by Eric Thomson
“Its crew must have vented the antimatter containment units before landing. Otherwise, there would be nothing left of that ship. Our sensors are picking up one life sign.”
“That’s it,” Katarin said with finality. “Our man is there.”
“In or near the crash site?” Anton asked.
“Yes.”
Amelia nodded once. “I concur.”
“How close do you want me to land, sir?”
The lieutenant glanced at the aerial view.
“That semi-bald spot one hundred meters south-east of the wreck should do. It’s almost sunset there, and feral creatures come out after dark on every planet I’ve visited, so I’d rather not wander across hell’s half-acre hoping we won’t light up the night. Make sure we land facing it. Our topside weapon station is live.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Upon hearing Leloup’s words, Katarin felt a shiver run up her spine. Feral creatures indeed. Now that he’d raised the subject, she could sense a chaotic background murmur of psychic energy, much of it from non-human sources, though what seemed human felt primitive, menacing, and not entirely sane. She exchanged an involuntary glance with Amelia and saw the same thoughts reflected in her eyes.
“A fallen world,” the younger woman murmured in a voice pitched for her superior’s ears only.
“One of many in a fallen galaxy,” Katarin replied in the same tone. “Be thankful we cannot sense the souls of the dead. Otherwise, we would be overwhelmed. Countless millions died here a quarter-century ago.”
“I am thankful, Sister.” Amelia paused for a few seconds. “Yet I cannot fathom how many disembodied souls are wandering the Void without hope thanks to Dendera and her cursed dynasty. Billions?”
“Many billions. Based on what I’ve seen and what the other expeditions reported over the years, I daresay three-quarters of our species was immolated on the bonfire of imperial vanity. A catastrophe unmatched by anything in human history.” Katarin reached out to squeeze the younger woman’s hand. “And yet, we shall prevail.”
“From your lips to the Almighty’s ear.”
“The Void giveth, the Void taketh away.”
“Blessed be the Void.”
They fell silent again as the shuttle shed its forward momentum and dropped straight down at an ever-slowing rate, riding on its keel thrusters. The wreck’s image grew on the side display, but nothing seemed to stir around it, despite Leloup’s life sign reading. Surely any human would hear a shuttle’s whine slice through the still air of a late afternoon on a depopulated world. Perhaps he was hiding, fearful they might present a danger to his life. Few starships visited Yotai these days, and those that did were almost invariably salvagers interested in digging up tech, not rescuing survivors, unless they worked the slave trade.
The sensation of falling eased away as Petty Officer Anton gently settled them on the cracked, weed-infested tarmac, facing the wreck. Up close and seen from the side, it seemed in worse shape than the aerial view suggested, as if a giant had stomped on the ship’s hull, flattening it.
“Definitely a sloop. Damn thing pancaked,” Anton muttered. “Her thrusters probably went wonky at altitude. The pilot in me can’t help but think it’s a sickening sight. How did someone survive that crash?”
Leloup shrugged.
“Maybe he’s not a survivor but local talent who took up residence in the wreck. Or he’s just scavenging.” The second officer paused, then added, “I can see a name on what’s left of the starboard hyperdrive nacelle. Antelope. No registration number, no energy signature. She’s as dead as the empire.”
“He’s inside the ship,” Katarin said in a soft voice. “And he knows we’re here. I sense confusion, fear even.”
“And anger,” Amelia added in a puzzled tone.
“Can you ask him to come out?”
A faint smile creased Katarin’s face.
“It doesn’t work like that, Petty Officer. We sisters are set to receive only. We can’t transmit.”
It wasn’t the complete truth. Even though the Order’s head, Abbess Gwenneth, had decreed they would admit the sisters possessed empathic talents, the fact there were stronger minds among them capable of projecting, remained a closely guarded secret.
“Never mind.” Leloup pointed at the primary display. A human figure was emerging from the wreck’s shadows. “Drop the aft ramp, Petty Officer.
He stuck his head through the flight deck door. “Chief?”
“Sir,” the voice of Dawn Hunter’s bosun came from the passenger compartment.
“Disembark and form a security cordon around the shuttle. I’ll join you in a moment.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” A pause. “All right, people, let’s go earn our landing party bonus.”
Now that she saw the man’s face, albeit from a distance, Sister Katarin could sense his emotions in more granular detail, one of the talent’s quirks. Centuries ago, visual contact was the only way sisters could connect with another mind. The Order’s most powerful teachers eventually overcame that limitation, leading to the invention of rescue beacons and ultimately the survival of many Brethren in the Coalsack Sector after Admiral Zahar unleashed his pogrom.
She touched Lieutenant Leloup’s arm as he freed himself from the seat restraints.
“That is a severely damaged human being, Koris. Physically, mentally, and spiritually. Be careful and treat him with kindness. It might become necessary I speak with him, which means leaving the safety of the shuttle despite Captain Kuusisten’s orders.”
“You’ll invoke chaplain’s privilege, Sister?”
“My duty to the Almighty and my fellow human beings sometimes trump the captain.”
Leloup stared at her for a few seconds, then acquiesced with a nod.
“Okay. Just don’t leave the shuttle until I say so. Otherwise, my guts, not yours, will adorn Dawn Hunter’s commo array.”
— 4 —
Sister Gwenneth, the abbess of Lyonesse and the Order of the Void’s de facto leader, stood at her second-floor office window and watched a group of friars installing a Void Orb in the middle of the abbey’s central quadrangle. A tall, slender woman in her eighties, she seemed ageless, with unlined, ascetic features beneath a shock of iron-gray hair and intense lilac eyes on either side of an aquiline nose.
Gwenneth didn’t quite know how she felt about the Orb, a sphere easily two meters across. Glassy, filled with black matter to symbolize the Void and small sparkling crystals representing stars, it gave the impression of infinite depth. The Order’s Rule required major abbeys, those heading sectors, and of course, the motherhouse on Lindisfarne to display such a monument to the Brethren’s Creed. She could certainly accept that the Lyonesse Abbey was now the Coalsack Sector’s leading house of worship and reflection because of Admiral Zahar’s pogroms.
But the Orb slowly floating into place down on the plaza matched that of Lindisfarne, not the smaller, less sophisticated models commonly used for a sector’s chief abbey, such as that which once stood on Yotai, where so many of her Brethren were murdered in cold blood.
Gwenneth knew of the growing faction that wanted her to declare Lyonesse the Order’s new motherhouse, under the presumption Lindisfarne suffered the fate of every former imperial planet visited by Void Ships during the last two decades. Sister Marta’s visions, at least the few she shared with the Brethren, did nothing to dispel that notion.
If truth be told, Gwenneth sensed a mournful emptiness whenever her thoughts reached for the stars. The Lyonesse Abbey could well be her Order’s last house, just as this star system might be all that remained of humanity’s star-faring civilization.
A faint tap on the open office door broke her contemplation of the Orb and the expectations behind its installation at the heart of the abbey’s sprawling complex.
“Sister?”
A welcoming smile lit up Gwenneth’s face as she turned.
“Mirjam. Please come in and sit.”
The new arriva
l, one of the Brethren saved during the Void Ship rescue operation, was a short, stout woman in her sixties with the same ageless features beneath a short, practical haircut as most of the old breed sisters. She wore the loose, black, one-piece garment favored by the Order beneath a long, hooded cloak and calf-high soft boots.
“I trust you’re well?”
“The Almighty still smiles on me,” Mirjam replied, as the office door closed behind her. “And you?”
Gwenneth let out a burst of humorless laughter.
“As well as can be expected under the circumstances, I suppose.”
Mirjam studied her superior with amused eyes.
“One might almost suspect you’re tired of being our abbess.”
“Perhaps. Yet, strangely enough, the Brethren still aren’t tired of my leadership.”
Abbesses were elected by the members of her abbey and its outlying priories every eight years. Those called upon couldn’t decline or resign for anything other than health reasons. And Gwenneth, still spry at an advanced age, was more than halfway through her third consecutive term.
“It is because you stay strong and give us continuity.”
Gwenneth snorted.
“It is more because of the abbey’s intricate relationship with secular Lyonesse. The work involved in maintaining the delicate balance that keeps the abbey both part of the people and apart from them is too daunting for most.”
“Granted. It was easier in the old days when the Order wasn’t so intimately involved in preserving a spark of civilization during these grim times. We appreciate your keeping the abbey and its relationship with the government on an even keel.”
Gwenneth waved Mirjam’s praise away with a dismissive hand gesture.
“How was your trip back from the Windy Isles?”
“Surprisingly comfortable. The new Phoenix Clippers are just as fast as the old Navy shuttles, but more elegant.”
“So I’m told. Hecht Aerospace designed a winner. The Defense Force people must be happy.”
“Our flight crew were certainly enjoying themselves.”
“And the project?”
A pleased smile spread across Mirjam’s face.
“We made a breakthrough at last.”
Gwenneth’s eyes widened slightly.
“Tell me more.”
“The three original volunteers underwent a full personality realignment.”
“Is it permanent?”
Mirjam nodded.
“We successfully wiped the engrams responsible for their pathologies and removed the memories of their lives before their arrival on Lyonesse without leaving traces. They retain everything else and function as adults of normal intelligence and ability. As planned, they are aware they were sent to the Windy Isles because of past crimes so terrible we could not allow them to live within reach of civil society. They also recall volunteering for personality realignment in the hope of softening their exile. But they will never recall those crimes, nor revert to their earlier selves.”
“Congratulations. And the Correctional Service?”
“Governor Parsons and his people believe we achieved our results through psychological treatment, though none of them are convinced we permanently changed the test subjects’ personalities. And since we can’t reveal our mind-meddling abilities...”
Gwenneth raised a restraining hand.
“One step at a time. Will Parsons at least allow the volunteers to enter the Windy Isles Priory as postulants?”
“He will. That’s why I’m here. Since the land on which the priory sits belongs to the Correctional Service, technically, the volunteers will still be exiles serving out a life sentence in the Windies. They can become full-fledged friars for all Governor Parsons cares, but they will never leave the archipelago short of a presidential pardon.
However, he will not assume responsibility for their behavior once they enter the priory and wants a personal statement from you confirming the Order becomes liable for problems involving the subjects.”
“Not unexpected. Although Parsons is a progressively minded individual who fervently believes in rehabilitation, our dear penal colony governor remains a bureaucrat through and through.”
“I wonder how he would react upon hearing we found a way of permanently curing antisocial personality disorders through engram manipulation. Wouldn’t that be any rehabilitation expert’s dream come true?”
Gwenneth grimaced.
“It would more likely become the nightmare of any freedom-loving citizen concerned about coercion by a tyrannical government even though personality realignment requires the subject’s willing cooperation and cannot be forced.”
“I know. But just between you and me, if we wanted, we could find a way of forcing it on non-cooperative subjects.”
“Perhaps, but I dislike experimenting without the knowledge and consent of the Lyonesse government, which it would not give in this instance, for ethical reasons if nothing else. Admiral Zahar’s actions were warning enough against antagonizing secular rulers. I agree the potential gains of the voluntary treatment far outweigh the risks, but let’s not make things riskier by treading where we might violate our own Rule. We shouldn’t speak of it again.”
“Yes, Abbess. However, I can’t stop imagining a society where the mental deficiencies causing chronic criminality are eradicated thanks to our gifts.”
“Yet you must push away such thoughts, Mirjam. Concentrate on the three you and your team will take in as postulants. Three souls saved and turned to good works. That’s more than most of us achieve in a lifetime. And that’s without even counting the next batch of volunteers from among the permanently exiled. Now, this statement for Governor Parsons, I trust a video recording will suffice?”
The younger woman inclined her head.
“It will, though he wants it authenticated and hand-delivered.”
A cold smile briefly touched Gwenneth’s lips.
“Parsons is a true bureaucrat. We can quit the empire, but some things will never change.”
“Speaking of change.” Mirjam hesitated for a second. “I noticed a new Void Orb in the quadrangle when I arrived. Am I correct in thinking it is larger than the normal sector abbey orb?”
Mirjam saw resignation reflected in Gwenneth’s eyes as she responded.
“It is. You wouldn’t have heard the latest movement among the Brethren, isolated as you are in the Windy Isles Priory, but I face increasing pressure to declare this abbey the Order’s motherhouse under the presumption Lindisfarne was destroyed.”
“Will you? Or should I not ask?”
“I’m not sure. Doing so means admitting this might be the last abbey of the Order left anywhere in the galaxy. Are we ready for such a momentous step?”
“The Void Ships certainly haven’t recovered any Brethren in years, even though they’ve ranged far and wide across the empire’s remains. We could well be the last of our kind.” Mirjam tilted her head to one side as she studied Gwenneth. “Or do you fear naming our abbey as the Order’s motherhouse might trigger demands we turn Lyonesse into a copy of Lindisfarne, governance, and everything?”
Gwenneth let out a soft snort.
“You always were perceptive. Yes, a few among us might contemplate just that.”
“Because it could allow the Order to seize control of the Knowledge Vault. A dangerous path. The military might cheerfully use us as chaplains, counselors, healers, and more, but they’ll easily turn against the Order if we overstep our bounds. Surely, everyone is aware of that.” When she saw the expression on Gwenneth’s face, Mirjam paused as if struck by an idea. “I see. You fear someone might misuse the talent and subtly bend senior government and military leaders to their will.”
“It’s been done before. The relevant lines in our version of the Hippocratic Oath and the conditioning we impose on sisters who can reach out are no guarantees against misbehavior, just roadblocks. Pendrick Zahar’s hatred for us wasn’t merely based on scurrilous accusations.
”
Mirjam’s eyes lit up with understanding.
“Oh!”
“Oh, indeed. Do not share this conversation with anyone.”
“You may rest assured of my discretion.”
“I know.”
“And this is why you forbade me to mention involuntary personality realignment again.”
“In part.”
“Then your fears are genuine.”
Gwenneth shrugged.
“Perhaps. Mind you, I could be borrowing trouble when none is brewing. Yet, something is stirring among the Brethren. That motherhouse Void Orb outside is merely the first tangible manifestation. But why now, after over two decades on Lyonesse, when every major issue is settled?”
“Because they are settled? Restless souls will deliberately seek out or manufacture new issues so they may feel alive by debating them. We of the Void are no different in that regard.”
“Without a doubt. Perhaps I should identify the most restless among the Brethren and send them on exploration treks across parts of this planet that remain untrod by human feet. We still barely know what lives in most parts beyond the settlement area. I read that many of the native life forms on Isolde differ, sometimes radically, from those native to Tristan.”
“Send Tristan to seek Isolde, is that it?” Mirjam’s lips twitched. “Not a bad idea. If we can convince Governor Parsons to seek limited presidential pardons, my three realigned personalities would make suitable candidates for an expeditionary group.”
“Why? Because they’re expendable?”
“No. Because they’re keen to serve the Order in whatever capacity that may be. I daresay you’ll find them less concerned with comfort and security than most in this abbey. Isolde isn’t for the faint of heart.”
“She never was,” Gwenneth replied with a wry grin.
A soft chime stilled her next words.
“Friar Loxias for the abbess,” her aide, Friar Landry, said.
Mirjam gave Gwenneth a wry look.
“Let me guess. He wants you to inaugurate the Void Orb his cronies just planted in the middle of our formerly peaceful quadrangle.”
