by Wren, M. K.
The second occasion was a true departure. On her fiftieth birthday, she voyaged across the light years to the Cathedron of Concordia where the Reverend Eparch and High Bishop ordained her Sister Supra of Saint Petra’s. That was twenty years ago, and she’d never had any inclination to venture beyond the locks of Saint Petra’s again. What she wished to know of the outside world was available in book- and textapes or on vidicom, and she watched the newscasts and educational programs conscientiously. She sent her charges into that world regularly, and it was her responsibility to prepare them for it.
Now Sister Thea stood at the oriel window in her study, taking advantage of a break in her afternoon schedule. From this window high in the cloister, she looked out over the children’s play court, the school, the dormitories, the hospital—except for the cloister, the largest building in the convent—the clusters of residences for Church Bonds and Fesh, the warehouses and maintenance buildings, and beyond them the farm plots, squared out with green hedgerows and interspersed with wooded glades. The flora was almost entirely Terran; the first trees had been planted at the convent’s founding and had flourished and grown to majestic maturity. That it was a microcosm of Terra had come home to her only on her one short visit to the mother planet.
Beyond this green microcosm and its protective ’bubbles, she could see a stretch of horizon and the Barrens, stark in the slanting rays of the late afternoon sun. The pygmy forests had moved north, she noted, in their annual migration, leaving the low hills around Saint Petra’s naked. No sign of human existence was visible from the convent, although it was only an hour’s flight over the shoulder of Mount Dema to the south to the town of Oriban.
The languid quiet of the afternoon was broken with a sound so melodious, and so expected, it only made her smile and look down into the play court. The sound was the chiming of the hour from the triple spires of the cloister chapel. It was followed by a rush of footsteps and laughing shouts as the children plunged pell mell into the court for the afternoon play period.
The chapel chimes had shaped time in the convent for nearly two centuries. The chapel was the oldest structure here, nearly as old as human history on Castor, and built of white marlite in contrast to the pinkish stone of all the other buildings, the stone quarried at the foot of Mount Dema.
The Sisters of Faith maintained three convents on Castor; one in Helen, another in Tremper in the southern hemisphere, but Saint Petra’s was the largest and the oldest, and Sister Thea knew—through vidicom and imagraphs—that none of them were graced with any buildings so solemnly beautiful as the cloister chapel of Saint Petra’s of Ellay. Yet for her, the real heart of the convent was below her—the children laughing, dancing out the age-old rituals of their games.
The Sisters of Faith served the unwanted children of the worlds and, when necessary, their mothers. That was why the hospital was the second largest structure in the convent. It was a maternity hospital.
Many of the children below, whose laughter seemed to rise like bubbles to her window, were born in that hospital. They were officially classified as orphans and would eventually leave Saint Petra’s to be allieged to the Concord or Church. As Fesh. There was no way of knowing the class of most of these children’s parents, although the majority of them were probably Fesh. Still, a few no doubt were Bond, and a few Elite. The Church compromised by allieging all of them as Fesh, which Thea had always considered fair. Some of these children—like herself and so many of the Sisters who were teachers, doctors, nurses, and surrogate mothers—would stay.
A good sound, she was thinking; laughter is a good sound.
At length, she turned from the window, crossed to her desk, and eased into the straight-backed chair. As she looked down at her appointment schedule, a sigh escaped her.
“New patient. Anonymous. 13:10.”
It was almost time. She pushed the veil back over her koyf, which was stretching, even breaking, the rule. The Sisters of Faith was a secret Order, the veils as distinctive as their blue habits. The veils were not to be lifted except in private encounters between Sisters if it were considered absolutely necessary, and then only within the walls of the cloister. But the patients she met in this room were anxious enough already; she didn’t think the forgiving spirit of the Holy Mezion would be offended if she spared them the necessity of dealing with yet another veiled, faceless figure.
The door chime sounded, and Thea pursed her lips. She always felt a certain uneasiness at this point, wondering what the new patient would be like, what she would be hoping for, what her decisions would be.
“Come in, Sister.”
Sister Camila, tall, spare, engulfed in her blue habit, entered first, then stood aside and turned to the young woman following her.
“This way, please.”
She was face-screened—so many of them were—slender and small, her carriage erect, making her seem taller than she actually was. She wore a casual slacsuit with a short cape. The clothes were of good quality; upper-class Fesh. No jewelry, no House badge, nothing to identify her, and this was also the rule, rather than the exception. Thea was briefly attracted to her hands—small and well tended. They’d seen no manual work.
Thea smiled and gestured to the chair across the desk. “Please, sit down with me, if you will.”
She moved to the chair with a purposeful stride that was surprising—most covered that space very hesitantly—and when she was seated, folded her hands in apparent calm.
Thea said, “That will be all, Sister Camila, thank you.” She waited until the door closed, then turned to the young woman. “I’m Sister Thea, Supra of Saint Petra’s. I won’t ask your name, my dear. It’s your privilege to tell me or withhold it as you wish.”
“Thank you, Sister. For the present I’ll withhold it.”
A confident voice; unafraid. Thea touched a button on her desk console, and the medical report appeared on the screen. The mother was in good health; complications were unlikely. The pregnancy was in its second month. Sex of child, male. No—sex of children. Thea tried not to frown as she read the final notation: “The patient is carrying twins; identical.”
Somehow that made it harder. Two lives . . . .
She switched off the screen and looked up at the young woman. This was another moment she approached with some trepidation—informing the patient of her pregnancy, knowing she would be waiting for the answer to a question that could drastically alter her life. But this one seemed so calm; she seemed to know the answer already.
Thea began, “I have the results of your examination. It’s my hope that what I have to tell you will be considered good news, but I know it can’t always be so. In any case, the Sisters of Faith will serve you in every way we can. You are pregnant, my dear. The pregnancy is in its second month.”
A long sigh; it was difficult to guess whether it indicated relief or despair, yet it seemed nearer relief.
Then she leaned forward. “Sister, can you tell me the sex of the child?”
That was one question Thea had never been asked at this stage. Her sparse brows came up.
“Why, yes. The sex is male. The chemohormonal analyses are quite dependable.”
Again a sigh, and it was unmistakably one of relief. “For me. Sister, that’s good news indeed.”
Thea smiled with unexpected pleasure. “There’s something else you must know. According to the report, you’re carrying twins. Identical twins.”
A silence, then a hesitant, “Twins? Are you sure?”
“Yes. Those tests are also quite dependable.”
She laughed, and the sound was as free as the laughter of the children in the courtyard outside.
“Twins,” she repeated softly. “It runs in the family.” And, again, that laughter. “Two sons. A double blessing.”
A blessing. This young woman was extraordinary.
“T
hen perhaps you’ve answered my next question already. Do you wish to bear these children?”
“Yes, of course I do.”
“And after they’re born?”
“I won’t give them up, if that’s what you mean.”
“I see. I’m pleased, of course, but in all fairness, I must warn you that—”
“Thank you, but I need no warnings. Nothing short of death could part me from my children.”
The determination in her tone was chilling, as if the possibility of death was more than a figure of speech.
“Well, then, we have only to work out certain details concerning your medical requirements and any other needs the Order is qualified to meet.”
“Sister, my needs will be great, and only you and your Order can meet them.”
There was no mistaking the chill quality in her tone now, and Thea felt a fleeting, but very tangible, fear.
“I . . . don’t think I understand . . .”
“I know, and I’ll explain in part, at least, if you’ll bear with me. First, I’ve done some research on your Order. I’ve learned, for instance, that you’re bound by vows of silence if any supplicant asks it of you. Personal vows that include your Sisters as well as anyone outside the Order. I also know you’re bound to protect any mother or child who comes to you, no matter who they may be, or how great the danger to the Sisters. And you will offer sanctuary to any supplicant against any threat, whatever it might be, even if it comes from the highest officials of the Concord.”
Thea nodded, aware that her heart was pumping too fast, a sensation that at her age she could only regard with alarm.
“All of that is true. Sanctuary is an ancient and honored tradition of the Church.”
The young woman went on in the same level tone, “I’ve also made inquiries about you. It’s easy to take a vow, but to keep it is another matter. I’m told you keep your vows.”
“I . . . I always have, and I should hope nothing would ever stop me from keeping them. These arc life vows we take upon entering the Order. We break them at the risk of our immortal souls.”
There was a brief silence, then she said softly, “I know about life vows, Sister. I made one that I intend to keep, but I can’t do it without your help. I came to Saint Petra’s of all the Faith convents because of what I’ve been told about you. I’ve come as a supplicant, and I’ll hold you to your vow of silence and protection for me and my children—above all, for my children. I’ve come to ask sanctuary.”
Thea was still mystified, but she didn’t hesitate.
“Santuary is yours, if you ask it.”
The young woman leaned back, her hands resting on the arms of the chair. But there was a ring on her left hand now. At first, Thea’s attention was drawn to it only because she was sure it hadn’t been there before. Then she stared at it with unintentional directness. An Elite betrothal ring; the stones were ruby and sapphire. And she felt that chill again as she had when the young woman promised to die before being parted from her children.
Thea touched the first two fingers of her right hand to her forehead, then her heart, and repeated the promise, more as a reminder to herself than as an assurance.
“Santuary is yours.”
3.
The Phoenix contingent at the Cave of Springs had expanded to thirteen. The physicists, James Lyden and Caris Bruce, had disappeared from Fina two days before, and were presently setting up their laboratory in another part of the cave. The remaining defectors were also from Fina: two comtechs and three MT techs. Within two weeks, the COS HQ would be fully manned with a staff of thirty-four, including the Falcon crews.
A square chamber had been cut into one wall of the comcenter, and Alex watched with profound satisfaction as the techs completed the installation of the matter transmitter—the link to Fina and the means of freeing Andreas. When he was found.
It was exactly three months today since Andreas’s arrest, and Ben still didn’t know where he was being held. But he was convinced Andreas hadn’t been transferred to the Solar System, and if he were on Castor, or anywhere in the Centauri System, they would be ready now.
Alex found the face-screens increasingly annoying. Of the Phoenix members, only Jael went without one. It was like dealing with automatons. Or perhaps it was only a reminder of the faceless acolytes at the rituals in the Cliff. Still, as long as the Brothers were here, the ’screens were necessary.
Alex turned at the sound of footsteps; Jael emerging from the passage leading down to the hangar cavern. His tirelessness was a source of amazement. He still kept up his duties with the Helen chapter and, whenever he was free, he was at the COS HQ. But neither of them had wasted much time sleeping the last two months.
Jael stopped to watch the installation of the MT. “When will it be on line, Alex?”
“Dr. Lind said he can check it out in the morning.”
That was morning TST. It was morning now in the Midhar above them, and the temperature was rising in the cave. The Brothers helping with the installation were already stripped to the waist.
“Alex, I just ’commed the old Ser. He says the Falcons are ready for deliv. After dark upside; ten hours.”
“Good. I sent Ben a crew list; he’s double-checking them. I considered all of them loyals, but I can’t be sure after three months away from FO. Ben agrees with me on Vic Blayn, though, so Leftant Commander Blayn will become First Commander of the exile FO. I’m not sure whether that’s a promotion or a demotion.”
Jael said with a wry smile, “If he’s the right ilk, he’ll take it like a new star on his shoulder. Did you talk to the old Ser about an MT terminal in his HQ?”
“Not yet. I’ll see him tomorrow, and I might as well broach it then. We need access to Helen, and we can’t look to any of the chapter terminals there, which means I’ll be in a seller’s market again.” He stopped, alerted when one of the Brothers paused for a long look.
Val Severin was coming out of the tunnel into the sleeping quarters, moving with an air of intent purposefulness, but moving, naturally enough, like a woman. She wore a face-screen, and the borrowed slacsuit was dusty and ill-fitting, but Val had never had to work at attracting a man’s eye.
“Banic!” Jael was also aware of the Brother’s wandering attention. “You don’t rate half a ’cord standing around like a dodder.”
Banic gave Jael a quick glance and returned to his work.
“Hello, Alex—Jael.” Val’s voice conveyed the smile lost behind her ’screen. “We’ve finished setting up the bath areas. Thank the God for the hot springs. At least we’ll have hot water. You know, when you give up this place as an HQ, Alex, you should make a health spa of it. That water has enough mineral content to cure anything.”
Alex glanced at Jael. “Maybe I’ll sell it back to Amik for that purpose—at a tidy profit, of course.”
“Fortune on the profit, brother. Any problems, Val?”
“No, but we’re almost ready to set up the S/V screen partitions. I just wanted to locate the equipment.”
Alex pointed to an opening into a smaller chamber. “In our future conference room. I’ll have them brought in to you.”
She waved the offer aside. “I have plenty of strong backs available. Thanks.” Then, as she started back to the tunnel, “I may need Lennis or Jao to check the circuitry.”
Jael frowned as he watched her go. “Step light, Val.”
Alex doubted she actually heard that quiet admonition, and he was thinking that there were some advantages to the face-screens; he could study Jael’s expression of solicitous concern quite openly without his awareness.
Finally, Jael turned his attention to the MT chamber. “Alex, maybe I can slip in a word with the old Ser on that MT terminal. It’ll give him the quivs having a permanent Insider dig on his ground.”
“You
don’t think it’ll give me a few quivs having a Phoenix dig on Outsider ground? All right, why don’t you sit in on the haggling. For one thing, you can suggest a spot for it. preferably near the accesses—”
A cry of alarm brought him up short. His eyes moved in the quick arc, searching its source. Jael had already guessed it: the passageway to the sleeping quarters.
Alex pelted toward the tunnel, but Jael was ahead of him, the knife flashing from its sheath, while Alex snapped the X from its sleeve holster into his left hand. Val was halfway down the eight-meter length of the passage, struggling with the hulking man twice her weight; one of the Brothers, and his inentions were clearly amorous.
Alex paused at the tunnel entrance. Val’s face-screen was off, and her expression was one of impatient anger, not fear; the man was in for a surprise. And this was a Brotherhood affair. He raised his gun so that the twenty Brothers gathered at the other end of the passage could see it, and waited.
“Ibo!” Jael’s shout got no response from the Brother. Val had gone into action.
Her arms were pinned but her legs were free, and a quick upward thrust of her knee doubled the Outsider with a hoarse shout of agony. Then, with her hands free, she delivered a hatchet-like blow over the kidneys, and swinging back from that, momentum calculated to the microsecond, snapped a kick to the face, just under the chin. Had it been a little harder, it would have broken his neck. As it was, Ibo found himself, in less than five seconds, rolling in moaning helplessness on the floor. Jael stood over him, eyes slitted, stone-black. He glanced only once at Val.
“Ibo!” The name low, taut, cracking in the rock-bound space. “You unmothered nuch—stand up!”
Val pressed back against the wall, and she felt more fear now at what she read in Jael’s eyes than she had when the Brother began pawing her.
Ibo lurched to his knees, groaning with the effort, and went white when he looked up into Jael’s face. His mouth moved, but produced only spongy, garbled grunts. Jael stood motionless; he didn’t even seem to blink, as Ibo pulled himself to his feet in jerking stages, finally making words of the choked noises.
