by Gregg Vann
Tien correctly deduced where Eraz’s mind had drifted and he motioned for her to continue, as much to tear her away from her torment as to get the answers he was seeking. “You said most of the generals agreed we should consolidate the bulk of our forces in Udek space.”
Eraz gladly abandoned the past, returning to the present with a start. “Wha— Oh, yes. Most have, but a few still view the post-war weakness of the other races as a prime opportunity to seize new territory for the Confederation—despite the recent setback on Polit. To be honest, I think they’re all a bit confused by this new approach. You have to remember that Udek generals have no experience walking away from an operation once it’s begun. So withdrawing from the blockade of Polit, and then quitting the system entirely was, well, a novelty for them, to say the least.”
“We’ll end up better for it,” Tien said. “As will the Iriq.”
“I happen to agree.” Eraz clasped her hands together in front of her. “So tell me, besides distrusting your own staff, and an understandable aversion to paperwork, how are things progressing here at the Corp?”
“As well as can be expected, given the turmoil. I’ve done a good deal of housecleaning over the past week, straightening out long-standing deficiencies in both the organizational structure of the Corp, and the training of its personnel. The end result is that I have established absolute control over the agency, and don’t anticipate any serious problems. If I did, I certainly wouldn’t allow Dasi and Nsari to come here. You can never be completely sure about anything, of course, and there are no guarantees. But Dasi needs to see her family, and the well-earned fear of the Special Corp will keep her safe, especially after Kubex’s late evening cull of the political opposition. But more than that, every person on Ko’ln knows I’m the one who killed Awi Stenth. So my personal reputation as an assassin, along with my current position as chancellor, grants Dasi a great deal of protection.”
“Oh, of that I’m sure.” Eraz smirked. “The whole planet knows that if they touch any member of your family, every member of theirs will share the same page in the coroner’s ledger.” Eraz blew out a long breath, and then she stood up. “Well, I’m off. I have a meeting with Ambassador O’linth and a few of the other generals about the military reforms winding their way through the Presidium. We’ve already lined up the necessary number of senators for ratification, and have a full quorum of ministers, so we’re really just going through the motions.”
Eraz gazed around the chancellor’s office, remembering their desperate escape through it only a week ago. Then she glanced down at the general’s insignia on her uniform. “So much is changing, Tien. And so quickly.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “It is.” Then Kiro Tien stared down at his desk again, resolved to his fate.
Eraz turned toward the door but stopped. “Oh, what did you decide to do with the sphere?” she asked. “I’m curious. You should turn it into an arboretum. That seems appropriate. But might I suggest filling it with plants that don’t feed on people.”
“I’m converting it into a Zero G combat training facility,” Tien replied. “As part of a new initiative to produce the best covert operatives this organization has even known.”
“Of course.”
Tien picked up a dataslate to resume his work, and then shook his head and looked up at Eraz. “You know,” he said wistfully, “I used to be the one burying the bodies. Now, I just know where they’re all hidden.”
“You’ll adapt,” Eraz said with amusement. She strode out into the corridor, and the general’s voice trailed away as the door closed slowly behind her.
“You always do.”
“Now?” the disembodied voice asked, awareness rising as the full sensory suite came online.
“It’s done,” Brother Ryll replied. “The transfer is complete. I’ve also activated the modified voice module.”
“So I hear.”
Brother Dyson leaned up from the table and pivoted to the side, dropping his gleaming metal legs down almost to the floor. He stood up unsteadily, unfamiliar with his own body. But that wasn’t surprising. As one of the principal designers of the Series 10, Brother Dyson was intimately familiar with the android’s capabilities and limitations. But to actually be inside one of the machines was an unexpected turn of events, and one that required a moment of thoughtful consideration. Dyson gained control of himself—in a very literal sense—and then turned to face his acolyte. “It has been a very long time since I wore a different form.”
“I’m sure it’s quite a change for you, master.”
It was an innocuous statement, but one that provoked a deep chain of thought within Brother Dyson—as was often the case with those who’d spent a lifetime teaching others. It was even more common in people who had spent several lifetimes filling that role. Despite his age and recent travails, Brother Dyson felt invigorated now that he’d been released from Miso’s improvised torture chamber. So he placed his hand on his young acolyte’s shoulder, seizing the opportunity to impart another lesson.
“Change?” Dyson said. “Is change not the nature of things, Brother? Hasn’t it always been so? For me, for you, even our religion? Nothing is spared from the chaos that springs from impermanence, and no course can stay true in the face of such powerful winds. Even our Way is affected. From the moment Siddhartha sat beneath the Bodhi Tree and achieved enlightenment, Buddhism has been the very model of change. Like life itself, the Way exists in a constant state of flux, shaped by potent forces from within and without. The intrusion and adoption of disparate religious precepts over the eons, particularly aspects of the Judeo-Christian tradition—this was natural, expected even. It was inevitable, Brother.
“Metamorphosis of belief occurs gradually over the millennia, because every religion, ancient or emergent, is peppered with valuable grains of truth. These seeds of faith often taken root in other ideologies, prompting adaptations that further enrich those venerated traditions. But the path we've taken, Brother Ryll, trying to shortcut enlightenment through technology…that was never the True Way. The monks who abandoned us during the schism were right to do so, because what we've done on Bodhi Prime is an insult to the legacy of Gautama, and a great disservice to all who would pursue Nirvana.”
Brother Dyson paused to let his words sink in. This was a personal revelation that he’d felt for some time, but hearing it uttered out loud, and sharing the disheartening epiphany with another soul, made the truth of it all seem so obvious now.
Why didn’t I see this before? Dyson asked himself.
“It’s time to set our differences aside and heal the schism,” he continued. “We need to bring those who left us back into the fold, and return Bodhi Prime to its original purpose. We will transform this place into a real monastery, Brother Ryll, one where believers can achieve Nirvana in the ancient way. The True Way. The only Way.”
Brother Dyson stood up a little straighter then, stiffening his back, as well as his resolve. The august monk had reached a decision that would have far-ranging effects, committing himself to a course of action certain to impact every race in the galaxy.
“Our transference technology is for everyone now, Brother Ryll. Without exception or condition. Everyone, but us. From this day forward, all races will be granted free access to our technology and expertise. We will even send out monks to help the others construct their own cloning and transference facilities. The Blenej, Obas, Iriq, Volasi, if they like—even the Udek. Everyone. And after we’re done, we will all return to Bodhi Prime to pursue meaningful lives of quiet contemplation. As it should have been, all along.”
Brother Dyson’s pronouncement was so shocking that it took a moment for Ryll to find his voice. “But…but what about you, Brother? Your clone?”
“Prepare it. But accelerate the cellular decay until it matches the age I was when Miso killed me. I will finish out my natural years in that form.”
“But master, the monastery…”
Dyson heard the desperation in Brothe
r Ryll’s voice and he softened his tone. It was often the elderly who handled change poorly. But sometimes, it was the young who refused to part with familiar symbols—unable to let go because they lacked the wisdom only a longer existence can provide. They had never experienced a cataclysmic failure that sent them spiraling into a deep pit of despair. And then emerged from the other side of that terrifying void, broken, but still standing. The young lacked the layers of armor those hard-won scars became.
“As I've told you before, Brother Ryll, many, many times, the monastery will survive. Those who left us during the schism have maintained the True Path, and they can guide the younger monks and help us reclaim our way. And you, my dear brother, will lead that effort of reconciliation and repatriation. After all, you’re meant to be the next Master of Bodhi Prime.”
“Me?” Ryll said. The monk couldn’t believe his ears. He thought that maybe his master was still shaken up from the torture Miso had inflicted on him, and confused by everything that happened since.
But Brother Dyson was quite lucid. “Who else? You’ve proven yourself more than capable of taking my place, Brother. You assumed control of the monastery in my absence and saved it from complete destruction. You also managed to escape from Miso, and recruited Kiro Tien to rescue me. No small feats there, to be sure.”
“But I lied to Tien. I placed his soul in mortal jeopardy—on a mission almost guaranteed to end in death—even though I knew that his backup consciousness had failed to save properly. Tien killed so many people on my behalf, Brother, without so much as a second thought. I am responsible for those deaths, each and every one of them.”
Brother Ryll looked into the blank face of his mentor, eager to unburden himself through confession. But he knew there was no suitable penance for what he’d done, or a viable path to redemption. Ryll continued to voice his litany of sins.
“And Miso died at my own hands; that fact is indisputable, with neither room nor reason for prevarication. I know it was necessary, but the truth, the substance of my sin, remains. I took a life. And I alone will suffer the consequences. I have failed this Order in so many ways, master. And I’ve broken my vow to serve and defend life. There is no escape from my actions, and no excuse for what I’ve done. I am a murderer now, just like Kiro Tien.”
“No,” Dyson said with a calming certitude. “You’re wrong, Brother Ryll, about everything. This monastery wouldn’t be here without you, and our brethren would all be dead. You were strong when others would have let us perish. Remember that, always. And you are nothing at all like Kiro Tien. He is a cold and calculating killer.”
“But I directed his actions, master. How does that make me any better?”
“It doesn’t, and you’re not better. None of us are. We’re only different in that we regret our evil deeds and hope to change—to become a better person in the next life. What your actions demonstrate is a willingness to do whatever is needed to protect the Order, and that is the most important requirement for taking my position. When necessary, you must possess the strength of character to ignore our teachings and sacrifice your own karma to help others, so that they may lead a more peaceful existence and achieve Nirvana. I have been doing this for centuries, Brother.
“Miso was right. It is craving. And I’ve gone far beyond my simple mandate to protect the monastery. I used our transference technology to steer and influence—to amass power, and control others. But I should have yielded to the inevitable long ago, Brother Ryll, and shared our blessings, instead of trying to master the universe with them. Granted, at times I was fighting for our very survival, and not all striving is meritless. But despite my benevolent motivations, there is no justification for the deaths I’ve caused by forcing the galaxy to my will.”
Brother Dyson shook his head. “It is not the Middle Way. No, it is as far removed from that ideal as one can wander. But I’ve always believed that the unselfish intent might wash away some of the stain that seeps into your soul from making such dire and violent choices. For my own sake, Brother Ryll, and now for yours as well, I truly hope I’m right about that.”
Ryll understood Brother Dyson’s burden perfectly, and realized it was a sacrifice he’d gladly make himself when the time came. The reality was that Brother Ryll had already begun his own journey down the very same path, and he saw no reason to abandon it now.
The young monk gazed around at the transference equipment, feeling the full weight of generations of well-protected secrets. The costs the monastery incurred bringing the technology to life were staggering, but the centuries of profit and political intrigue that followed were even harder to digest—the riches and wreckage of discovering the keys to immortality. But most on Ryll’s mind was the never-ending tightrope Brother Dyson had been forced to cross, trying to keep the monastery safe from a cruel and savage universe. How can you possibly quantify that amount of strife? And now, after everything they’d been through, the Bodhi were going to share the technology with the galaxy at large. Give it all away, just like that. Brother Ryll gestured at the machinery surrounding them, fearful of their prospects for the future, and disillusioned by the failed promises of the past.
“So all of the years…” he said. “All of the atonements. Everything we did, was wasted?”
Brother Dyson’s head slowly turned, and Ryll saw his own reflection staring back at him, magnified on the mirror-like surface. His master’s voice was calm and measured—as always. But there was an unmistakable sadness there as well.
“No, Brother Ryll,” he said. “Not wasted. Just a very costly lesson.”
The Wheel of Life
The Final Moments of Brother Augustus Dyson
Buddhist Master of Bodhi Prime
The door burst open and the young monk flew into the room, his face ashen.
“Brother Ryll!” he called out frantically. “Brother Ryll! It’s time. You must come. You must come now!”
It was obvious to Ryll the man had just run all the way from the other side of the monastery—evidenced by the deep breaths he was pulling in and his shaky stance. Brother Ryll marveled at the acolyte’s breach of decorum, as well as his agitated state, remembering a time in the not-so-distant past when he’d been quite like the frazzled monk standing before him, headstrong and hyperbolic. But that seemed an eternity ago to Ryll now, and a different man altogether. His disciple was noticeably distraught. In fact, everything in his demeanor screamed alarm. But under the circumstances, it was understandable.
Ora Ryll, only the third Buddhist Master Bodhi Prime had ever known, rose up slowly from his chair. He wasn’t purposely ignoring the urgency in Brother Uja’s voice—these were dire times, of grave import. Ryll was simply in no hurry to see this particular task through. Not because he lacked respect for the man he was being summoned to see, the truth couldn’t be more opposite, it was because Brother Ryll didn’t want to face the reality of his master’s death. Unlike in the past, this wasn’t a Bodhi transference that would see them speaking again in mere hours, but a true and final death. This would be the last time they ever spoke, and then his friend and mentor, and the wealth of wisdom he’d collected over several lifetimes, would pass from this world.
Brother Dyson’s death would be a profound loss for everyone, marking the end of an era. But Ryll would feel his absence more acutely than most. It would rob him of a constant source of comfort and counsel—one Brother Ryll often relied on. And after today, he would be all alone in the universe, or so it seemed to him. Ryll already felt like the weight of the monastery rested on his shoulders. With Brother Dyson gone, it will be as if the entire galaxy resided there.
“Lead the way,” he directed, coming around to the front of his desk. “And please, Brother Uja, try to calm yourself. We mustn’t upset the master during his final moments in this turn.”
“I understand, Brother. But it…it’s just so difficult.”
Ryll pushed his own feelings aside and placed a hand on the young monk’s shoulder, favoring him with a somber
, yet reassuring smile. “For us all, my friend. Now please, let’s attend to his final wishes without delay.”
“Yes, master.”
Master?
The title still seemed so strange, but less so with each passing day. After all, it had been eleven years since Brother Dyson turned control of the monastery over to Ryll, electing to occupy his final years with introspective meditation—a mental accounting of his long and varied life. Brother Dyson had spent the majority of that time trying to silence the countless demons that still haunted him, refusing to grant the old monk even a moment’s peace—no matter how far he removed himself from the outside world. These malignant shadows of self-doubt and recrimination were birthed during the lifetimes he’d spent helming the monastery, and Ryll knew that despite Brother Dyson’s determined and herculean efforts, his master had lost the difficult battle in the end. The guilt never subsided, nor even waned in the slightest, and Dyson’s memories became unwelcome companions that only brought him misery.
Brother Ryll glanced at the monastery’s impressive collection of treasures as the pair of monks crossed through the Grand Hall, briefly traversing the open area on their way to another section of the monastery. As ever, Brother Ryll marveled at the wealth and beauty on display, objet d’art from across the galaxy, representing nearly a dozen races. The elaborate pieces filled every nook and cranny of the large room—spreading high up the stone walls until they touched the base of the vaulted ceiling above, and reaching back into the alcoves and small rooms that branched off both sides of the rectangular space.
Paintings from every period decorated the spacious walls of the Grand Hall. While on the floor below them, priceless vases and marble statues sat neatly arranged on short columns. The round bases were heavily embellished with gold filigree, and each bore a silver placard detailing the object’s creator and extended provenance. There were also colorful collections of ornate jewelry on display, presented in handsomely built wooden boxes with glass covers. And numerous figurines were spaced throughout the room, depicting people and creatures of every conceivable sort. Most had been molded out of precious metals and etched to an astounding degree of detail, and then decorated with rare gemstones from a variety of planets.
