by Piers Platt
“And you’ve all experienced it – here in God’s house. When you drink his lifewater, you feel your mind expand, and grow. We feel closer to God in that instant, and capable of more than we ever thought possible – and we are capable of more. We are smarter, more dedicated, more moral beings – that is part of Simi’s gift to us. To be better than the average human. We are his chosen children, and through the power he gives us, we can achieve miracles. And we must achieve those miracles, for it is the only way we can save the galaxy from itself. From the wickedness that spreads, like a plague, across the galaxy.”
He pointed at them, scowling. “You see that plague spreading every day. But ask yourself this: What have you done about it? Have you fought for our values, like Senator Foss? We are in a war over humanity’s soul, and wars require sacrifices. So when you hear God’s voice, telling you to take a stand … when the Church asks you to play your part … be sure you listen, and do your duty. God is watching, and he knows who is a faithful soldier in his crusade.”
Rewynn turned and descended the steps, and made his way to the ceremonial well that stood at the front of the church. The congregation rose silently, expectant. At a signal from the Patriarch, an acolyte beside the well began turning a well-worn crank, and a series of buckets rose from the depths of the well, spilling a clear, sparkling liquid into a carved marble trough that ran for several yards along the front of the altar.
The old priest held his hands aloft. “Let us now drink of his lifewater, that we may believe again in the power of his teachings. In the power of ourselves. Simi brought us lifewater,” he intoned.
“Through it we are cleansed, and transformed into a better version of ourselves,” the masses responded. “We live to serve his values, and the Church.”
Acolytes standing at the end of the pews directed the first row of seats to approach the well. Senator Foss was among them, though his Senate Guards remained seated in the pew. At the gate leading to the well, another set of acolytes received each church-goer’s donation. Each person swiped their holophone across a reader device before being allowed onward. The senator paid his tithe, too, then knelt at the marble trough, and dipped his hand once in the ice-cold lifewater. He raised it to his lips and appeared to drink. Then he returned to his pew and sat, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.
The ceremony continued for close to an hour as each member of the congregation paid, passed through the gate, and took a drink at the well. As the line drew to an end, a whispered argument broke out between a disheveled-looking woman and the acolyte manning the payment reader station. Rewynn crossed over to them, frowning.
“What is the matter?” he asked, quietly, checking to ensure that his microphone was no longer live.
“Patriarch, this woman has no tithe for the church,” the acolyte whispered, worry creasing his face.
“Where is your husband?” Rewynn asked the woman. “Surely he can pay for you?”
“He left me, sir,” the woman protested. “He renounced the Church, but I would not.” Rewynn’s scowl deepened. The woman’s eyes were desperate, roving – the old priest had seen it before. “I tried to get the money in time, I really did. But the Church says I’m not allowed to have a job. And without my husband—”
“Without your husband, you are of no use to the Church,” Rewynn told her curtly, cutting her off. “Find him and bring him back, and once your family is whole again, then you may return.”
“I don’t know where he is – I think he left the planet,” she replied.
“Then find another husband, and recruit him into the Church,” Rewynn told her, impatiently.
The woman eyed the lifewater thirstily. “May I drink again? It would give me the power I need to find him.”
“No,” Rewynn told her. He gestured to several acolytes who were watching over the people drinking at the well. “See her out, immediately.”
The woman broke into a wail of dismay, but the acolytes ignored her, and took her under the arms, dragging her down the church’s aisle. The great doors slammed shut a moment later, silencing her crying.
* * *
Rewynn showed no hint of surprise when he entered his private office and found Senator Foss seated in a deep leather armchair, waiting for him. The senator wore a well-tailored suit that nevertheless stretched tight across his ample belly, and his hair was thinning and greying at the temples.
“Gaspar,” the priest said, by way of greeting. “How are things proceeding at Anchorpoint?”
“Slowly,” Foss replied, with a grunt. “The NeoPuritan coalition is still too few in number. We just aren’t a big enough voting bloc to sway policy.”
“The numbers will come, in time,” Rewynn stated. He sat down behind his desk, and sighed.
“I’m going to try to elevate our visibility,” Foss told him. “I’m making a play for membership on the Intelligence Committee.”
Rewynn raised a single grey eyebrow. “That would be quite a coup.”
“It would be. I think it’s achievable, but it will take some maneuvering.”
“And some funding?” Rewynn asked.
“Potentially,” Foss replied. “I’ll let you know.”
Rewynn shrugged. “The Church stands ready to aid you, as ever.”
“I obtained a copy of the classified report on the Janus Group,” Foss said, changing subjects.
“And?” Rewynn asked.
“And I’m concerned that Contractor 621 will come back to Scapa,” Foss said.
“Why would he come back?”
“A woman,” Foss said. “According to the detective who aided him, 621 carried a necklace that he had purchased for a woman he met. He intended to find her again.”
“You think he means to give it to the nurse he met here?” Rewynn dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand. “That necklace could be for any number of women, on a thousand planets.”
“No,” Foss said. “My friend, it was a multi-colored crystal bead necklace, quite distinctive.”
Rewynn stroked the wood desktop in front of him idly. “One of those trinkets they sell to tourists at the Rainbow Desert?”
“That is my fear. If he returns, he could uncover the role we played in his assignment here.”
Rewynn pursed his lips. “Are you sure you’re not being paranoid, my friend?”
“Just prudent,” Foss protested. “Remember, this man exposed the Janus Group, and brought the entire organization to its knees. We should not underestimate him. And we don’t know what the Group told him.”
“They told him nothing but what he needed to know, and certainly not who hired him,” Rewynn scoffed. “That’s how the Janus Group has always operated.”
“I hope so,” Foss agreed, unconvinced.
Rewynn examined the senator. “You’re still worried,” he observed. “Gaspar, I agree that there is some risk. But he’s still a guildsman, with all of their abilities. We can’t exactly follow every male traveler that arrives on Scapa carrying a backpack.”
“We could put surveillance on the nurse.”
Rewynn considered this in silence, then nodded. “Very well. I have an acolyte-in-training who would be ideal. He’ll shadow her, and keep us apprised of her activities.”
“And if 621 does return?”
“We’ll dispose of him.”
4
“All systems are online. The prototype is ready.”
The old man seated at the ship’s command station looked up slowly, and then cleared his throat.
“Initiate the test,” he growled.
The technician turned back to his console and entered a command into the computer. On the ship’s viewscreen, a live-streamed image of a factory appeared, two silent smokestacks rising from a jumble of run-down buildings squatting in the midst of a grassy plain.
“Precision kinetic darts launched,” the technician reported. “Impact in thirty seconds.”
The old man focused his gaze on the factory. His eyes caught movement –
a truck had appeared on the viewscreen, approaching the factory’s gate in the distance. The technician saw it, too, and glanced at the old man questioningly. The man wavered for a minute, and then shrugged.
“Proceed with the test,” he said.
* * *
The truck slowed to a stop at the closed gate. Beyond the fence, the abandoned factory’s twin smokestacks loomed high in the cloudy sky. The passenger hopped down, jogging around the cab of the truck and pulling at the gate.
“It’s locked,” the man reported, letting the heavy chains drop back into place.
The driver of the truck grunted. “I got a key right here. Hop back in.”
The driver waited until his passenger had clambered back into the cab, then slowly drove forward, pushing against the gate with the grill of the truck. The padlocked chains held, but the chain-link fence itself quickly bent under the pressure, and the truck rolled over the collapsed fence a moment later. The driver accelerated on toward the factory.
“Radiation readings still pretty low,” the passenger commented. “Surprised no one’s tried scavenging this place yet.”
“It used to be a chemical plant,” the driver explained. “That probably scared ‘em off.”
With an ear-splitting shriek, a tight cluster of objects rained down onto the buildings ahead of them, throwing off sprays of sparks as they tore through the metal roof of the factory. One of the objects punched a neat hole through a brick chimney and then slammed into the cracked pavement ahead of the truck, throwing up a cloud of dust. The driver pumped the brakes instinctively.
“What the fuck!”
The dust settled, and the two men saw a deformed metal dart at the center of the impact crater. As they watched, the metal began to glow: red at first, then white-hot.
And then everything went black.
* * *
On the viewscreen, the factory appeared to shudder, and then the buildings erupted in a massive explosion. A split second later, the explosion’s shockwave reached the camera’s location, and promptly knocked the recording device over, sending it tumbling through the grasses of the plain. When it came to rest, it showed a massive plume of dust and smoke. There was no sign of the factory.
“Well?” the old man asked.
“We’ll need to analyze the readings, sir,” the technician reported. “But it looks like several kilotons in yield for each dart. The device is as powerful as advertised.”
The old man rubbed his chin. “That’s the final piece, then,” he said. “Recover the surveillance drones, and then prepare for our next FTL jump.”
“Yes, sir.”
The old man stood slowly, wincing as he straightened. “And wake the other council members,” he said.
“Which ones, sir?”
“All of them.”
* * *
Through the binoculars, the woman watched as the sheriff gathered up the yellow tape marked POLICE that had cordoned off the burned hulk of the truck, and then stuffed it into a plastic trash bag. The sheriff threw the bag into the bed of his truck, then climbed in and started up. He was out of sight less than a minute later.
The woman tucked a stray strand of curly black hair behind her ear, and refocused the binoculars. She scanned the ruined factory again, slowly working over the crumbled buildings, searching for any signs of movement. Satisfied, she stood, brushing dried grass from her utility coveralls and slipping the binoculars around her neck. She pulled the camouflage netting off of her hoverbike, folding it and tucking it into one of the bike’s saddle bags. Then she righted the vehicle, levering it off of the grassy plain, and swung her leg over and throttled up. As she approached the ruins, she checked the pistol in her hip holster, reflexively.
She parked next to the truck and pulled out her holophone, starting up the phone’s camera.
“Video evidence log: September eighth, 2415. Detective Atalia il-Singh reporting. Southern hemisphere of New Liberia, grid coordinates M 782 003. Former chemical factory.” She panned the phone over the ruined buildings. “Will submit photo and chemical analysis in addition to this log. Factory has recently sustained massive damage from an explosion of unknown origins, on the order of a nuclear weapon, but no radiological after-effects are present. Local law enforcement believes a chemical reaction from materials remaining inside the factory may have caused the blast, but I don’t agree with their assessment. Aerial imagery suggests external explosions.” She walked around the truck, stopping at a large crater in the road in front of it. “And this crater was clearly caused by a high angle impact, something dense traveling at high velocity.”
She swung the phone around to capture the destroyed truck. “Two men were killed during the explosion; they appear to be scavengers, likely searching for scrap metal.”
She zoomed in on the crater. “In short, I’m filing this report in accordance with recent instructions to investigate any and all large explosions in our assigned areas. If you can give me a bit more context around that order, like why I’m doing this, I can do follow-up work as needed. Until then, I’m returning to my regular assignment.”
She stopped the recording, encrypted the file, and then sent it via email to her supervisor.
Now maybe I can get back to doing actual work.
5
Dasi slid the magazine into the pistol and pulled back on the slide, chambering a round. She lifted the weapon, gripping it tightly between her hands, and aligned the front and rear sight posts over the man’s silhouette. Wincing, she pulled the trigger. The gun roared, and she let the barrel drop, squinting to see down the range. A small hole had perforated the paper target several inches to the right of the illustrated man’s torso.
“You’re jerking the trigger,” a gruff voice said from behind her, shouting to be heard over the din of other recruits firing.
“What?” Dasi asked, sliding the ear cups off her ears and turning around.
“Keep your weapon pointed down range, Cadet!”
Dasi started, and reacted automatically, turning back to face the target.
“Jesus Christ, Apter. Pay attention. And keep your ear protection on.”
“Yes, sir,” she sighed.
“You’re jerking the trigger,” the instructor repeated. “Just squeeze it. Gently, slowly.”
“Yes, sir.” How did I ever manage to hit Contractor 700? she wondered. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she had stood in the senator’s office, picked up the pistol, and saved Paisen’s life. It was a lifetime ago. Her shoulders slumped as she contemplated the target. I thought maybe a life in the Interstellar Police would be a new start … but it’s not what I expected.
“Whenever you’re ready, Cadet Apter,” the instructor said, testily.
Dasi lifted the pistol again, and slowly squeezed the trigger for what felt like a lifetime. Finally, the gun bucked in her hand, and another hole appeared in the target. This time, it was to the left of the silhouette, and low.
“Yeah, the trigger pull was good, but you forgot about your sight picture this time,” the instructor said, exasperated. “Try again.”
The pistol was heavy in her hands – her muscles were still sore from the morning’s physical training session. Her stomach grumbled, too, in hunger. It was nearly noon, but she had been up for seven hours already, and breakfast had been a long time ago. Something about the non-stop activity and stress of training made her hungry constantly, but she knew the food awaiting her at lunch was a far cry from what she would have found in the senate cafeteria where she used to eat.
Dasi concentrated on the target again, calming her breathing, and lined up the sights. Okay, now pull – squeeze – the trigger. She squeezed slowly, but the gun began to waver in her grip, her tired muscles struggling to hold it rigid in front of her. She hurried to squeeze the trigger before her arms gave out, and the gun fired.
“Where did that one even go?” the instructor asked, rhetorically. “I don’t think you were even on the paper. Again.”
Dasi fe
lt tears brimming in her eyes, behind the plastic safety glasses. Don’t you cry, she chided herself. Not again.
“Cadet Apter!” Her platoon’s command instructor appeared at her lane. Dasi kept the gun pointed at the target this time, and looked over her shoulder.
“Sir?” Dasi asked.
“Phone call for you. You can take it in the Range Safety office.”
“For me?” Dasi asked, confused. Only my parents know I’m here, and I spoke to them last night.
“Did I stutter?” The command instructor frowned. “Go. Be back in five minutes.”
“Yes, sir,” Dasi said, relieved to have a brief respite. She put the pistol down on the lane’s tabletop and turned to leave.
“Clear that weapon!” the command instructor thundered.
“Yes, sir,” Dasi said. Trembling, she dropped the magazine out of the chamber – it fell on the floor. She hurried to pick it up, and then completed clearing the weapon. She looked at the instructors when she had finished.
“What do you want, a medal? Your weapon is clear, now go!”
“Yes, sir,” Dasi said. She jogged past several lanes of fellow cadets, who were all firing steadily into their targets.
In the range’s office, Dasi found a desk phone showing a line on hold. She sat at the desk and picked up the headset, touching the screen to take the call.
“Cadet Apter,” she said, through force of habit.
“Dasi Apter?” a woman’s voice asked.
“Yes, speaking,” Dasi said. “Who is this?”
“Hi, this is Marga, I’m an artificial intelligence customer service avatar at CloudBase Storage. Miss Apter, I’m calling because your ninety day free trial is about to expire next week.”
