by Eric Thomson
Rianne’s features briefly took on a dismissive expression.
“Nothing we can’t handle. The Thebans are becoming more and more dependent on our teaching and technology. They won’t do anything that might harm their only source of both. At least not until the Hegemony shows up with a better offer. But since we don’t know where they hail from, hopefully, our government will speed up the reunification process, at least as far as this place is concerned. We can use all the Brethren and Defense Force personnel we can get.”
“Another point for my report. Thanks. If there’s nothing else, I’ll say goodbye until our next visit. Take care and stay safe.”
“You as well, Captain.”
“Serenity, out.”
The last two Lyonesse Brethren on Hatshepsut shook hands with Lieutenant Voronov and left the cargo shuttle, now empty of everything but the crew and the security detail. They stood at the edge of the flat area and watched the craft lift off, both lost in thought. Once they were only tiny dots in a heartbreakingly clear, blue sky, Rianne nudged Horam.
“Come on, Chief Administrator. A quick bite in the refectory and then President Granat. No doubt rumors are already reaching his ears, so there’s no time to delay. He dislikes being kept in the dark when it concerns happenings in his republic, and this is a major event for everyone.”
“Yes, Prioress.”
“Don’t sound so glum.”
Horam snorted.
“Do I seem like someone at ease in the corridors of power? I’m just an old Marine noncom turned mystic.”
“You’ll do fine as chief administrator. Besides, I’m no more thrilled than you are at shouldering the political and diplomatic responsibilities for this mission.”
“I know I’ll do fine, which means I’ll be stuck with the job.” He grinned at her as they walked to the priory’s dining hall. “And so will you. The Mother House won’t send a new command team into an established situation unless they consider us unfit, which is unlikely to happen once Al Jecks sends in his report. Whether we want it or not, this is now our responsibility, our house, and our mission. Let’s just do the best we can for our friends.”
She gave him a light tap on the arm with the back of her hand.
“Look at you acting all grown up and leader-like.”
“Some are destined for greatness; some have greatness thrust upon them. For my sins, I’m one of the latter, and I know when the Almighty is giving me a sign.” A crooked grin split Horam’s features. “Best I do my duty, right?”
PART III – PHOENIX RISING
— 34 —
“Good morning, Sister. You’ll be glad to hear our guests are now lodged two per cabin with private heads in a section of unused spare quarters aft of officer country, with a fifth cabin turned common room, secured behind an armored bulkhead. It usually houses extra staff when the flag officer in command brings a full complement, which the commodore didn’t. The main galley will deliver meals, and they can access a segregated entertainment database which contains nothing that might reveal more about us than we want for the moment.”
Torma, who’d been up for the last two hours, entered their suite looking like a man who’d just enjoyed a fine breakfast in the wardroom. Ardrix, preparing for her morning yoga session after a frugal meal taken in their suite, looked up at him with approving eyes.
“Excellent. They’ll be more likely to engage with us in congenial surroundings. When would you start?”
“I think we should leave them stew until we enter the wormhole. They’ll be familiar with the sensation of crossing the event horizon and know we’re no longer in the Hatshepsut system and that their fate is now entirely in our hands.”
“Agreed.”
“In the meantime, I’ve made sure they were issued with toiletries and two changes of clothing from the ship’s stores, unmarked Hegemony Navy shipboard uniforms. If their sense of hygiene is the same as ours, by the time we reach Hegemony space, they’ll be outwardly indistinguishable from everyone else aboard. Their original clothing will not come back from the ship’s laundry, of course. They’ll simply receive extra from stores as compensation.”
“I suggest you do return their clothes, if for no other reason than simple hospitality, which they will notice, and which will affect their attitude.” Ardrix adopted her favorite asana, eyes closed, and smiled. “Though their minds are weaker than those of the Void Reborn who work for the State Security Commission, they remain worthy of respect. Subjecting them to our usual non-intrusive methods should work better than brute mental force, depersonalization, and other usual tactics. Judging by the prioress’ reaction when we interrupted compline, intrusive and insensitive behavior on our part will probably destroy any possibility of cooperation. Besides, they are surely as curious about us as we about them and will eventually succumb to that curiosity. We must merely stay patient.”
“Very well. Points taken and noted. We’ll do it the way you suggest. Since they won’t be going home any time soon, there’s no risk to the Hegemony in revealing information about us.” He paused. “Though we’ll also keep the lure of repatriation in our back pocket.”
“Of course.”
Ardrix’s tone hinted that she would prefer if he stopped talking and let her perform her morning devotions. After a moment of hesitation, he removed his tunic, kicked off his boots, and joined her on the mat for his own meditation exercises. However, he adopted the lotus position rather than her more complex posture.
But Torma found no peace. His thoughts remained in turmoil at the enormity of their actions. He couldn’t imagine what awaited them on Wyvern once they produced old Order Brethren from another human star system which not only retained FTL travel but was recolonizing parts of the former empire.
The brief transition out of hyperspace at the wormhole terminus registered distantly, as did the ship crossing the event horizon moments before Torma emerged from his light trance. He unfolded his limbs and stood, imitated by Ardrix moments later.
“Shall we introduce ourselves to our guests?” She asked. “If you’ll give me a few minutes, I would rather wear the Order’s robes than a uniform for this occasion.”
He smiled at her. “An excellent idea.”
Ardrix acknowledged the compliment with a nod and vanished into her cabin, light of foot as always when in yoga attire. She reappeared shortly after that in black, monastic robes with the Phoenix Orb pinned to her breast. The transformation from Commission officer to Sister of the Void Reborn momentarily took Torma aback, even though he’d spent almost every waking moment in her company over the past few months. And it wasn’t just outward appearance. Ardrix’s aura, invisible though it might be, was much different, or so his comparatively dull mind perceived.
“I’m ready.”
Torma led them aft of officer country to a locked door piercing one of Repulse’s structural bulkheads. It had what seemed like a hastily mounted security panel on its left, with a display showing the empty corridor beyond. Ardrix found the view of open cabin doors interesting, as if their captives wanted no barriers between each other.
“Ready?”
She nodded.
“For every task, there is a beginning, a first step, and though it seems the hardest of them, it is the most important.”
He gave her a questioning look.
“Scripture?”
“A saying passed down over the centuries. The founder of our Order, Jackson Thorn, apparently coined it.” She nodded at the display. “The founder of both our Orders.”
Torma touched the screen, and they heard mechanical latches withdraw. Then the door swung inward. He crossed the threshold, followed by Ardrix, and the door slammed shut behind them. No startled faces appeared in the open doorways, wondering about the noise, and their first stop was the common room, immediately to the right of the entrance. There, they found the eight old Order Brethren seated around a table, cup in hand,
staring at them.
The one Ardrix identified as the prioress studied her and Torma with overt disdain.
“Finally, the head jailers. Those robes suit you better than a military uniform, Sister, though I don’t recognize the strange orb you wear. Not that either makes you any less of an abomination before the Almighty.”
Both Torma and Ardrix pointedly ignored her.
“My name is Crevan Torma, and I’m a colonel in the Wyvern Hegemony’s Guards Corps. And if you’re wondering whether we come from the old imperial capital, the answer is yes. Wyvern and a few of its neighbors survived the Great Scouring intact enough to retain the capability for faster-than-light travel.”
He paused and looked for a reaction to his revelation but saw nothing.
“I work for the State Security Commission, which deals with non-military threats to the Hegemony’s security. This is Sister Ardrix of the Order of the Void Reborn. She belongs to the New Draconis Abbey and works for my organization.” None of the Lyonesse Brethren so much as blinked. “You’ve no doubt felt our ship, the cruiser Repulse, cross a wormhole’s event horizon a short time ago. It means we are no longer in the Hatshepsut system. You’ll be guests of the Hegemony government and the Order of the Void Reborn for an indeterminate length of time. Now, if you could please name yourselves.”
Still no reaction. Fine, Torma and Ardrix could play this game all day long. They’d done it often enough. He pointed at Hermina.
“You’re obviously the prioress. Would you prefer Ardrix to rummage through your mind and find your name?”
“She wouldn’t dare.”
Hermina spat out the words with such venom, Torma struggled to refrain from an amused smile.
“Then let’s be reasonable. You realize we left two of yours on Hatshepsut, unharmed, and did not damage your priory so that your work among the Thebans will continue. We didn’t even take samples of your equipment, though we scanned the priory extensively.”
The eldest of the four Friars let out a mocking chuckle.
“You left our two colleagues behind because you couldn’t find their ship, and we have only your word that the priory remains undamaged.”
“Then your prioress should touch my mind to see if I lie. Since we use Sisters as truth-sayers, surely yours possess the same talent.”
Hermina’s eyes narrowed for a few seconds.
“He’s not lying. Or at least not entirely.”
“True, we couldn’t find the ship, but I decided we’d leave them alone and return home rather than spend days searching.”
She nodded.
“Okay, Colonel Torma. We’ve established you’re not a complete monster, but you’re consorting with an abomination, and no amount of honesty will wash away a stain of such magnitude.”
“Then tell me, prioress who won’t speak her name, why do you call Sister Ardrix an abomination?”
“Because she entered my mind without my permission. That is one of the worst sins imaginable, a violation of the soul that should never be committed in the service of the Almighty.”
The vehemence of her words struck Torma and Ardrix as strange and the latter looked away, seemingly lost in thought for a few moments.
When she glanced at Hermina again, Ardrix asked, “Please allow me to speculate, Prioress. Is it possible your version of the Order experienced an event, perhaps sometime after the empire’s collapse, that made entering another’s mind without permission such a strong taboo?”
“Got it in one, Abomination. Our abbey took in a strong wild talent a few decades after the Retribution Fleet passed through the Coalsack Sector; a man shipwrecked on Yotai. A passing Void Ship picked him up. Our strongest teachers at the time developed his abilities, and he became a Friar, one with a potential for greatness. He may even have become the first abbot in the Order’s history. But he turned to the side of darkness, entering the minds of others and manipulating them in the furtherance of political changes that would have destroyed Lyonesse. He ended up murdering several people with his mind, including our abbess at the time, before he was, in turn, destroyed. Ever since, we’ve been trained to consider the very idea of entering another’s mind uninvited, unless it’s essential for the individual’s immediate survival, as anathema.”
“I see,” Ardrix replied in a thoughtful tone. “Based on the records saved from destruction, the old Order of the Void at the time of the collapse had no such ingrained interdiction. Nor did our reborn Order experience anything that would call for it. In fact, we consider entering minds without permission normal in the pursuance of our duties to keep the Hegemony and its citizens safe. The old Order allowed Sisters to enter minds without permission for routine medical purposes rather than just in extremis.”
“And we saw where that led. But I know one thing, Sister. From the evidence before me, your Order of the Void Reborn is in no form or fashion related to what you call the old Order, let alone ours, which is the sole true Order of the Void.”
Torma smiled at her.
“Excellent, and now that we know why you insist on insulting Sister Ardrix even though she follows the precepts of the Void as evolved by her branch, how about you introduce yourselves? We’re curious about you and Lyonesse, and I’m sure you’re equally curious about us. You answer our questions; we will answer yours.”
“And risk Lyonesse’s safety?” The old Friar gave him a look of scorn. “Perish the thought. A society that abducts people instead of introducing themselves peacefully and who use a perverted version of humanity’s oldest monastic order to mind rape others in the name of security is not one I would entrust with the slightest bit of knowledge.”
“So, names are a matter of state security on Lyonesse? How strange.” No one could miss the mockery behind Torma’s words. “Do you address each other by numbers or function?”
“Hermina,” the prioress snapped. “I am Sister Hermina, Prioress of Hatshepsut.”
She exhaled slowly, then glanced at her Brethren and said, in a resigned tone, “Tell him your names and your responsibilities at the priory. Perhaps then they’ll leave us alone.”
Each introduced him or herself in turn, stating their responsibilities in the priory, though the stony expressions remained. Once the last one finished speaking, Torma inclined his head.
“Thank you. I will not insult your intelligence by promising none of what we learn from you might be used to harm Lyonesse because I neither exercise control over the Hegemony government, nor can I predict the future, but—”
Friar Metrobius let out a dismissive grunt.
“You’ll learn nothing more from us, period, so problem solved.”
“Fair enough.” Torma glanced at Ardrix. “In that case, we will leave you alone.”
Both bowed their head formally, turned on their heels, and left.
Once back in their quarters, Ardrix said, “They had their mental shields at full strength. Not enough to keep me out, but even the Friars would have noticed any unwanted intrusion. I, therefore, couldn’t get a sense of their feelings.”
“Shall we turn on the surveillance sensors and watch them for a while?”
She thought about it for a moment, then shook her head.
“They’re probably expecting us to do so and will tailor their behavior accordingly. And no matter how well trained you are, they’ll confirm we’re watching based on questions or comments you might make, and that won’t help us.”
“And how will we overcome their ingrained aversion to you?”
“If they implanted the taboo during conditioning — we receive a form of it as well, by the way, just with different interdictions — there is no way they’ll ever consider me anything other than an abomination. It means you’ll do the talking. Perhaps you should even see them alone, at least for the first few weeks, until you build some sort of rapport.”
“A good idea.”
**
“Do
you think they’re listening to us?” Friar Basam asked once Torma and Ardrix left what Hermina was already calling their gilded cage.
“I would if I were them,” Metrobius replied. “We might enjoy what looks like officers’ quarters, but we’re still prisoners. And in a society where Sisters of the Void work for what sounds very much like a political police organization, covert surveillance must be as common as dandruff.”
Hermina made a face.
“In that case, we might as well not worry about it. You know what subjects are out of bounds. As for the rest, let them enjoy their voyeurism.”
“Will we exchange information?”
She nodded.
“Provided I judge there’s no risk of harming Lyonesse. I’m curious about them and their evolution since the empire’s collapse. If we ever make it home, they’ll want to know as much as possible.”
Metrobius shook his head.
“I never thought we’d become an unofficial arm of the Defense Force Intelligence Agency, yet here we are.”
Hermina patted his arm. “We’ve always been in the intelligence gathering game, my old friend, but until now, we didn’t face a potentially hostile power capable of threatening all we hold dear.”
— 35 —
––––––––
“Good morning.” Torma stuck his head into the common room where the Lyonesse Brethren enjoyed a cup of tea after morning devotions and breakfast. “May I join you?”
“You’re the jailer,” Hermina replied. “And this is your jail. Do as you please.”
“I thought I’d tell you a bit about how the Hegemony came to be, and if the Almighty so moves you, perhaps you can tell me how Lyonesse got its start.”
“A bit of story time?” Friar Metrobius examined Torma with a gimlet eye. “I suppose there’s nothing else on our agenda.”
Torma pointed at the tea urn, delivered by Repulse’s wardroom steward that very morning.
