I hesitated. I’ve always said I’ll try out any experience at least once, and I’d never experienced apologetic foes before. Was this the annual outing for the Port Zahir Society of Masochists?
The woman lowered the cowl covering her head. She was young – or at least lacking visible scar tissue – and her hair had been buzzed close to her scalp. “I’m sorry we caused you to feel intimidated.”
“She sounds sincere,” said Sel-en-Sek, but what did he know? No matter, I didn’t need convincing because I was hooked by the novelty value alone.
I tested the situation by advancing on the woman using my most threatening stance – which was also my normal one, though with the addition of a curled lip. Some of the other robed figures flinched, but the apologizing woman bowed her head and clasped her hands as if in prayer.
She was built like an Earther, short and dainty, but when she raised her head to meet my eyes, she displayed no signs of acknowledging my physical strength. Hell, she smiled, and did so with a serenity I found unnerving.
She slowly lowered her eyelids and started mumbling. And kept on mumbling.
I was sure of it now. Either she was mad or on a chemically-induced trip to La-La Land.
Then Efia explained and this all made a bizarre kind of sense. She’s not mumbling, NJ. She really is praying.
Mader Zagh! These weren’t gangsters. It was far worse: they were religious maniacs, which made them less competent but more dogged and unpredictable than a criminal gang. Religion scared me.
“Forgive our manner,” said the religious madwoman. “We are not familiar with the ways of the city.”
“I’ll tell you a secret, lady,” I said. “Me neither. I’ve garrisoned captured cities. I’ve defended and taken them too. But that was different, that was not-dying. I’ve never lived in a city.”
The lady maniac smiled that serene smile again. It gave me the creeps. The way it oozed across her face just wasn’t right. She followed up by doing something else that wasn’t right; she walked up to us and shook our hands.
In fact, with her little Earther hand in my Marine meat-shovel, all she could manage was to grab three of my fingers, which was a little weird but she held onto them with a strong grip and I didn’t have to worry about crushing her bones.
I yanked my fingers away with a cry of horror. How had I been so stupid? She was an Earther for frakk’s sake. With a brush of skin contact she could have sent an army of nano-effectors to invade my body and bind me to her will.
“I do not have the implants,” she said when she saw me staring at my arm as if it were an enemy infiltrator. “None of us in the order are allowed implants.”
I bunched my fists. And then let them relax. If she was lying, it was already too late for me.
“My name is Sister Kyoto, a monk of the Order of St Helena.”
Sel-en-Sek picked that moment to join in. “What is your purpose here, Sister Kyoto?”
“In normal circumstances, I would answer that the brothers and sisters of the order live separately from society so that we might better fulfill our holy purpose. We pray, NJ and… forgive me I do not know the name of your friend. We pray for Klin-Tula and all who dwell on this planet.”
I sidestepped the question of how she knew my name, and dodged the issue that she hadn’t answered Sel-en-Sek’s question, and concentrated instead on understanding what Kyoto had said. That might sound like a dumb thing for me to do, but I’d heard a lot of freaky stories about the head tricks the Earthers could play, and it wasn’t just the nano-factories under the wrists. I’d seen first-hand how a gangster queen originally from Earth, but now on course to dominate the criminal underworld of Tata-West, could reach out her mind and strike down her enemies through the power of thought alone. I shudder to think what this Earther ‘prayer’ could do.
“Let’s get this straight,” I said to Sister Kyoto. “You monks team up in a big gang at your out-of-town hideout–”
“At our monastery, yes.”
“At your monastery,” I accepted. “And instead of dissipating your efforts into lots of different prayers, you concentrate them in unison for maximum psychic power, the same as an artillery battery will concentrate its guns on the same weak spot of a defensive fortification?”
Precisely.”
“Like a laser concentrates and focuses coherent light to transform mere illumination into something powerful enough to burn through starship armor, your coherent prayer transforms and surpasses the mundane and achieves a unified psychic force that can influence minds, destroy physical objects, and repair the dying. Is that your function, monk?”
She gave a nervous laugh, although she didn’t appear anxious. “I was about to say that what we do is more like a communication laser beaming up to Heaven so that God may hear our words clearly. But perhaps your description is a more vivid account of the same thing.”
“Forgive him, Sister,” said Sel-en-Sek. “NJ is a good man, despite his grisly demeanor, but he’s led a sheltered life.”
“Hey,” I snapped at the sailor. “I fought in the war for over two centuries.”
“Exactly,” he replied. “Which is why war is all you really know.” He turned to the monk. “Sister, why have you left your monastery and set aside your holy duty of prayer?”
“Because this is a time of great crisis for Port Zahir, and we fear for the planet as a whole.” She hesitated, and her serene face tightened a little. “Or so our temporal leader believes, and it is he who has summoned us to the city, just as we are now ordered to summon you to his presence.”
I spread my arms wide. “Hey, slow down. His presence? Are you telling me we need to see God?”
“You do, NJ,” she said, “although He always sees you. But I had a more mundane meaning. My friends, your presence is humbly requested by the Surpassingly Reverend Bishop of Port Zahir. Now!”
— CHAPTER 12 —
The setting was ideal: Temple Bar Coffee House on Fourth Line Road. Deep leather seats, metal table with freshly ground coffee, and cocooned inside a privacy shroud with my companion.
The timing was abysmal. Silky was furious that Sel-en-Sek and I were taking so long. The sailor dropped me off on his way back to HQ, and Silky had warned me that if I didn’t get good intel out of this bishop, then I needn’t bother reporting back. As for my new companion, the big boss of the local Catholics, I was curious why he had summoned me for about two minutes. Then he started talking all this drent about how there is good inside all of us, and it’s bad to shoot bad people even though it feels so right.
“Yeah, yeah,” I interrupted his speech, grabbing firmly onto his wrist just as he reached for his cup. “I don’t mean to be rude, Your Unfeasible Reverendness–”
He laughed. “The title is Surpassingly Reverend Bishop, though I agree, it always sounded overly grand to me. Why don’t you stick to ‘bishop’?”
I shrugged. “The thing is, Your Overly Grand Reverendship, my boss is in a real hurry like, and she only let me stay out to play with you on the condition that I’m ready to leave the moment my lift comes for me. So no metaphysical drent, Bish, just tell me what you have to, and then give me the intel you promised in return. Because when my pickup comes, I go. Understand?”
I gave him credit: this bishop was a regular guy, not like Sister Serenity back at the warehouse, because after a couple of seconds digesting my words, his face lit up with hope. “Does that mean Caccamo is still alive?”
“I don’t know,” I replied. And I didn’t. “They don’t tell me everything, don’t even pay me. Can you believe that?”
It was the bishop’s turn to shrug. “Life’s a pile of steaming drent, NJ. And that’s on a good day. You got to make the most of the hand you’re dealt because there are no re-deals, and the house always wins in the end.”
I grinned. The bishop was all right, just picked the wrong time for a chat with me. “Sounds like you’ve knocked around the galaxy a bit, Your Extreme Reverendness.”
By w
ay of answer he drew back his jacket sleeve and my jaw dropped as he calmly detached his left arm, which came away with a hiss of sealing valves. Then he whacked the artificial limb against his lower left leg which rung like a hollow cylinder.
“Lost them both at the Defense of Hin-Xataji, back in 2651.”
“Hey, I was there too…” I peered at the bishop’s face trying to find something familiar there. It was a big battle, but… My brain didn’t function properly anymore, but I thought I recognized him.
“The heat shunt on my X-Boat overloaded,” said the bishop, “but I was bailing out when it blew so I only lost this pair of limbs. Guess they’re still out there in the void and in better condition now than the rest of me. A squad of Marines was sent off for a search and rescue mission. Although they brought me back to safety, not all of them made it back. When we landed in your transport ship, even though I was struggling to retain consciousness–”
“Even so, you kept just enough energy in reserve to thank each and every one of us before passing out. I remember you. I stayed beside you until the medics came. You were like our little ship rat mascot, brave and cute. But, Bishop, that was many lifetimes ago. A chance encounter. One of those freak coincidences that are bound to happen when you live as long as us.”
“There are no coincidences in God’s plan, Ndeki.”
“You believe that if you want, Bish, but I prefer to believe NJ McCall is in charge of his own destiny. And I’ll thank you to call me NJ or Mr. McCall. Ndeki is something I reserve for people I’ve slept with.”
The bishop laughed. “In that case, I’d think I better call you Mr. McCall… at least for now.” He gave me a saucy wink but I think he was joking. I was never sure with space rat pilots who were mostly crazier than the freakiest aliens, and whose sexual appetites were about the only thing bigger than their egos.
“You do that, Bish. Clock’s ticking. About that intel you promised…”
“Excuse me,” he said, and retracted the privacy shroud. “I’ll get those,” he shouted in the direction of the serving counter.
Two figures turned around. One an old human male walking with the aid of a stick, and the other was a Gliesan, a race of hollow-boned gliders who could swoop soundlessly out of the sky in their stealth suits and slit the throats of unsuspecting enemies before disappearing into the air. This one had its wings folded up inside polished steel casings, so aerial attack was unlikely to be an issue in the noisy confines of Temple Bar Coffee House.
The bishop pushed himself to his feet, using his crystal-topped cane and limped over to the newcomers.
“I thought you had intel for me?” I snarled at him.
“Come with me. You need to meet them.” When I just scowled in response, he added, “It is a part of your intel.”
I did, and stood like a twonk on the edge of the action as the bishop shook the hand of the human man. “Good morning, Godfrey. I hope the leg is not troubling you too much today. I know mine soaks up any dampness in the air and converts it into cramp with such efficiency that I sometimes doubt my faith.” He shrugged. “My leg was blown off in 2651 but that little detail doesn’t stop it from hurting.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” replied Godfrey, who struck me as bemused by the priest against his better judgment. Godfrey would prefer to think of the bishop as his enemy.
The bishop nodded cautiously at the Gliesan. “Szlik-D’Ziah,” he said.
The alien nodded at me. “You hiring dumb muscle now?”
“We are better able to protect ourselves then you imagine, Szlik-D’Ziah. We do not hire mercenaries.”
“But you do look chummy with this fella,” said Godfrey, looking me up and down.
“I’m with Revenge Squad,” I explained.
That brought a reaction all right. Perhaps I should have told them that I ripped babies apart with my bare hands, mixed their flesh with chopped puppies, and sold the result to the coffee house to fill its special meat pies. I’d have gotten a friendlier response if I had.
“I reckon some souls aren’t worth saving,” said Godfrey, giving me the eye.
I stood toe-to-toe and dared him to say that again.
Careful, NJ, Sanaa warned.
Go on, dongwad! Bahati shouted. Spit at NJ. Poke him, push him, you little skangat, and you’ll see what you get.
I sided with Bahati. This Godfrey was old and infirm in his body, but his eyes were screaming a fighting challenge. The Gliesan had disappeared into the crowded room, probably working its way to my rear.
“Two ‘black and spicys’ for my old friends,” said the bishop to the barista. “Zeta Serenity Blend, if you please. I think they need a calming beverage, don’t you?”
The bishop looked on as Godfrey and I glared at each other. If the old man was going to provoke me, he would have done so by now and we all knew it. But I couldn’t back down.
We kept to our stances like statues, an installation of barely repressed violence, until the drinks came, steaming in the fluted cups that seemed all the fashion. The bishop took me by the arm and guided me back to our seats.
“Who the frakk were they?” I asked as soon as we were back inside a privacy shroud.
“Cooperatives.”
No. Didn’t register. “Again, with who the frakk?”
He peered at me. I think he was debating whether I was winding him up or really was as ignorant as I made out.
“You may know their organization as the Cooperative for Equality and Smoothed Prosperity. Some folk call them Levelers. They don’t like the way Klin-Tula works and are gearing up to reshape this world.”
The police captain had warned me about insurrectionists. “You mean they’re traitors. Rebels. We’ve enough trouble with criminals. We should arm every loyal citizen in the city, go door to door and root out these Levelers. Won’t be pretty, but there would be no more traitors.”
The former X-Boat pilot shook his head. “I wish I could believe you were joking, NJ.”
“I’m not. We’re all civilians together now. If you don’t like how things are run, you vote, not plan for insurrection and armed struggle. It’s very simple.”
The bishop looked at me over his coffee. I knew what he was doing: figuring out how to simplify his message to get through to the stupid Marine. Smug veck.
“Society is a complex business,” he said. “Whether an individual is human or alien makes less difference than you may believe. If you believe as I do that human beings are infinitely complex, then adding the additional distinctiveness of aliens makes them no more complex. You cannot expand complexity beyond the already infinite.”
“Don’t get me started on aliens, Bish. And you’ve wandered back onto the metaphysical. We disagree over the Levelers. Get over it and onto the point. How can you help me?”
“I’m not talking random drent, NJ, honestly. Look, we of the Episcopal Alliance are not violent. And those of us skilled at war have disavowed that tendency. However, we have other resources, and I may be able to lend them your way if I thought you were doing good work – and I think you are, although you do not realize. By way of demonstrating my intelligence gathering, I know that you were interviewed by the police. I do not know what was said but I expected Captain Silverberg attempted to co-opt your assistance in exterminating the Levelers. Those who own this city are waking up to the Levelers’ strength and are pulling at every one of their many strings to snuff out this threat to their control. Silverberg dangles on one such thread, and she will seek to control you in turn.”
I shrugged. He might be the bishop of the entire galactic spiral arm for all I cared, but no way was I telling him I was now working for the police. “Okay,” I said, “let’s try out your local knowledge.” I brought up on my Aimee an image of the Pavnix who had called Revenge Squad, and thrust my wrist across the table. “Do you know this alien?”
“I know ser well. Sie is HUB’s second-in-command. Ser name is Xamajeeli-Lek and there is a great deal of good in ser heart. Did you know
Pavnix communicate emotional state through color changes in their face?”
“No. Wait, you can tell what it was thinking?”
“What sie was thinking. I can tell you sie was conflicted. I see anger, anxiety and the humiliation of being taken for a sucker like a chuddering first year crècheling with an ass so green you could use it as a card table.”
I glanced at my Aimee. The clock told me we had to accelerate. “Tell me about HUB, Bishop.”
“They are like Revenge Squad but more established locally. In their early years, I spoke many times with Mayrik, the old Marine who set them up. He meant well, but I think prolonged contact with the ugliest parts of society has soured him. The base is in an old ammo dump on the cliffs about eight miles away. The ordnance blew up, hit during the Legion’s invasion, but HUB has patched up the place and brought it back into their use.”
“We should be taking on those Levelers together, not HUB and Revenge Squad fighting each other.”
“Exactly.”
“I mean, we’re… eh? I thought we were all infinitely complex or infinitely good or something, and so shouldn’t fight. To be honest, Bish, I was only really paying attention to the bit where I was a dumb Marine with hatred inked on my heart.”
He reached over and slapped me hard on the side of the head with his false arm. I growled but let it ride. There was probably a stupid law that said you weren’t supposed to hit amputee senior priests.
“Stop wasting time,” he told me. He told me! “The Levelers are good people, for the most part. Same as any other group of individuals. They are right to demand dignity and safety for ordinary folk. Unfortunately, their leaders pervert their message with hatred because they firmly believe that means justify the ends. They do not yet understand that you cannot establish a fair, free, and just society when your heart is filled with evil. They are convinced blood must be spilled to create a better life, just as we in the Legion once believed the same in the cause of freedom. Have you forgotten the rallying cry of the Legion, the words we both cried at Hin-Xataji?
“Freedom can be won!” Even after all these years, the words sounded like a perfectly tuned bell that could ring out across light years and across species boundaries.
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