by Eric Thomson
“Becoming a friar does not negate that. On the contrary. Most friars carry out work essential to the abbey’s good functioning.” She studied him for a few seconds. “You’re probably not aware of this, but humans have six senses and not just the five physical ones. The sixth,” she tapped the side of her head with an extended index finger, “is mental. Most people experience it as instinct or gut feeling or strange impressions, that sort of thing.”
“Like when my gut told me Antelope was in trouble as we were landing on Yotai. That saved my life.”
“Precisely. In a few, the sixth sense is much stronger, and those are the ones who seem to enjoy unbelievable luck. In a tiny minority, this sixth sense is extremely well developed, to the point where they can detect the emotions of others. Most, if not quite all, are women. You, my friend, are part of that tiny minority even though you’re a man.”
An expression of sheer disbelief crossed Roget’s face.
“Sister, my gut instinct may be pretty decent, but I’m neither lucky, nor can I sense the emotions of others.”
“Yet you activated that rescue beacon. Only someone with a powerful sixth sense, what we call the talent, can do so.” When he made to speak, Gwenneth raised a hand. “Upon meeting you, Katarin knew right away yours was much stronger than most, whether male or female. And I agree with her. You may not be aware, but your sixth sense is awake. That sensation of peace upon entering the abbey you talked about downstairs? It’s what an untrained mind experiences when it no longer strains against unfiltered mental emanations, uncontrolled brain waves if you like. Everyone here, sisters and friars, can block them out so we don’t go mad, and we keep our minds shielded so we don’t disturb others.”
She paused and watched Roget closely as he absorbed the full meaning of her words. When understanding lit up his eyes, she continued.
“The Order of the Void was first created almost two thousand years ago to give humans with a woken sixth sense sanctuary and remove those who might be tempted to use the talent for nefarious ends from society. Over time, it became what you see now, a monastic order serving the community as counselors, healers, and teachers. Servants of the Almighty who sense the pain, confusion, and hunger of others can help them more effectively than those without the talent. Your mind is undisciplined right now. It’s unbearably loud to those of us with the talent, and that affects your mental and physical wellbeing in ways you cannot yet comprehend. But once you undertake the Order’s training and understand that extraordinary gift from the Almighty, many things about your past life will make sense at last, and you will, for the first time, find inner peace. Katarin set you on the path of enlightenment by teaching you basic techniques while Dawn Hunter was under quarantine. Perhaps you already see a difference in yourself.”
He thought about it for a few heartbeats, then nodded. “I don’t find myself quite as angry at my fate as I did before.”
“If you do not wish to join the Order, then at least undergo part of the training so you can shut out the mental emanations of others and discipline your mind. We simply won’t instruct you in the advanced techniques.”
“You mean so I can be at peace everywhere, not just here?”
Gwenneth nodded. “Precisely. And you might find your gut instinct a bit sharper as a bonus.”
Roget shrugged.
“There’s nothing else for me right now. I humbly accept your offer. Perhaps along the way, I’ll discover a desire to join the Order, but I make no promises.”
“A wise choice. You may find the journey of self-discovery difficult at times, but oh so rewarding in the end.” Gwenneth turned her eyes on Katarin. “We started a postulant class ten weeks ago — four aspiring sisters. Much younger than Stearn, of course, but that shouldn’t matter. Would your training place him at approximately their level?”
“Yes. Besides, he’s a quick learner.”
“In that case, you may introduce Stearn to Friar Rinne right away, which solves the question of who guides him during his stay here and where he’ll sleep.” She gave Roget a slight smile. “Rinne is a hard taskmaster, but a kind soul. He settled on Lyonesse with us back in the day but traveled a lot before the empire collapsed. He will understand where you’re coming from and how your experiences affect you. The other postulants were born and raised here and might benefit from your adventures.”
“Thank you.”
“We will speak again. For now, settle in and find your bearings. Familiarize yourself with the abbey and follow the teachings of Friar Rinne and those who help him.” Gwenneth turned her head toward the open door. “Landry?”
The young friar appeared within seconds. “Yes, Sister?”
“Stearn will join the postulants as a new trainee. Please introduce him to Friar Rinne.”
“Will do.” He grinned at Roget. “Follow me, my friend.”
Once they were alone, Gwenneth and Katarin visibly relaxed.
“That is quite the chaotic mind you brought home. Those eight weeks in quarantine must have been a trial for you and the others.”
“Not so much us sisters since we quickly learned to block him, but I suspect the random brain waves he sent crashing around the ship affected the mood of a few crew members. We certainly cannot allow him out in the community before he has his mind under control. I wonder to what degree he was unwittingly responsible for Antelope’s serial mishaps.”
Gwenneth shrugged. “We’ll never know since he was the sole survivor. Now, what about the beacon he wore around his neck?”
Katarin reached into her cloak’s voluminous pockets and produced the palm-sized metal disk. She reached over the low table and offered it to Gwenneth, who studied the inscriptions stamped on the rim.
“As you noted in your report, it came from Valamo Abbey on New Karelia. How did it ever reach Montego?” Gwenneth looked up at Katarin. “You’re sure Antelope never went near New Karelia?”
“According to her logs, no.”
“Could someone, perhaps even Stearn, have falsified them?”
“Certainly. Anything is possible. But why? Neither he nor anyone else aboard could know they would come across a regular Navy ship, and I doubt he did so when we rescued him. There wasn’t enough time. We could always ask the Navy if there is evidence of tampering.”
Gwenneth tapped a finger against her chin.
“Perhaps I’ll reach out to Adrienne Barca and see what she can do, but I’d rather wait until Stearn gets his mind under control. Involving the Navy at this point might be counterproductive. Once Stearn is no longer a walking vortex of mental chaos, we can question him again and decide whether he’s told you the truth.”
“Agreed, and if there’s nothing else, I would sell my soul for a long bath and wash away the cares of our trek.”
“Of course. You’re free to do what you want for the next six months, just like any other Void Ship crewmember after a mission. You can serve the abbey or your own needs, as can Amelia, Cory, and Milene — after Friar Herbert’s debriefing. But I’m sure Sister Marta would be pleased to hear your evaluation of Amelia’s performance.”
“I will speak with her no later than tomorrow, and perhaps I might offer a few hours of my time each week as a teacher for Friar Rinne’s postulant class.”
“If you’re inclined to help, then please do so with my blessing.”
“Thank you. I enjoy teaching, and the challenge of taming a mind like Stearn’s is irresistible, though I think my abilities won’t be enough.”
“I know. Marta will become his primary teacher once he masters the basics. Now go soak your old bones, my friend.”
Gwenneth watched Katarin leave her office, then turned to face the window overlooking the quadrangle and its large Void Orb. For reasons she couldn’t explain, Gwenneth knew Dawn Hunter’s return signaled Lyonesse was on the brink of another change. It could be one as momentous as that which occurred when she and Morane foiled a plot aimed at wresting control of the precious Knowledge Vault from the military.
But Gwenneth couldn’t pinpoint what this new change might entail. However, the growing fear of rampant and deadly disease spreading across human worlds, a fear turning Lyonesse in on itself and hardening her heart against outsiders, would certainly influence it. The republic’s motto, “We Shall Prevail,” would take on more importance from now on in every decision by its government. It meant Lyonesse’s complete isolation from the rest of humanity, a fate Gwenneth had expected for years, would finally come to fruition. There would be no more Void Ship expeditions. The first age of humanity across the stars was truly over. Whether there would be a second one, even a seer such as Sister Marta couldn’t tell.
A sudden urge to visit Jonas Morane and Emma Reyes at their seaside retreat overcame Gwenneth, and she reached for her communicator.
— 16 —
“Radiation levels at the wormhole terminus are spiking, Captain.”
Ossian Vara, who’d been morosely contemplating what would happen in a few minutes, looked up at the CIC’s tactical projection. Four ships like the ones he’d destroyed over three months ago and coming from the galactic badlands as well, were about to enter Outer Picket’s free-fire zone. Under orders from the President of the Republic of Lyonesse, Vara would offer them no parley, no warning, and no chance at turning around. Morane made a public announcement declaring the republic’s three star systems closed to any non-Lyonesse traffic when he revealed the Barbarian Virus’ existence during Dawn Hunter’s extended quarantine.
Anything coming through the Arietis-Corbenic wormhole or entering the republic via interstellar space was a target. The best scientific minds on Lyonesse couldn’t find a cure for the Barbarian Virus, and no one knew when, if ever, they would. But they’d established a few things from the tests using lab-grown human tissue.
Its incubation period was between twelve and twenty days. It attacked the nervous system, much like rabies, as well as the circulatory system; the outcome was almost invariably fatal, and it would take infected humans months to die while suffering from increasingly debilitating pain. Which meant the unprovoked destruction of ships filled with infected intruders was an act of mercy rather than one of murder. Or so Vara told himself.
The status board was unchanged since the last time he looked. Both Savage and Ivan Rebroff were at battle stations, their fire control systems active, and the command-detonated directional mines covering the wormhole terminus’ exit vector were live and waiting. Vara briefly wondered how he’d react if ships entering the Lyonesse Branch weren’t of the typical reiver configuration, that they corresponded to those used by ordinary, harmless traders throughout the wormhole network when the empire still controlled it.
He answered his question with a mental shrug. Orders were orders, and for all they knew, the Barbarian Virus was infesting every world within two hundred light-years by now. But the day when the fast attack cruiser Vanquish and the Kalinka class frigate Aleksandr Borodin relieved Savage and Ivan Rebroff couldn’t come soon enough. Unfortunately, it would be another two weeks before they headed home.
Once in orbit around Lyonesse, Vara and Zheng would turn their ships over to maintenance teams from the naval engineering branch and enjoy an extended leave after more than half a year away. When they returned, many old faces among both crews would be replaced by new ones as people took up new assignments.
The mere thought of a vacation with his family made him smile. This tour guarding the entrance to the Lyonesse Branch had been more tiring than any he remembered. Vara felt as decrepit as his command. He knew he wouldn’t serve long enough in the Navy to see new major combatants, both frigates and cruisers, join the fleet and take over from ships long past their original retirement dates, but with luck, he might witness their launch.
Still, barring unforeseen events, he would be back in Savage when Standfast lifted off for the first time and witness the corvette’s maiden hyperspace jump since the cruiser would spend her next operational tour in the Lyonesse system. Several of Savage’s crew members, including the assistant combat systems officer, were joining the new ship after their vacation.
“Emergence. Four bogies matching the readings from the traffic control buoys in the Arietis system,” the sensor chief reported. “Their shields are up, and their fire control sensors are active.”
“I’m assigning targets.” Four red icons joined blue and green markers in the tactical projection. A pause, then the cruiser’s combat systems officer said, “Mines going active. We’re opening fire, guns only.”
The intruders never stood a chance. Between the directional mines and the guns of the two Lyonesse warships, they turned from functional, if feeble, faster-than-light starships into wreckage before anyone aboard could react. Four miniature novae fueled by four antimatter containment units failing lit up the wormhole terminus for a few, brief seconds before dying away.
“Checking for survivors.” Almost a minute passed before the sensor chief raised his hand. “One chunk of the wreckage shows life signs, Captain. I fed the targeting information to gunnery.”
“Confirmed,” the combat systems officer said.
“Destroy.”
A brief plasma stream, less intense than the first salvos, erupted from Savage’s main guns and chewed through what remained of a starship’s primary hull, turning it into smaller, glowing chunks of alloy.
“Life signs eradicated.”
Though he should ask his sensor chief to determine how many lives were aboard the wolf pack’s ships, Vara couldn’t quite make himself do so. Should HQ ask, he would give an estimate. It didn’t matter if there were a hundred in each vessel or four hundred. If the Barbarian Plague was indeed ravaging human planets in what was once the empire’s Coalsack Sector, the casualty rate would dwarf what Outer Picket’s two ships just racked up.
Vara swallowed a heavy-hearted sigh and tapped the control surface in his command chair’s right armrest.
“Cancel battle stations.”
“Canceling battle stations, aye,” the first officer answered from the bridge. Then, after a few seconds, “Ivan Rebroff acknowledges.”
“Resume regular patrol route.”
**
“The Outer Picket laboratory has finished examining the remains of the intruders aboard those ships, Mister President,” Lieutenant General Barca said the moment Jonas Morane accepted her call.
“And?”
“Infected as well. We estimate there were between six and seven hundred of them. A more accurate count is unfortunately not possible. Outer Picket opened fire the moment they crossed the wormhole terminus’ event horizon and thoroughly destroyed them.”
“Thank you, General. Sometimes I wish we could simply collapse that damned wormhole. Perhaps a massive antimatter bomb might do the trick. Once Lyonesse-built starships become operational, we won’t need the wormhole network anymore.”
“We will eventually wish to venture out again, sir. Perhaps not during our lifetimes, but once we find a way of immunizing ourselves against the Barbarian Plague, our descendants might do so, and using the wormhole network will make reuniting our species that much easier.”
He grunted. “I suppose. How is work on an antiviral progressing?”
Barca grimaced. “We’re still a long way from finding one, I’m afraid.”
“Then, we can only hope the disease runs its course before more intruders enter our star systems.”
Unvoiced, but clearly understood, was Morane’s fear infected reivers might come at Lyonesse via interstellar space and stay undetected until it was too late. Barca knew the risk was small but still higher than zero. The Navy couldn’t set up a cordon sanitaire around the entire Lyonesse star system with its limited fleet of starships, nor was its sensor network capable of continuously watching every single approach.
A reiver might conceivably sneak his way past the planet’s outer moon before being detected and destroyed, leaving a trail of wreckage in a decaying orbit. Should that wreckage not burn up during entry into L
yonesse’s atmosphere, it might release the virus.
“They won’t get past the Navy, sir. Our republic is and will remain secure against intrusion from anyone, especially as we grow both in size and capability.”
“I wish I shared your unshakable confidence, General. Nevertheless, I will show no doubts when I share this latest development with the people of Lyonesse. Thank you for letting me know. My announcement will go out over the net within the hour. Was there anything else?”
“No, Mister President.”
“Thank you and goodbye, General.” Morane cut the link, leaving Barca to stare at a blank display.
“You’re welcome, sir,” she murmured as she climbed to her feet. It was almost time for the weekly command conference, which meant stopping by the break room for a fresh cup of tea. Barca vaguely remembered the taste of coffee and still mourned its disappearance even though it was two decades since the last few roasted beans met their demise in a grinder. Coffee plants simply couldn’t adapt to Lyonesse’s soil, but caffeine was caffeine, no matter the source, so tea it had been ever since then.
Five minutes later, cup in hand, Barca entered the conference room where her principal officers and the Lyonesse Defense Force Sergeant Major waited for her arrival.
“Good afternoon, everyone.” She took the chair at the head of the table. “Please sit. I’ve just informed the president that the latest batch of reivers was infected by the Barbarian Virus as well.”
“How did he react?” Nate Sirak asked.
“The way one would expect. He took it as confirmation that the first wolf pack wasn’t an isolated case but the harbinger of a pandemic. He, just as I, will be happy once we beef up the Navy’s patrol and surveillance capabilities.”
“Does that mean certain large-scale projects will be approved soon?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me if he uses this as a cudgel to pry more defense money from our notoriously skinflint senate. Now, on to the agenda. Nate, you’re up.”
