by Steve M.
“Please register one disapproval,” Koven said coldly.
“Don’t be like that.”
“Just complete the briefing, please,” he insisted. He sat down in the copilot chair.
“Level of Literacy: low to medium. Allor territories have mandatory school for the young.” Rusa was pouting overtly while she spoke. Koven crossed his arms across his chest. “But there is a man named Ip. He seems to have particularly good skills at literacy. His stories are translated into many different languages.”
“Skip him,” said Koven with an annoyed tone.
“Reprioritizing,” said Rusa for a moment, then she continued. “The Niddler Metropol—capital of The Cult of Niddler. Population 697,327. They are divided up by position in religious hierarchy.”
“Tell me about the religious hierarchy, please,” requested Koven.
“Their leader is named Hundil. He is considered their high priest. His official title is The Highest Unconsciousness. It is said he can reach unconsciousness at will, instantly. But he may just have an advanced form of permissive narcolepsy,” Rusa said. She smiled at Koven again then made a frown when he didn’t smile back.
“There is a leadership council. These are the twenty men and twenty women that run the administration of the religion and the country. There is also a formal military command consisting of a group of five soldiers that counsel The Highest Unconsciousness on strategies, all unsurprisingly defensive in nature. The Cult of Niddler won’t attack another area until they are provoked. But then revenge will be paid many times over. The Cult of Niddler has been known to provoke a violent response in a border area in order to justify taking land. The Niddler military is not very formidable, and recent attempts at ocean-based assaults failed horribly with significant loss of life.”
“What else?” said Koven in an almost bored tone of voice.
“The Wonder—that’s what they call their priests—there are approximately fifty thousand of them. Women make up just over half of the priesthood, and it is a well-run organization. They have the highest ratings for on-time start of services and had the highest overall earliest finishes. Prior to the Cult of Allor, Niddler had the highest worshipper satisfaction ratings for three years in a row. But of course, Allor has rewritten all the rules.
“But there isn’t just The Wonder. There is also The Wonderful, as their rank-and-file believers are known. Niddler is strong on daily affirmations of wonderfulness among their followers. But within The Wonderful there are two distinct groups.
“The first are known as The Higher Unconsciousness. They are approximately thirty thousand followers that can hold their breath until they achieve unconsciousness. Then there is the rest. They are called The Aspiring and are all those that can’t hold their breath until they pass out but try to do it anyway. Every day. Three times a day.
“Then there are The Interpreters, a group of two thousand men and women who spend their entire lives studying the quatrains of Niddler. But his words are so incredibly vague and can be interpreted to mean any damned thing you want.”
“What do you mean?” asked Koven.
“Oh, let me give you just one of thousands of examples. Let’s see, here’s a good one.
‘He descended from the bottom and moved with the sureness of inevitability in dubitable times.’
“Interpreters of complete gobbley gook. How can you descend from the bottom? Does the bottom itself have a bottom now? Every five hundred revs they present their findings over a three-day festival of food and drink—mostly drink, since their findings are considered elaborate and boring.”
“What about the Disciples of Earth?” Koven asked.
“They are a pagan cult that worships the planet and the processes that make it work. They forego large cities and live in villages across the center belt of the planet. They are planet-worshiping ecologists.”
“This is an advanced outlook for a primitive people,” Koven replied.
What Rusa neglected to tell Koven was how ineffectual the Disciples of the Earth were. They question each other at every moment of resource usage and often don’t get much else done. But they are very lovely people with a remarkable herb that makes something very similar to a nice cup of tea. They have a goddess called Phelopes that gave birth to the Earth. They worship her every day. Disciples of Earth try to always watch sunrise and sunset and pray at those times. It is a prayer that contains a flaw, since it assumes that all the human are originally from Earth 7. They don’t know they were the new Australia.
“What about the other two regions, the nonreligious ones?” asked Koven.
“The Rom Empire is run by Rom II and his sister, Ova. In Rom, all religions are respected and protected. This means there are periodic riots caused by the followers of Ceros and Allor. Rom Jr. is planning on separating the various religious groups in his kingdom into their own areas. But he has significant opposition to his ethnic cleansing, as both Ceros and Allor followers believe that they should be able to convert everyone to their beliefs. Militarily, they are significant, with the best-trained army. But economically they are not such a powerhouse.
“Then there is the Confederated Union. The Confederation is a small but growing area where religion is forbidden. All of the religions hate the Confederation and want to destroy it. But the fighters from the confederation are legendary for refusing to submit. They will die before they submit.”
“When told they will be forced to accept domination by others or a belief, they attack the speaker and won’t stop until one of them is dead. They believe that submission is the same as life is over. Because of this, no Confederation member has ever been converted to a religion. But they get refugees from the other areas. They accept them without question. But this also means that they get spies from the other groups and suffer from nearly constant terrorism. Bombings are daily in their towns.”
“And no evidence of them having advanced technology?”
“None whatsoever,” she replied.
The briefing continued until they were in orbit and ready to go down to the planet. She finished it as they suited up and gathered their equipment.
When they were done, she took him by the hand. She looked at him.
“Let’s go jump,” she said with a big smile.
Jumping was another part of being an agent that Koven wasn’t fond of. Most agents thought it was great fun. Not Koven. She pulled him hand in hand as she ran down the corridor to the air lock. As soon as she slammed the button for the door to open the outer airlock, she activated her personal transport device and ran towards the open door to the open skies above the planet. She jumped out like a small child would jump into a pool of water, not knowing if there were leeches in the water or not. She sailed out into the space over Earth 7 and the PTD began to take her down to the planet. A few tix and she was accelerating away. Then she was gone.
Koven stood inside of the now still and silent airlock. He checked his weapons and his tech one last time before walking over to the door. He stood at the edge of the door, slapped the CLOSE button just inside of the door, then closed his eyes and took his one small step for man. His acceleration settings were on low, the only way he could use the PTD without getting sick.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Professor Leo Trill, head of the Sociology Department, was running his remedium over his head. He did this twice a day. If he didn’t, his hair would fall out. And Leo was very proud of his hair. It was long and it was carefully styled. For an academic office, there were quite a few mirrors.
Professor Ugo Droka was seated across from him. Trill looked at his protégé and smiled.
“He’ll be out for at least one hundred revs. Three hundred if you want my personal opinion. He was a mess when I saw him,” Trill said.
“His poor family,” replied Professor Droka. “His children are grown, thankfully,” he added.
“His oldest daughter teaches at Secondus Abion,” replied Trill. “I spoke to
her dean and helped her get a leave of absence.”
“Sociology?” Droka asked.
“Medicine,” replied Trill in a disappointed tone.
“Some people just aren’t big-picture people,” said Droka with a judgmental tone.
“Indeed,” replied Trill.
“Still, we’ve got the head of consulting down. This could cost us interdepartmental transfers. I didn’t like the bastard, not one bit. He was arrogant. How dare he be arrogant with me! He didn’t even attend Centrum Kath until his Ph.D. But Maxito brought in the transfers.”
“He was good at that,” Droka agreed.
“We are going to need replacement income for the department,” replied Trill.
“What do you have in mind?” asked Droka.
“Quarantines.”
“That again,” replied Droka with a little bit of disappointment in his tone. Trill started talking with his hands even before the words came out of his mouth.
“History gets just over one billion per planet. We only need one of them to fill the funding hole from Mixita until he comes back or his replacement returns us to our current funding levels. And we need to end this insult to the Sociology Department. We need quarantines.”
I should point out that Professor Trill is being less than honest with his use of the term insult. True, the Sociology Department does not control and is not the primary influencer on any planets currently. However, this was not always the case.
The Sociology Department hasn’t been allowed to run any planets in almost three hundred thousand revs. The last time they did, it came to a disgraceful end when Professor Albert was found to be personally running a planet in quarantine. He was making everyday decisions for a group of humans that weren’t even supposed to know there were others of us out in the universe. And they worshiped him in their ignorance. “Lord Albert,” they called him.
Making matters worse were the three hundred women that gave birth to children that shared Professor Albert’s DNA. The Albert Affair reduced funding for the Sociology Department for over two kilorevs and caused a strict prohibition for planets to come under Sociology control.
Within the department, it is known as “Albert’s disgrace.” But if he were a painter and if the planet were Polynesia, well, the opinions may have been different.
“How many are there now?” asked Droka.
“Thirty-seven in total,” replied Trill.
“How much does a sponsored chair cost?”
“Now you’re thinking,” replied Trill with a smile. “We could have thirty-seven new sponsored chairs in the department and have plenty of change to spare. Fund the agent program and maybe even some joint behavioral studies with the Psychos (Psychology Department) or things along those lines.”
“Thirty-seven new chairs. That would be big news across the galaxy. Just imagine the fighting to get one of those positions,” replied Droka with a chuckle.
“Yes, just imagine,” said Trill with a grin.
“But we have fallback positions, no?” asked Droka.
“Yes. We’ll take a smaller number, of course, but we must argue for statistical significance and try to hold the line at thirty planets,” replied Trill.
“And our drop-dead, last-ditch, do-or-die position?” asked Droka.
“Earth 7. We must at least get control of Earth 7.”
“And what happens if we get Earth 7?” asked Droka.
“Then we will need a governor to run it. Someone that will be stationed on Earth 7 getting them ready to meet the contact criteria.”
“How far are they from meeting them?” Droka asked, touching his face with his index finger.
“As far as you can get. They currently meet none of them.”
“That will take a strong hand and harsh discipline,” replied Droka.
“Indeed. That is why we are having this conversation. Our first twenty agents have completed training. There will be another hundred within the next thirty revs. Then one hundred every thirty revs.”
“Until we run out of money.”
“Until we run out of money,” Trill replied with a nod.
“Fitzcaraldo will support us,” Trill replied.
“A traitor to his own,” replied Droka.
“No. Our favorite histo,” replied Trill with a fake tone of admonishment and a chuckle.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Grand Temple of Allor sat in the center of Midar, the capital city of the Empire of Allor. It had a long bit of stairs leading up to the main chambers used for religious ceremonies. There were even large wooden doors at the front of the temple, doors that stood nearly ten maatars high. It took more than one person to open them. But we’re not interested in the doors. Or the main chambers. We’re interested in the warren of rooms and areas behind and underneath the Grand Temple that stood on the cliff overlooking the raging River Tal.
Yes, it was one of the first things that happened when Allor came to power. Yes, the decree was a forgery, and Allor was quite upset about it. He threw the actual decree document at his mother. Almost hit her too. The metal ends of the scroll will hurt if they hit you. I dropped one on my foot once.
Anyway, by shrewd calculation, Tal knew that her son would not rescind the decree, lest he look weak among his followers as one of his first acts as their ruler. The transition from savior to ruler has never been done well. Ask any communist.
So deep inside of the temple on a mezzanine level between the main entrance level and the dungeons and storage rooms in the basement were several large rooms. We are interested in the smallest of those large rooms. Why? Because in it was a table. And at the table they were having an interesting conversation.
“We will have our men in position at the border,” said Demos.
“How many?” Allor asked.
“Ten thousand.”
Demos was the general with command over the growing army of the Cult of Allor. He had never commanded troops in battle. And most of his troops had never seen combat, except during border raids. But Demos was the man that tricked a Ceros raiding party of over one hundred into running away. And he did it with only bits of a broken mirror and fourteen children scattered in the hillside.
“The Expected will start over the border before you cross into Ceros territory. We will begin bombing their temples thirty tox later. Initially it will be areas closest to our border,” Tal added. “But I have a group of two hundred fifty that will go to the farthest border and start working their way back to Pyramos. And while this is happening, I will take my troops and push towards Pyramos (the capital city of Ceros),” Demos added.
“Do we have a solid deal with Rom?” asked Canto.
“Yes,” replied Allor. “As solid as it can get,” he said, with a sigh with a hint of sadness.
“Total time to stability must be under fifty revs,” Allor said.
“Excellent,” said Canto. “Fast and brutal is best.”
“We have the priesthood ready to fan out and begin conversion services immediately,” replied Pens. He moved his hand down into the pocket of his maroon robe. He fingered the handle of the knife he kept in his pocket.
One of the challenges of taking new territory was indoctrinating the population to the rules and behaviors expected of new converts of “His Own,” as they would be referred to. While Tal would be executing priests and bombing the ugliest of the temples, but keeping the most lavish ones, the priesthood under command of High Priest Pens would be teaching former Cult of Ceros members. They would now be required to tithe only half as much as before, pray only twice a day instead of three times, and the elaborate food prohibition and preparation rules from the Cult of Ceros were abolished. Bottom line: a 50 percent tax cut, more free time, and as much junk food as they want. Hearts and minds, dear reader. Hearts and minds. And stomachs.
“Are the commandments ready yet?” Tal asked.
“No,” replied Allor in an annoyed tone.
“
Why not?” asked his mother with an equally annoyed tone.
“You know why,” replied Allor.
“Then let your sister write those. Or Pens, he’s your high priest. Or I’ll write them. You’re holding up one of the most important foundations of the Cult of Allor. Without the rules, it doesn’t come together.”
“Listen,” said Allor as he wrinkled his forehead. “I can give you all of the obvious rules. Don’t steal, don’t kill, don’t hurt children. But I can’t tell them that I am the only god and there are no other gods but me.”
“Damn it, I’ll write them,” said Tal, now very annoyed with her son.
“Let’s not write them at all. Let’s just go with the ones I have,” pleaded Allor.
“No. It’s the Cult of Allor, not the Cult of Don’t Steal. If it’s the Cult of Allor, it needs to have some commandments that speak to how His Own should worship you, else it will fail.”
“Mother, let’s discuss this later.”
“I’ll do better than that. I’ll write them and present them to the group this time tomorrev.”
Tal interlaced her fingers on the table in front of her in prayer like manner. Her lips were still pulled tight in disappointment.
Allor turned to Pens with an angry look on his face.
“And can you make them stop imitating me?” he said, still angry.
“But imitation of their god is the highest form of worship to them,” replied Pens.
“Just make them stop,” Allor replied, pointing his finger at Pens.
“Yes, My Lord” replied Pens returning to his place in the hierarchy.
Let me explain. Allor used his cloaking capabilities often. Whenever he was out among the people and it was quite a lot, he was often completely invisible to everyone. He liked this, as most people didn’t act normal in his presence.
And when Allor the Healer went from invisible to visible, or visible to invisible, he liked to appear mysterious and throw open his cloak or pull it rapidly around him. It was a very dramatic theatrical gesture, that’s all. But with the cloaking it was quite something to see. He particularly liked throwing open his cloak to reveal the skintight PPS and its most detailed outline of his body, including one particular area which he was most proud of.
