Even though everyone knew that Anne Marie Rensolear had been dead for over a millennia, the image of the great founder of the Sisterhood still elicited a visceral, unconscious response. When Rensolear spoke, it was with an authority that an anonymous woman would never have commanded. Which was exactly why Dana bel Hanna had chosen her avatar when she had hacked ReVision’s computers and created her message.
“The Sisterhood is not what it once was,” Rensolear’s doppelgänger began. “What was founded on the principles of freedom and equality has become a dictatorship; a vile police state that pretends to embrace these ideas but secretly holds them, and you, in complete contempt. Every day, more and more of our liberties are being taken away from us in the name of fighting terrorism.’
“But where did these terrorists come from? Did they sneak into our lives from somewhere outside our star nation? Or did they spring up from among us? You know the answer to that.”
“You also deserve to know why they are fighting us. It is all because of a lie. The Marionites were never involved with the ETR before our war with the Republic, and they never betrayed us. The government just wants you to believe that they did.’
“Why? So that they could take action against a belief that they don’t agree with. That, and the opportunity that it gives them to seize more power for themselves—and all with your blessings.”
“Women of the Sisterhood, you have been robbed, and you have been lied to at every level. Even your history has been altered to suit the designs of an avaricious minority.’
“Now the time has come to open your eyes. To demand accountability, and the return of your freedoms. Think for yourselves and take back your birthright! If you do not, then the words of the Concordance are meaningless, and all of the sacrifices that the Founding Mothers made for you, utterly useless.”
The scene faded to black, leaving the audience in astonished silence.
Angelique bel Thana, who had been watching the game with Felecia curled up next to her, gripped her wine glass so hard that it shattered in her hand.
“Deas dam va!” she hissed, ignoring the blood and her lover’s attempts to treat it with a makeshift bandage. Security for the game had been tighter than any previous sporting event, and she had been certain that it would be safe from attack. She had even personally assured Director ben Paula of this.
Waving Felecia off, she placed a call through her holojector to the Director herself. It was better to be the first to take action in a crisis. Especially one as bad as this one. Anything else showed weakness and indecisiveness.
“Madame Director,” she began. “I am sure that you know about our problem.”
“I do at that,” Ben Paula growled. “I just saw the most popular broadcast in the nation being hijacked by terrorists. What are you doing about this, Angelique?”
“I have sent orders for the entire production crew to be arrested and questioned,” she told her. As she said this, she was issuing those very orders to her subordinates by psiever, and demanding that her sister, Josette, contact her immediately.
“I am also going to make certain that we discover exactly how this was done, and track down whoever the conspirators are.”
“I should fekking hope so, General,” Ben Paula barked. “66 billion women just had their game completely ruined, including the Chairwoman herself. She will want answers and results.”
“I will provide both,” Angelique assured her.
Another message came in as she ended the call, and she opened it immediately. It was more bad news. Somehow, someone had edited many of the entries in the Encyclopedia Sororitas to reflect a decidedly anti-Motherthought point of view. They had also distributed these new, revisionist materials to hundreds of thousands of random addresses. This had occurred at the exact same time as the Rensolear broadcast and was obviously related.
Clearly, the Sisterhood was under a determined cyber-attack and more was certain to come, Angelique thought. Only the RSE stood in the way of total anarchy.
Cespedaa, Araña System, Nuvo Colombyen Provensa, Esteral Terrana Rapabla, 1049.01|25|05:00:12
The grass reacted the instant that the ship set down on it. Growing over nine meters high in many places, and covering most of the planet, it wasn’t really grass in the Old Gaian sense, but a strange class all its own, both an animal and a vegetable. It immediately wrapped tendrils of itself around the merchanter and then tried to digest it with internal enzymes that rivaled the strongest hydrochloric acid.
This had little effect on the metal hull however, and only served to annoy the captain. She had been to Grass before, and replied to this attack by routing extra power to the ship’s skin, frying the tendrils to ashes.
More of the grass gathered itself up and renewed the assault, and it was joined by the spider-like insectoids that protected it. These creatures added sprays of toxic venom to what the grass was putting out, but in the end, this did little to win the day. The merchanter sent another charged blast, and what this didn’t discourage, was chased off by the personal flamers and firebombs that the passengers had brought with them when they disembarked.
Not that they would have been harmed, as much as delayed and inconvenienced. All of them, including Ellen n’Elemay were wearing armored spacesuits, which were resistant to the enzymatic mix, and completely impervious to the venom.
Their destination wasn’t far. It lay less than a kilometer from their landing site, and thanks to the Sisterhood, it was completely clear of the grass. That hadn’t been the intention of the women who were responsible though. Their goal had been the destruction of a weapons depot that had served the ETR fleet during their brief war. They had used a nuke, fired from space, to accomplish their purposes, transforming the installation, and everyone in it, into a large puddle of molten glass.
Even without the readout on her HUD to consult, N’Elemay knew when they were getting close. The pernicious grass gave way abruptly, growing shorter with every meter, and then thinning away into nothing at the border.
Beyond this was an area of bare earth that was coated with a layer of green-white glass. At the center of this roughly circular area, and where it was at its densest, was what remained of the depot, now nothing more than the melted stumps of the hardiest building components.
How many good men and women died here? N’Elemay wondered. There was no way to know, but she couldn’t help but cringe a little as the glass cracked and broke under her boots. Some of what had made it, and even lent it its dark swirls, was ash from the nuclear fires. Ash that had come not only from burnt plastic and metal, but from all the incinerated bodies. Cespedaa was a cruel place, she decided, with cruel creatures, and even crueler memories.
Up ahead, standing next to the twisted base of what had once been a metal support girder, was the group that she and her companions had come to meet. More importantly, they had brought a large plastic and metal cargo container with them. Despite the grim, death filled landscape all around her, N’Elemay smiled to herself. God’s will be done, she thought.
Their reception party was composed of two distinct factions. The first were human soldiers from the ETR, and the second were Hriss warriors. The human officer was the first one to step forwards and greet her.
He was a dignified older man, and although his black hair and moustache were shot through with grey, his posture was erect and proud, and his eyes had the hard glint of a seasoned fighter. By the insignia on his spacesuit and the fatigues he wore inside of it, N’Elemay knew him to be a Republican Colonel. Contrary to the Sisterhood’s propaganda, not all of the ETR’s military supported their present leadership.
In fact, far from it. Many, like the Colonel and his men, still secretly fought against the Sisterhood, and their puppet government. Today, their rebellion was taking the form of inaction, and blindness. The presence of her ship, and the Hriss, would never be reported to Nuvo Bolivar.
“Colonel Felix Rodraga,” the man said. “Welcome to Cespedaa.”
Out of co
urtesy, N’Elemay gave him a military salute and the man returned it. “Do you have what we asked for?”she asked.
In response, the man deferred to his companion. This was the leader of the Hriss contingent and the markings on his armor declared him to be a War Leader, roughly the equivalent of a Colonel himself. She had had enough experience with his kind to tell right away that he had recognized who she was, and was displeased by the discovery.
“You are White Hair,” he said, his multiple yellow eyes narrowing. “I know you. You fought against my clan on Treya Angelaz.”
“I did,” she answered, meeting his gaze unhesitatingly. “What of it, War Leader?”
“You were the one who put my clansman’s head on a spike as a message,” he growled. “You, or one of your fellow egg-layers.”
The hands of his companions were edging towards their weapons. The ETR troopers were also beginning to do the same thing.
She wasn’t overly concerned though. The newest Angel, who had volunteered to accompany her, was covering the exchange—and the Hriss---with his sniper rifle, and the ship behind her stood ready to let loose with its own array of illegal weapons. The Church had paid extra for those particular features when they had hired its captain.
“Are you here to exact revenge for a careless relative, or against the Sisterhood?” she challenged. “Which would bring you the greater satisfaction?”
“The Sisterhood,” the War leader answered. “But I still crave the personal honor of taking your head. I would even do you the courtesy of placing it in a jar on the shelf where I keep all of my other battle trophies.”
“Would that be the same shelf where you store your pickled manhood?” she countered boldly. “If so, then there should be plenty of room. I understand that that particular jar is quite small.”
A few of the other Hriss hissed angrily, but their leader only coughed in laughter. “If my manhood was in a jar, it would be so large that it would send a worthless female like yourself into shock. Enough about my virility though. Let us transact our business and then be done with one another.”
“Agreed,” she said.
At his signal, the case was brought forwards, and he opened it for her. Six tactical-level anti-matter bombs, each no larger than a personal holoviewer, were nestled inside the packing foam. N’Elemay leaned forwards and inspected them with a gleam in her eye. The very sword of God itself, she thought.
The Hriss noticed her expression, and also what lay behind it. “I see your death in your eyes, White Hair,” he observed. “You have no intention of surviving your battle, do you? Do not bother to deny it--I have seen such a far off look in the warriors of my own kind.”
She didn’t. He was absolutely correct. From the very start, she had always known that the destruction of the Sisterhood would require her to lay down her own life. But the blessings of an eternal life in Heaven awaited her. What was that compared to a mortal existence?
“Greater glory always comes to those who make a sacrifice of themselves in battle,” the Hriss assured her. “I wish you the very death that you seek, although I would vastly prefer that you would let me honor you instead. I promise that I would make certain to saw your head off slowly so that you could die for your God as bravely as possible.”
“You flatter me,” N’Elemay returned with genuine sincerity. ”But I must do his work as he has laid it out for me. I have to refuse.”
“A genuine shame,” the Hriss sighed. “I do admire your dedication though—and your cause, which is why my clan agreed to help without demanding any payment except the death of our mutual enemies. May the God of War bless your sword arm.”
“I thank you,” she said formally. ”In God’s name.”
The Hriss hadn’t expected her to acknowledge his pagan deity, and he wasn’t offended by her reply. “In God’s name, then,” he responded.
The ETR Colonel, who had remained silent throughout the exchange, spoke up, and added his own well-wishes. “Good luck to you and your fellow believers,” he told her, extending his gloved hand.
Although she was well acquainted with this archaic custom, it wasn’t habit, and it still took her a fraction of a second to respond in kind. When she did, Colonel Rodraga didn’t release his grip right away.
“This isn’t just for all this,” he said, referring to the wasteland around them. “It is also for my son. His name was Alex. He was a Captain, and he served aboard the Adaventara. Remember him when you use these weapons.”
“I shall,” N’Elemay promised. When the time came, she would remember everyone that the Sisterhood had slaughtered.
With that, she returned to the merchanter with her precious cargo. She paid little attention to their return journey to the Sisterhood. Her thoughts were focused entirely on the bombs and the best use for them.
Two targets had come to her mind immediately, but the other three remained elusive. To be effective, she knew that the devices would have to be deployed against locations whose loss would deal the greatest amount of material damage, and the deepest psychological trauma. With hundreds of potential worlds to choose from, the decision was not an easy one.
So she prayed for her answers.
God’s reply came just before their final transit to Thermadon. It arrived in the form of a naval boarding party, acting on behalf of the Customs Police. N’Elemay was meditating in her cabin, when the announcement came over the ships’ address system.
She quickly double-checked her identification. She had been travelling in the guise of a Freight Assistant, 2nd Class, and she made certain that she had all the details correct before she went out to join the rest of the crew in the cargo area.
The Navy women had come aboard with their usual array of scanners, and twice the normal level of distrust. Since the ship was returning from the ETR with a load of radioactives, they were intent on giving it, and everyone aboard it, more scrutiny than usual. But her identification held up, and the bombs went undiscovered.
This was not what provided her with her answers however. That was furnished by the members of the boarding party itself. Or rather, by their appearance.
They were a thorough cross-section of the Sisterhood’s population. The commanding officer was a dark-skinned Sitalan, her Second was clearly from Corrissa, and the rest were either from Thermadon, or any one of the hundreds of worlds where that genotype had settled.
N’Elemay made her decision then and there; two of the bombs would go to Thermadon as she had planned, one for the government center, and the other for its financial heart. Another would go to Rixa. But the remaining three would be taken to Corrissa, the source of the Sisterhood’s art and literature, to the Athtar commercial shipyards in Sita, and to Nightshade, where the weapons that the Navy and Marines relied on were manufactured.
She was in awe of this revelation, and its absolute perfection. The plan that God had shown her would smash the Sisterhood on every level; financially, culturally, militarily, and politically. It was all that she could do not to drop down to her knees right then and there, and give thanks. Only the presence of the other sailors and the need to maintain her disguise was what stopped her.
After uncovering nothing incriminating, N’Elemay’s ship was allowed to proceed, and the final leg of their voyage took place without any further interruptions. The six bombs were offloaded with the rest of the legitimate cargo, and taken immediately to a secure storage facility.
Once they arrived, she wasted no time addressing the specifics with Sister n’Avenal, and the leader of her neomen. After this, all they could do was wait as the plan was put into action by members of the Faithful on Thermadon, and all the other target worlds.
Ionix Industries, Warehouse 24, Marpesia District, Thermadon Val, Thermadon, Thalestris Elant, United Sisterhood of Suns, 1049.02|03|05:08:56
History remembered the 20th and 21st centuries primarily for their scientific discoveries and inventions. An agrarian society transformed into an industrial one, changing the fundamental way
Humanity lived in the process. To Ellen n’Elemay however, these pivotal times also represented something else. Something much darker; the sacrifice of religious belief and cultural values on the altar of money and materialism.
The only exception were the radical Islamists. Had history given her the chance, she would have fought and killed them without hesitation, but she did admire them nonetheless. Despite their misogynistic views, they had at least stood up against the death of belief.
In her eyes, the ‘War on Terror’ had actually been a war between absolute faith and total cynicism. She also had little doubt that had the West retained its Christian faith, and responded to the Jihadists with the zeal of the Crusaders, that the conflict would have been far shorter than it was.
Despite this, the extremists had still been defeated. The sheer weight of their enemy’s numbers, and resources, had ultimately overwhelmed them, but their willingness to fight and win at any cost, had not been lost on her.
Nor had the example of other movements, both before and afterwards; the IRA, the Tan-Shein, the ReVolutionairies and the Bio Action Army had all risen up against the monolithic status quo and fought to the death for their principles.
Now, her Church was doing the same thing, and against the same impossible odds. Only it stood against Shaitan and his servants in the Supreme Circle. With Jesu’s blessings, unwavering faith, and battlefield cunning, she was determined that the outcome of their holy war would be far different than all the others.
To win meant sacrifice though. When God had called upon her, she had readily given up her career in the Marines and thrown in her lot with the Daughters of Eve. Now, Officer Tanya n’Jarra was answering the same heavenly summons. She was walking away from her entire life, and 25 years with the Customs Police. All to serve the Lord.
Paying such a terrible price was not easy, and despite her willingness to do so, N’Jarra still needed a moment to say a proper goodbye to everything that she had strived to build for herself. Out of respect for this, N’Elemay waited quietly as the woman ran an affectionate hand over her take-home patrol cruiser and then slowly, removed her uniform blouse.
Sisterhood of Suns: Daughters of Eve Page 54
