Sisterhood of Suns: Daughters of Eve

by Martin Schiller

  The answer to that question was something that Jon could barely allow himself to address; if true, then all he had before him was a lifeless, soulless landscape, devoid of any meaning, purpose or direction. An existence that was just as vapid as the soap opera he had watched, and equally as pointless.

  Even Hell had Shaitan to direct the tortures of its prisoners. The world his doubts were suggesting lacked even the Evil One. Instead, the inmates ran the prison and there was no hope of freedom for anyone. Least of all, for a neoman.

  The soft laughter of his ‘host’ interrupted his dark ruminations, and he glanced over his shoulder at her, partly in annoyance, and partly with relief. The detective who had captured him had remained with him after his interview with Ananzi. Now, she was playing the part of a caretaker, and keeping him company while he awaited his fate in the safe house that the spymistress had arranged for him.

  Like all of the other women that he had encountered since his meeting with the Nyxian, the police woman had ties to her that went well beyond a simple business relationship, or any OAE affiliation. In her case, the detective was an on-again, off-again student of the mysterious woman, and when she wasn’t busy guarding him, she practiced something that she called ‘Marasetza’.

  This was a meditative technique that Ananzi had shown her, and when he had asked about it, she had claimed that it involved reliving portions of her life and allegedly ‘gathering back her power’ from them. Whether this pagan practice was actually effective or not, Jon couldn’t say, but it did seem to provide her with some measure of entertainment. At that precise instant, she was re-experiencing an event that clearly amused her, and as she sat there with her eyes closed, she was chortling with mirth. She also seemed to be completely oblivious to his presence, or anything else.

  Jon knew better though. Even in that state, she was still acutely aware of everything that he did, and all that was happening around them. One reason was that her psiever was tied in with a network of spycams and sensors that watched over the apartment. But another component of her heightened awareness seemed to be entirely paranormal in origin. She had the uncanny knack of knowing exactly what direction his thoughts were taking even when he was sure that he had shielded himself. Obviously, she was also some kind of psi.

  “You really should pray,” she suggested, demonstrating this very ability. “Those little whispers don’t know what they’re talking about.”

  He didn’t give her the satisfaction of a reply, or an argument. Instead, he directed his gaze out of the one-way window to the distant traffic flying by and returned to his thoughts.

  Is this how life is for the Unbeliever’s? he wondered, knowing that she would hear him and not caring. Nothing but doubt and uncertainty?

  If so, then he pitied the faithless, even as he suspected that he had unwittingly joined their ranks.

  The detective interrupted him again. “You have some visitors,” she announced “Lady Ananzi sent them. Try to be nice, Jon.” She didn’t even open her eyes.

  Jon turned to the door with a sour expression. When it slid open, his first thought was that his uninvited guests were from some branch of the military. Both were Thermadonian Caucasians with short-cropped hair, and although they were dressed in street clothes, there was something about their bearing that set them apart from the average citizen.

  The older of the two seemed to be anywhere from 40 to 50 Standard, which given the advanced nature of the Sisterhood’s medical sciences, meant that she was probably twice that. Her sandy brown hair framed eyes that were a bright blue, and they possessed an intelligent, world-wise look.

  He had seen eyes like this before he realized—in some of the Sisters he had grown up with, including Sister n’Avenal. If he hadn’t known better, he would have pegged her as a seasoned priestess of the Faith.

  This of course, was impossible. The Church and all of its servants were done with him and seeking his blood. She had to be nothing more than an ordinary spy, he concluded. Which made perfect sense. Lady Ananzi had probably made him available to any number of intelligence agencies.

  Her partner however, made him begin to wonder if his impressions were correct. She didn’t possess the same level of sagacity, and she wasn’t as old, but he still detected a certain glow about her. It was something that he had only encountered in Novices; the first blush that came with an early and transient encounter with the grace of God.

  There was also something else that argued against her being a spy. Something familiar. It was as if they had met before, but he was hard pressed to recall the place, or the occasion.

  After spending a moment of fruitless effort trying to recover the memory, he gave up and steeled himself for the interview. He didn’t bother to smile at them.

  Neither of them seemed offended however, and they took their seats on the couch abutting his own. Then to his total surprise, they both produced small books, and the older woman opened hers and addressed her partner as if Jon wasn’t even in the room.

  “When I was told that we were coming here today,” she said, “I was reminded about a passage from Genesis. It was chapter fifteen, verse eighteen. Do you know it, Sister?”

  “I do,” her partner said, and she began to read aloud from her own volume.

  Jon saw the title on the cover. It was the “Revelation of Mari”.

  “Now Sarai,” she intoned, “Abram's wife, had borne him no children. She had a female Egyptian servant whose name was Hagar.’

  “And Sarai said to Abram, ‘Behold now, the Lord has prevented me from bearing children. Go in to my servant; it may be that I shall obtain children by her.’ And Abram listened to the voice of Sarai.”

  “Indeed,” the other answered. “They couldn’t wait for God to work his Will, could they? So they took matters into their own hands instead.”

  She turned and finally looked at Jon with her startlingly clear eyes. “In much the same way that the Church altered nature to create the Redeemer. They weren’t content to just abide by God’s plan. They were proud, and they had to ‘speed things up’. Now look what they have! The Anti-Christ himself. That’s the punishment that God metes out for such arrogance.”

  “If anyone says to you, “the younger one quoted, “‘Look, here is the Christ!’ or ‘There he is!’ do not believe it. For false christs and false prophets will arise and perform great signs and wonders, so as to lead astray, if possible, even the elect.”

  Jon was flabbergasted. Then he caught sight of the necklace that she was wearing. It was a small thing, made of gold, and just visible in the shadows of her blouse. It was the four-pointed Star of Mari. Her companion was also wearing one. These were Marionite Sisters.

  Certain that he had been betrayed, Jon mouthed an oath, and started to rise, but the detective intervened. Her eyes were open and she was standing now.

  “Yes, Jon,” she said. “They’re Believers. Just like you, but they’re not with the Church. Not the one you were with at least. Stay in your seat, calm down, and talk with them. They’re not here to hurt you. You’re completely safe. They’re friends.”

  The senior Sister smiled at him again. “My name is Sister Tereysa,” she said. “This is Sister Beatriss. We are both servants of the Reformed Church of the Way, and brides of Jesu.”

  Why had these Sisters joined forces with Lady Ananzi, he wondered. With the Sisterhood? Was this some kind of sinister trick? Was this Church of theirs some false path that Shaitan had designed to lure him? It had already happened once. Why not again?

  Sister Tereysa read the conflict raging inside of him as plainly as if it were a verse from the Revelations. “We are exactly what we seem, Jon. Not everyone that believes in God believes in the lies that Shaitan tells the leadership of the Marionite Church, or follows his accursed servant.’

  “And we are not working ‘for’ Lady Ananzi. We are working ‘with’ her, and only because we believe as she does; that the day will come when the Faithful and the Sisterhood will find a common ground and
finally learn to live together in peace.”

  Jon didn’t know how to react. All of his senses, and his talents, were telling him that she was speaking the absolute truth. But what was the Reformed Church of the Way? If it wasn’t a Sisterhood trick, or a corruption of the True Faith, then what did it represent? He had never heard of any splinter groups before. The Marionite Church had always been one, united entity.

  Again, she anticipated him. “The Reformed Church of the Way is made up of Sisters and lay members who saw the direction that your Church was taking and decided to reject its policies. We still follow the Word of God and we look to Jesu and Mari, but we do not believe in the creature that the Church calls the Redeemer, and we have turned our backs on the path of violence and hate that he would lead us down. You know what I am talking about, Jon. You’ve seen it firsthand.”

  Jon certainly had.

  “Lady Ananzi was worried about you. She respects your faith and she didn’t want you to lose it. So she asked us to come here today and offer what comfort we could. I hope that you’ll accept our gift. So does Sister Beatriss. She has been looking forwards to this visit for a very, very long time.”

  Beatriss nodded in agreement, and he finally realized who she was. She was a little older than he recalled, and without her uniform, she seemed like another person altogether.

  But he knew her. She was one of the first women who had joined him when he had summoned the Faithful to prayer aboard the Athena. At the time, she had been so frightened that she had barely been able to stop trembling. Jon had lent her his strength, and together, they had persevered. Right up to the point when they had all been arrested, and drummed out of the service.

  “I wanted to return the favor,” she explained. “For what you did for me back on the ship.” With those few words, any reticence that he still harbored about trusting either of them fled into the shadows with his doubt. He really was with friends. As incredible as it seemed, Jesu and Mari had smiled on him and moved Lady Ananzi to send these women to him.

  Praise God, Jesu and Mari, he thought. This time, he didn’t doubt his worthiness. He knew that they had heard him. They had never really stopped hearing him. Or caring.

  “Would you like to pray with us Jon?” Sister Tereysa asked. “Or read? I brought another copy of the Revelations with me. I heard that you didn’t have yours.” She held out a third book, and with tears of gratitude forming in his eyes, Jon took it from her.

  “Thank you,” he said. He meant it. Not just for her kindness, but for the greater benevolence that had inspired her to give him this gift. For Their compassion.

  Undisclosed Location, Cyrene District, Thermadon Val, Thermadon, Myrene System, Thalestris Elant, United Sisterhood of Suns, 1049.01|16|06:25:99

  After all the ravages that had been perpetrated on their motherworlds by the Sisterhood, it had not been hard to find volunteers. There were plenty of the Faithful who were willing to sacrifice themselves for the cause, although the ones N’Avenal finally presented to her had come from a surprising source. When she saw them, N’Elemay had grave doubts about their fitness.

  There were four of them, and to prepare them for the interview, N’Avenal and her acolytes had made certain to dress them carefully. To any outsider, they seemed to be nothing more than a group of women from the Thermadonian genotype. They were all delicate in stature, fair haired and light eyed, and to N’Elemay’s eyes at least, quite attractive.

  They weren’t women however, despite their attire, or the make-up the Sisters had carefully applied. All of them were actually males, from the development group that had preceded the Redeemer Himself, the Adam-16 generation.

  Their true gender was concealed by special micro transmitters. These had been designed by Marionite technicians generations before the current crisis, and in anticipation of just such a need. Once activated, the devices sent false data to any med-scanner, fooling it into believing the lie. It was hardly the perfect disguise, and could be easily defeated by a simple visual examination, but it was adequate enough for N’Elemay’s requirements.

  The only thing that remained to be determined was the true mettle of these would-be martyrs. That would be the deciding factor.

  N’Elemay walked up to the nearest of the neomen and looked him squarely in the eye. “Tell me, brother, why are you willing to do this?”

  To his credit, the neoman met her gaze unflinchingly. “Because my purpose, and the purpose of my brothers here, has always been to serve the Church. Now that the Redeemer has come among us, we have no other calling.”

  His voice, she noted, sounded completely female. And his Prominentia laryngea, his ‘Adam’s Apple’, was also barely noticeable, but this came as no surprise. With the A-16’s, its size had been reduced to mimic the configuration of a woman’s throat. It was all part of the Church’s efforts to make them, and the Redeemer himself, more appealing to Womankind.

  And N’Elemay couldn’t argue with the neoman’s statement. While what he had just said was harsh, it was also true. With the birth and growth of the One, the generation that he had been developed from was essentially superfluous. Their mission had been accomplished. They had provided the Church’s genetic engineers with the data they had needed to perfect the one and only member of the Adam-17 generation, and with that, no longer had any special value of their own.

  “What if I say that you are wrong?” she challenged. “That this is just the sin of pride speaking? What then, brother?”

  “Then we will find another way to give our lives for the Church,” he answered resolutely. “She is our mother. This is the only way for us to repay her.”

  “Please, Sister!” the man’s companion interjected. “Accept our lives! Let us give them up for the True Faith!”

  “Why should I?” She tinged her voice with all the reservation that she could muster.

  “Because they were forfeit the day the Redeemer blessed us with His birth,” the first one answered. “God has called us. He wants us to do this for him.”

  Although he had said this calmly enough, the fire in his eyes was unmistakable. It was the same one that burned in her own heart. He had been called, she saw, just as she had.

  She gently placed her hand on the neoman’s shoulder, “Please, forgive me. I should never have doubted your faith. What is your name, brother?”

  “I am called Jaymz, Sister. My brothers here are called Sammel, Haraald, and Tomas.”

  N’Elemay smiled at them. Then she turned to Sister n’Avenal, who had been standing off to the side, listening closely to the exchange. “They will do--quite well,” N’Elemay told her.

  “Then we will begin with the arrangements,” N’Avenal replied. “Of course, they’ll need the proper equipment and some training before they’ll be ready.”

  The ex-Marauder had expected as much, and indicated her assent.

  N’Avenal addressed the neoman directly, “The Church thanks each of you for your willing sacrifice. You will stand among the blessed, at Jesu’s right hand and be remembered among us as holy martyrs for the True Faith. Now, let us pray together.”

  Everyone in the room knelt, and the Sister made the Sign of Blessing over them. Only one person felt any regret or any jealousy at that moment. It was Ellen n’Elemay.

  God had called her just as surely as He had these brave neomen, but unlike them, she would have to wait for her ultimate reward. She envied them, and she prayed to Jesu and Mari to forgive her for such an unworthy emotion.

  1047th IBC Interworld Bat-Bat Championship, Zaharias National Stadium, Agamede District, Thermadon Val, Thermadon, Myrene System, Thalestris Elant, United Sisterhood of Suns, 1049.01|18|06:66:77

  Games, especially any form of ball games, have always been a part of the human experience. Throughout history, every civilization has developed its own special type of ball game.

  For the ancient Maya, it was Pok-a-tok. For the Americans it was Football, for the Chinese Cuju, and for many other nations, Soccer. And when humans finally
migrated into space it became GravBall.

  The Sisterhood’s ball game was Bat-Bat; a combination of soccer, cricket and an all-out medieval-style melee. Like their predecessors, Bat-Bat teams competed with one another to determine who the greatest players were, with the top teams facing off against one another in the ultimate arena. In the Sisterhood, this was the Intermondal Bat-Bat Campion, the IBC Interworld Bat-Bat Championships.

  In the same vein, the planets that the top Bat-Bat teams hailed from also vied for the prestige of being considered the home of the greatest players, and mercantile interests competed fiercely with one another during the elaborate half-time extravaganzas. Billions of credits were expended to devise clever advertisements, and even more was spent for the privilege of presenting them during the game. Sports betting, legal and otherwise, also peaked at these times, with almost as many credits trading hands among bookmakers and the betters as it did among the legitimate businesses.

  And everyone watched, as much for the game itself, as for the half-time entertainment. When the IBC Championships were held, it captured the attention of virtually every woman in the Sisterhood, no matter their age, occupation, or how remote their world was.

  The 1047th games were no exception. On this occasion, the Thermadonian Tigarri, who had a history of winning the Interworld three years in a row, were facing off against relative newcomers, the Delganian Destroyers and an estimated audience of 66,000,000,000 were watching the struggle via the omniplex, with 175,000 of them filling the stadium itself.

  The game had been a brutal one, holding with a score of 13 to 12, and sports history seemed to be in the making. By the time half-time was announced, and the first advertisements began to play from the fields gigantic holojectors, no one knew if the Tigarri would be able to maintain their supremacy against the Delganian upstarts or not.

  But the real surprise came from the holojectors themselves. Right in the middle of a particularly clever advertisement for Nutro’s new line of drinks, with no less than Laara Lampa acting as the spokeswoman, the scene abruptly changed.