animation chamber."
The first voice became a bit irritated, "Nevertheless, here we have a man, or whatever, freshly ‘off the ice,' as
you would put it, and he's recovering far ahead of the computerized schedule."
"Yes," said the second voice, "and I think he's close to regaining consciousness."
"What?"
"That's right. It'll probably be a week, maybe two."
"But that's several weeks ahead of schedule, and I might add it's a schedule which the computer on board the
Commander calculated."
"You already said that, but look at the readouts."
"I've looked at the readouts, and I don't understand how it's possible." There was a pause, then the second
voice continued. "It's very confusing. In all my years of medical training and experience, I've never
experienced anything like this."
There was a moment of silence, and then the voice continued. "Think about it. We have a man in a
suspended animation chamber who is more than six hundred years old. At this point in time he should be just a
pile of bones, but he's not. He's alive and healthy. And now, he's reviving faster than that which is humanly
possible. To bring a man or woman out of suspended animation faster than the computerized schedule would
destroy the tissues, not just the skin, but all the tissues."
"Well," said the other voice, "we'll find out more if and when he regains consciousness."
The voices continued to babble in meaningless terms.
The man lay on the elevated platform. His mind was besought with confusion. Searching for answers. But
then he remembered an important concept, his body. Skeleton and muscles and blood. Yes, and other things.
Awareness with feeling. Slowly with his mind he explored his body. Suddenly he remembered his hands,
tools for feeling and manipulation.
He tried moving a finger. Networks of nerves came to life. Electrical messengers stimulating chemical
waves through the channels of myelination. Cells were revived. He could feel his finger, but he couldn't move
it.
He put forth effort, energy. He drew from all the power he could find. He drew from the storm in the back
of his mind. He exhausted all the sources, and exerted the energy in a final thrust. Straining, and finally it
moved.
Exhaustion swept over his being, but next time he knew it would be easy.
The voices continued to babble as his exhausted mind slipped into unconsciousness. Time passed. How
much he could not know, perhaps minutes, perhaps weeks. But as he regained consciousness he realized that
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