Sisterhood of Suns: Daughters of Eve

by Martin Schiller

  Her decision to help the neoman arose from far more than just her loyalty to her Church though. It also had its roots in her personal feelings for him. Although her vows as a Sister, and his own sexual orientation prevented any possibility of consummation, she had always secretly been in love with him. Now, she would have her chance to show him that love, and in the process, save the Church.

  Unlike Jon however, she had resources to call upon, and a history that no one knew anything about. Years before the present crisis, she had provided the OAE’s Special Negotiation Unit 9 with information.

  This had not been a betrayal. Rather, it was the nature of high-level espionage; when their objectives agreed, opposing sides could sometimes declare a truce, and forge temporary alliances. At the time, right-wing extremism within the Church had been on the rise, and this had clashed with the hope for reconciliation with the Sisterhood.

  Careful not to expose her Church to danger, she had reached out to the Unit and identified the troublemakers. In the process, she had also established a tenuous relationship with her enemies, and they, with her. Now, she intended to invoke this old bond.

  It had been a long time since she had communicated with them, and with the advent of the RSE, she wasn’t even certain that Unit 9 still even existed, or that they would want to help her. But she had no alternatives.

  Leaving Jon lying where he was, she accessed the omniplex with her psiever, and placed a call. To her immense relief, it was answered. After identifying herself, she explained the situation, and in return, received the promise that she had been praying for so desperately.

  The Unit would assist her. Jon would be kept safe, and she would have the chance to turn things around and hopefully, make them right again.

  Ending the call, she summoned her assistant to her quarters. Sister bel Gwena had worked for her for years, and N’Avenal trusted her implicitly. As her confessor, Bel Gwena knew all about her feeling for Jon, and had come to share in her misgivings about the direction the Church was headed.

  When Bel Gwena saw his prostrate form, she didn’t question N’Avenal, or run to tell the others. Instead, she quietly helped her to get the neoman to his feet.

  Even with the two of them working together, getting him clear of the safe house wasn’t easy, but luck and circumstance played as much a part in this as strength did. Everyone was too busy making preparations to leave and the confusion worked in their favor. That, and the fact that N’Avenal had chosen a room close to a rear exit in anticipation of this very event. No one saw them half-walking, half-dragging him out.

  Later, when they rejoined their companions at their new hiding place, no one remarked about their absence, or connected it with Jon’s disappearance. She also made certain to paint him with as dark a brush as she could. Thanks to her, he quickly became one of the weak ones, a member of the Faithful who had lapsed in his belief and abandoned the True Religion.

  He became a traitor. It was the very least that she could do for her Church, or for him.

  4800 Block of Rabiya Street, Kyme District, Thermadon Val, Thermadon, Myrene System, Thalestris Elant, United Sisterhood of Suns 1049.01|14|00:21:47

  The scene that met Jon’s eyes made no sense. He vaguely recalled collapsing, and then being taken from the safe house. He could also remember fragments of his journey to this place, but nothing coherent.

  As the fog in his mind slowly began to clear, he realized that he was lying on his side, and that his chin was resting on a stretch of pavement that was wet, and stank of something old and foul. There was a wall across from him, made of stained plasticrete bricks, and somewhere nearby, a small creature used its claws to rummage through a pile of unattended trash.

  When his ears finally registered the sound of the traffic flying overhead, he realized where he was. He was in an alley, in downtown Thermadon. Alone.

  For some reason, Sister n’Avenal had abandoned him here. Why did she do this? he wondered. He recalled her expressing her own doubts about the Redeemer, and then saying something about helping him on a journey. But a journey to where? And how? And why this way?

  Then a darker train of thought surfaced. What if she betrayed me to the RSE? The very notion that a woman he had trusted his entire life could have done such a thing, absolutely horrified him, and he refused to accept it. N’Avenal would never willingly consign him to their enemies, he decided. The truth had to lie elsewhere, but it evaded him.

  One thing was absolutely certain though. Whatever her motives had been, he was in danger where he was. If he remained, he would be captured. And he knew what would happen to him if that occurred. He would be detained, and questioned, vigorously. What would come after that, didn't bear thinking about. As a neoman, his civil rights were marginal, and no one would miss him overmuch. Or ask any detailed questions.

  He had to get moving. Willing himself to rise, Jon half-stumbled, and half-walked to the mouth of the alley. The brilliant lights of the buildings and the storefronts forced him to shield his eyes, but he was still able to perceive someone walking down the sidewalk.

  It was a woman, and when she caught sight of him, she gasped, and ran away.

  Cursing his own stupidity, he searched for somewhere else to run to and spotted another alley. It was across the street, but it was darker and deeper than where he was.

  He lurched out into the open, moving faster and more surely with every step. Panic and adrenaline were overriding the drug in his bloodstream, and by the time he reached his new refuge, he was running normally. As soon as he was in the shadows again, he paused, trying to remember everything that the Marines had taught him about escape and evasion.

  He would need to move at night, he told himself. That was the safest way to go. He also needed a plan. Trying to go it alone in Thermadon was out of the question. Given the present mood of the Sisterhood, the capitol wasn’t a safe place for his kind. The A-16’s, and the Redeemer, could pass for women if they wished, but his generation didn’t enjoy the same advantage.

  The spaceport was the only answer. Somehow, he had to find his way there, and locate members of the Faithful. They would be able to hide him, and even arrange to get him off planet to one of the Marionite worlds where he could lose himself among all the other neomen. He knew that it wasn’t much of a plan, and a lot of it depended on luck and the blessings of Jesu and Mari, but it was far better than running from one hiding place to the next until the RSE caught up with him.

  A moment later, the sound of a police siren sent a thrill of fear up his spine. He had waited too long, and his time had run out. Backing further into the darkness, Jon prayed to God for a miracle. At this point, holy intercession was all he really had left to draw upon.

  As if his deity had heard his plea and answered him, the hovercar flew by, and disappeared. Jon breathed in a sigh of relief.

  Then he felt the barrel of a needlegun press against the back of his neck. A woman’s voice spoke to him in a quiet, no-nonsense tone.

  “Please don’t’ move,” she said. “I don’t want to harm you, but I will if you make me. By the way, Jon, you’re under arrest.”

  It took him a moment to process the fact that whoever this was, she knew his first name. N’Avenal hadn’t just abandoned him. Instead, his worst fears had come true. She had betrayed him to the Sisterhood.

  Bel Sharra Memorial Spaceport, Cyrene District, Thermadon Val, Thermadon, Myrene System, Thalestris Elant, United Sisterhood of Suns, 1049.01|15|09:16:67

  Even with the body-concealing Qada that she wore to shield her skin from the light, Signysdaater recognized the figure in the passenger loading zone immediately. She guided her plain Kapria V0-20X to the curb, and as she sent a psiever signal for the doors to open, her passenger got in.

  The woman carried no baggage; she had come to Bel Sharra with nothing more than a carry-on bag and as soon as this was stowed in the back seat, they were off. Back behind them, the Port’s computers were already rewriting the surveillance cam footage and deleting any r
ecord of her arrival. If someone looked, Signysdaater’s companion had never been there, and she had never come to meet her.

  “How vaz your flight, Elleshaari?” she asked.

  “To long, and too far away from Nyx for my liking, Sharrisaal”, her passenger replied. “Even so, it is still good to see you again. You have been away from the Nightlands for far too long.”

  “Yah,” Signysdaater agreed with a trace of sheepishness. “Zis city, it eats a vomin’s life up n’bevore zhe knowz it, za time iz gone. Ven zis is over, I zink a vacation maybe? I’d like zat.”

  She changed the setting on the hovercar’s windows, darkening them so that the woman could remove her travelling mask and goggles.

  Lady Ananzi stripped off the protective garments with a relieved sigh, and shook out her silver-white hair. “Thank you, Clara,” she said. “I’m afraid I just don’t travel enough to get used to the Qada.” Then, “So, how is Sarah?”

  Signysdaater grinned. “Confuzed az you might exzpect, but zhe is doing vhat ve vant.”

  Ananzi nodded. “And Maya?”

  Signysdaater rolled her eyes. “Za zame pain in za ass,” she said pejoratively. “But on her vay, miztrezz. Zere vaz a little bit of trouble getting her oot, but Skylaar and I got zat zorted out.”

  Ananzi didn’t press her for the details. She had already gotten a full report from a mole in the RSE. “What about him?”

  “Vell Lady, ve have him in a zafe plaze. Vould you like to go zere right now, or ztop zomevere to freshen oop?

  Ananzi smiled, pleased by her student’s concern for her comfort, but shook her head. “Now, please. I can see to my needs later.”

  “Ganz gaff, miztrezz. On za vay.”

  The kaaper took the car up, and entered the police flightlanes. Signysdaater wasn’t concerned about a record being made of this. The same good women that had seen to the footage at the spaceport, were covering their tracks here as well. To the Metro Police AI, they were just another Department vehicle on an undercover assignment, details classified.

  Ten standard minutes later, they arrived in the Marpesia District and landed on the receiving dock of a mid-sized warehouse. It was owned by a woman that owed the Metro’s a few favors. One of these was her silence, and the other was the exclusive use of the facility for a few days. Not even security or maintenance people were present.

  Signysdaater led her old teacher down to one of the main inventory areas. It had been cleared of everything, and the only objects that occupied the space now were two chairs. One of them was empty, and Jon fa’Teela sat in the other. He was wearing a bag over his head, and as they walked up to him, the woman who was standing watch smiled at their approach, and removed it.

  “Thank you, Detective,” Ananzi said.

  “My pleasure, ma’am,” she returned. “Do you need me to leave?”

  “No,” the Nyxian told her. “You and Clara can stay.”

  She took her seat opposite the neoman and regarded him for a time. At last, she spoke.

  “Jon,” she began, “do you know who we are? Why you are here?”

  Jon shook his head. His expression was stubborn, but Ananzi could tell that deep down, he was scared out of his wits.

  “I won’t try to lie to you, Jon. I know that you are a psi and that you can sense the truth. I’ll also tell you that I am a psi as well. So let’s be frank with one another.’

  “Sister n’Avenal did not betray you. She saved your life. If you had remained with the Redeemer’s group any longer, you would have been killed.’

  “With that said, let me introduce myself. I represent a small group that is tasked with controlling and combatting extremist elements within our government. I won’t hide the fact that we have also kept an eye on your Church over the years, but our goal was only to make certain that the kind of things that it’s doing now, didn’t get too far out of hand. I think you know what I’m talking about.”

  Jon did, but he didn’t answer. He also knew that she was telling him the truth.

  “Jon,” she went on, “the simple fact is, you need our help. And your Church needs our help. There have been some terrible misunderstandings, and I freely admit that the Sisterhood has done some awful things. For what it’s worth, I want to apologize to you personally. We were wrong.’

  “What you also need to realize though, is that the Sisterhood isn’t one single, unified political entity. There are moderates within it who didn’t condone the occupation, or your Pope’s death. Moderates who want to see a reconciliation occur.’

  “But there are also other forces, whose goals go far beyond anything even the most radical Motherthought adherent might suggest. One of their aims is not only the total destruction of your Church, but the eradication of all neomen. Extermination, Jon. They call themselves the Conversâzi. My job, our job, is to fight them.”

  She let him consider this, then continued. “And the Conversâzi wants even more than this. They want to overthrow our government and upset the fragile peace that we have managed to enjoy with our neighbors. They want interstellar war. That can’t be allowed to happen.’

  To her gratification, Jon’s complexion had gone pale. He was the very man that N’Avenal had suggested he was; a Sisterhood Marine through and through, and she was glad for her decision to deal openly with him. Any dissembling would have closed him down in a nanosecond.

  Which was something that she didn’t want. Jon fa’Teela was valuable, and for much more than what he knew about the Daughters of Eve. He was the key to the future.

  “I know that your Church is like the Sisterhood in a way,” she said. “There are good people in it, honest, decent people who sincerely believe in the Word of God. But there are also those that want to use the Church for their own ends to kill and destroy. Am I correct?”

  Jon didn’t answer, but she could tell that he agreed. She also knew that he was thinking about the Redeemer, and Ellen n’Elemay.

  “Jon, I’m going to give you a choice,” she said. “I am going to have these police officers take off your handcuffs, and step away. If you want, you can leave. You might even manage to get a few blocks before the Conversâzi finds you.’

  “When they do, and believe me they will, being cuffed to another chair will be the least of your worries. They’ll torture you, they’ll get what they want, and then they will dispose of you.’

  “Your alternative is to stay here, and help me find a way to save things. I’m certain that as a soldier, you can understand the odds.” When he acknowledged this, she gestured to Signysdaater, who came up and removed the restraints.

  Jon rubbed at his wrists, and looked at her. His eyes were dark, and troubled.

  Lady Ananzi waited, listening to his thoughts as they churned in his mind. He was caught between his love for his Church, the horror he felt at the dark direction that it had taken, and his loyalty to the Sisterhood as a former Marine. That, and a deep, festering sense of guilt about the Concordance bombing. She didn’t envy the state of his soul.

  When he reached his decision at last, she knew what it was and she was careful not to gloat.

  “Would you like something?” she asked instead. “Some kaafra perhaps? Some food? There’s a lot more that I need to tell you about, and it concerns something called the Secret and a thing we refer to as the Tree.”

  Jon’s eyes lit up in alarm and concern. He had heard these terms before, and instantly Ananzi knew where. The image stood out sharply in his mind. The Redeemer had refered to them when they had been together, after making love. He also understood that the Secret was a weapon of some kind.

  “Yes,” he said. “I’d like some kaafra, ma’am.”

  “Call me Maara,” she said, enjoying his surprise at this. Her name was a variant of ‘Mari’. Without any notion of what the future would eventually bring to their daughter, her mothers had named her wisely. “Maara elle Ananzi.”

  Now, she wondered, carefully masking her thoughts from him, what shall I do with you?

&nb
sp; ***

  The holochannels were still oversaturated with stories about the Concordance bombing. The majority of the coverage was either a rehashing of the tragedy, the opinions of media pundits, or just pure nonsense. But it still managed to rub Jon’s nerves raw like sand in an open wound. Thankfully however, Kaly had disappeared from the media’s eye, and he was left completely alone with his guilt, and his regret. After enduring only a few minutes of the feeding frenzy, he changed shows and found himself watching an ongoing soap opera based on the lives of several rich Thermadonian women.

  Not only were they completely unappealing to him as characters, but to his unhappy surprise, the show’s writers had managed to create a segment that featured several of the main players being affected by the Concordance Station attack. There was even one cast member who wound up being trapped under the rubble of a building that had never actually collapsed.

  Instead of keeping him on the edge of his seat to learn what would happen to them the following week—he was disgusted and the turned the ‘jector off.

  Normally he would have sought refuge through prayer and meditation at a time like this, or by reading a passage from the Revelations, but since reluctantly agreeing to accept Lady Ananzi’s offer of sanctuary, he hadn’t felt entitled to do so. He had turned his back on the Church, and he no longer believed that he had the right to go to Jesu and Mari for comfort. Or that that they would still recognize him as one of their flock.

  Even worse than this, a smaller part of him that was tucked away in the darkest part of his soul was even beginning to wonder if they—or if any of it for that matter, even existed. If the Redeemer was false, it whispered, then what about all the rest? What if his entire belief system was nothing but self-deception? What if life was really nothing more than a series of events with no guiding force except the laws of probability? What if there was in fact, no God?