by Eric Thomson
“Thank you, Abbess.”
“Don’t thank me. Thank Mirjam and Amelia by becoming a model friar who will use what the Almighty gave him and do good in a fallen universe.”
“I’ll see he gets on tomorrow’s Clipper,” Mirjam said. “There’s no point in keeping him here any longer than necessary.”
“Was there anything else while we’re at it?”
“Yes.” Mirjam glanced at Roget. “You may announce your upcoming departure.”
He stood and bowed his head, first at Gwenneth, then at the prioress before leaving her office. The door closed silently behind him.
“We’ve identified three more candidates for engram wiping, including one woman who’s been under Amelia’s care. I studied her from the observation room during several counseling sessions this week and think if she accepts the procedure, she might be suitable.”
“Send me their files. Should Marta and I agree, I’ll give you my authorization to approach the candidates.”
“You’ll get them within the hour.”
“How are the first three doing?”
“Well. None of them show a shred of antisocial behavior, nor do their minds reveal any chaotic tendencies. They’re as normal as could be. Too normal. I’d hoped the cure would uncover a hidden talent, helping prove the theory it might be one cause of personality disorders. Still, so far, only Erasmus’ mind has the usual markers, and they’re weak. Once the postulants pass their examinations and take vows, I’ll work with them myself and see what we can do. And that is all I have for now.”
“Then, I’ll wish you a good night.”
“And you a good day.”
The display turned dark as Gwenneth cut the link. Mirjam busied herself with the candidate files, then turned her chair and stared out the window at the dark lagoon whose surface shimmered with the reflected light of Scilly and Gwaelod, two of Lyonesse’s three moons.
**
“I’m so happy for you.” Amelia beamed at Roget when he told her the news. “When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow evening.” He gave her a crooked smile. “It’s your fault, you silver-tongued witch.”
“No.” She shook her head. “If you weren’t ready, you wouldn’t have asked.”
“I won’t miss this place.” He gestured at the refectory’s empty tables. “Or the sociopaths you’re treating, But I will miss you.”
“Ditto. It’s been interesting working with a man whose talent is at least as strong, if not stronger than mine. I can’t wait to see what you become when your full potential is unleashed. You could be the Order’s first abbot when you’re a little more seasoned.”
Roget raised both hands, palms facing outward. “Whoa. Let’s not make grandiose plans just yet. First, I sit for the examinations—”
“Which you’ll pass with ease.”
“Then, I take vows and become Marta’s student once more. What I might be in the end, nobody knows. I could become a total flop, fit only for sweeping floors.”
“Never.”
“At least I won’t see the dreadful Seled again, though she’ll probably haunt my dreams for a long time.”
“That’s one thing you learn after taking vows — how to keep bad memories from giving you nightmares. The talent never sleeps.”
“Sounds handy. What else can I look forward to?”
She gave him a wink. “You’ll find out after becoming Friar Stearn, not before.”
“Right. First, I learn the Order’s secret handshake. Tell you what, give Seled my love and tell her I flew away to a better place.”
**
“This is good news.” Friar Loxias sat across from Sister Keleos, tea mug in hand, in the latter’s monastic cell, one no different from that of any other sister or friar. “I trust you congratulated Amelia for convincing Stearn he belongs with us?”
“The only thing he’s done so far is postulate,” she replied. “We don’t know that he believes in the Order as such, let alone our vision of it.”
“We will soon make him one of ours. Stearn isn’t burdened by fifteen centuries of dogma like many. If you teachers can make him an equal to any sister, he will see the same future as the rest of us.”
“Gwenneth charged Marta with his further development.”
“So? She’s a mystic, divorced from the secular universe.”
“And uninterested in our goals. A teacher imprints her views on her students, no matter how neutral she strives to be. That is reality.”
Loxias shrugged, visibly unconcerned. “Then it falls to us. In other news, on Friday, I’m firing the opening salvo in our campaign to force Gwenneth’s hand.”
Keleos cocked a questioning eyebrow at him. “Oh?”
“Lunch with Gerson Hecht. I let him know our becoming the motherhouse creates opportunities for cooperation in areas beyond health and academia. Gerson still holds a grudge against the republic for the way Morane and Yakin pushed his father Rorik out of government. He blames it for Rorik’s later ill health and premature death. I intend to convince him by working together, we can rehabilitate his father’s memory and steer the republic on the path Rorik wanted.”
“Aren’t the Hechts making a lot of money from defense contracts?”
“Holding a grudge doesn’t mean eschewing lucrative business deals. But they pretty much prevent anyone in the immediate family from running for public office or working within the administration.” A sly smile crossed Loxias’ lips. “If only the Hechts could call on friends with access to the powerful of the land, the sort whose interests are not the pursuit of filthy lucre but the welfare of the republic and its citizens.”
Keleos nodded. “Us.”
“Yes, and with Gerson’s help, we’ll befriend others, those capable of convincing President Morane our Order should join the Estates-General and be given standing on the various councils formed from it. Gwenneth can hardly refuse if the president formally invites us. She believes in cooperating with the republic’s elected officials and bureaucrats. Besides, we’ll have a Council of Elders up and running by then.”
“When will you raise the matter of the council with Gwenneth?”
“You mean when will we raise it?” Loxias’ smile returned. “As soon as we speak with the elders who should sit on that council. I can think of a few suitable candidates.”
— 28 —
“Rise, Friar Stearn, and be welcomed among the Brethren.”
Sister Gwenneth, Abbess of Lyonesse and Summus Abbatissa, held her hand out to a kneeling Roget who’d just publicly made the vows of obedience, stability, and conversion of life in the abbey’s chapter house, as per the Order’s ancient Rule, witnessed by hundreds of sisters and friars. He gripped her hand, marveling once again at its unexpected strength, and stood with the elegance of an athlete.
Marta, Roget’s principal teacher, stepped up and draped a hooded cloak over his shoulders, completing his transformation from postulant to servant of the Almighty in his Infinite Void. Then, as he’d been taught, the newly minted Friar Stearn turned and faced the Brethren, then bowed deeply, a gesture those present, save for the abbess, returned with equal solemnity. And with that, the simple rite dating back to a time well before the first humans left Earth ended. Roget’s training to unlock his mind’s full potential would now begin.
As they filed out of the chapter house, Loxias caught up with Roget and gave him a friendly clap on the shoulder.
“Friar Stearn! How do you feel now that you’re one of us?”
“Like I’ve found my family at last.”
“Well said. I’ll be monitoring your further development. As chief administrator, making sure friars enter a proper line of work is part of my duties. Once Marta’s training makes that impressive talent of yours bloom, we must use it for the Almighty’s greater glory and the Order’s future.”
Roget inclined his head politely.
“Without a doubt.”
“And we should discuss that future at some point, my friend.
Perhaps around a cup of tea one evening. You might play an important part in ensuring it unfolds properly.”
“I look forward to it.”
“Excellent!”
Loxias peeled off and headed for the abbey’s motor pool where a car waited while Roget made his way to the teaching complex and his first session with Marta as a consecrated friar.
**
“Loxias. How are you?”
Gerson Hecht, looking more and more the spitting image of his late father, fierce eyebrows and gray beard included, stood and came around his marble-topped desk, hand outstretched to greet the friar.
“Hale, hearty, and hungry,” he boomed as they shook hands. “And you, my friend?”
“Prospering, though with the latest plague ship scare, I expect Hecht Industries will prosper even more.” He waved at an open connecting door. “The executive dining room awaits us. A light lunch from Tristan’s Table.”
“Nothing but the best.” Loxias’ smile broadened at hearing the name of Lannion’s most elegant restaurant.
“For you? Always.”
The two men first met years ago when Rorik Hecht still lived and Gerson ran the Lyonesse Mercantile Consortium, an umbrella organization speaking on behalf of the planet’s primary commercial interests. Loxias, not yet chief administrator, but widely seen as an inevitable candidate for the top friar job, oversaw the abbey’s procurement office and spent a lot of time hobnobbing with business executives as he sought deals for supplies, construction material, and more. He and Gerson discovered quickly they were kindred spirits looking for a more significant say in the republic’s future but hampered by their roles. Hecht headed the largest government supplier, one whose dealings with the Defense Force were extensive, making him subject to conflict of interest regulations while Gwenneth’s strictures restrained Loxias.
Hecht ushered Loxias into the dining room and pointed at one of the three place settings.
“Please sit. My assistant called Tristan’s Table the moment the front desk announced you. Our meal should be here at any moment.”
The Hecht Industries corporate headquarters occupied a newish six-story building in downtown Lannion, within walking distance of Government House, the legislature, and the Defense Force headquarters among other departments. And only a block away from the famous restaurant.
“Who is joining us?” Loxias settled in across from the panoramic windows overlooking the Haven River.
“Severin Downes,” Gerson replied, naming Hecht Industries’ chairman of the board, a former imperial count who’d ended up on Lyonesse with a few hundred of his peers, brought there in the same ship as Erasmus and his two comrades. But unlike the violent criminals sentenced to exile, he and the nobles were condemned by the late Empress Dendera for plotting against her at court. Or at least she suspected them of doing so, which in her deranged state made them guilty, nonetheless. “Considering what we’ll discuss, I thought his insight might be valuable.”
“Indeed.”
Downes was another man with a longstanding and unshakable grudge against the republic’s government, and Jonas Morane and Sister Gwenneth in particular. He was a practiced schemer who spent time in the Windy Isles long ago and was therefore barred from government appointments. After serving his sentence, Downes turned to the private sector and ingratiated himself with Gerson Hecht after Rorik Hecht’s death, becoming in due course chairman of the board. Loxias wasn’t sure he liked the man, but he couldn’t argue his effectiveness at glad-handing and recruiting allies in the halls of power.
The dining room’s other door opened, and a silver-haired man in his eighties with a sculpted face that could only come from genetic engineering entered with an energetic stride. He wore a pleasant smile, but his eyes held no more warmth than interstellar space. Though he and the other former imperial nobles lost their titles when Governor Yakin abolished them, Downes still cloaked himself in a vague aura of superiority.
“A good day to you, Gentlemen.” He shook hands with Hecht and Loxias before sitting across from the friar. “I trust everything is well in your busy lives.”
Moments later, two men in white shirts and black trousers entered, carrying covered trays. A young woman in a business suit — Hecht’s executive assistant — followed them in with an uncorked bottle of red wine. Once the waiters served them and left, she poured the wine, placed the bottle in the middle of the solid wood table, and withdrew.
Hecht reached for his glass and raised it.
“To your health, my friends.”
Downes and Loxias followed suit, the latter nodding with approval at the vintage as he swirled the first sip around his tongue.
“Dig in.” Hecht nodded at their plates, now covered with cold meats, cheeses, and vegetables. “The floor is yours, Loxias, unless you’d rather wait until after lunch.”
The latter nodded but took a healthy morsel before speaking.
“This morning, I witnessed our newest friar take his vows. A most extraordinary man, with an unusual background.” Loxias told Stearn Roget’s story between bites. “He has the greatest potential of any friar the Order has known in its history and will no doubt be highly influential in a noticeably short time. Stearn could even become the first Summus Abbas in our history. His abilities will probably eclipse those of our strongest sisters once he finishes training.”
“And what does this mean for Hecht Industries, Friar, if I may be so blunt?”
Loxias gave Downes a tolerant stare.
“When Gwenneth declared Lyonesse the motherhouse of the Order of the Void, she did more than just take a stand on our status vis-à-vis the republic. She clearly stated we had a stake in the republic’s future and its mission of reuniting human worlds under a single banner, rebuilding what the Ruggero dynasty rent asunder.”
“Good and well, but why does this concern us?” Downes took a sip of wine.
“I’m not convinced the present administration, or the abbey leadership understands the implications of Lyonesse’s mission as the last outpost of civilization.”
“Aren’t you part of the abbey’s leadership?”
Loxias raised his hand, palm facing downward, and wiggled it from side to side.
“Yes and no. I run the day-to-day operations of the abbey’s physical plant, but decisions about the Order’s policies and plans come from a single source — the abbess. We will soon set up a Council of Elders to dilute her power and give the abbey a measure of democracy.”
“Won’t she resist?”
“A Council of Elders governed the motherhouse on Lindisfarne. Gwenneth cannot erase that precedent.”
Downes picked up his wine glass again.
“Pardon me, Friar, but that still doesn’t tell us why we’re discussing politics instead of simply enjoying this fine lunch.”
“I think we should explore how we can help each other.” Loxias gave Downes a knowing smile.
A spark of curiosity appeared in the latter’s cold eyes. “I’m listening.”
“Those at the senior levels of Hecht Industries can’t openly engage in political activities, and neither can the former imperial officials who served the late empress on Wyvern. It means two of the three men in this room cannot enter the halls of power.”
Though neither Severin Downes nor Gerson Hecht spoke, Loxias could see vague annoyance in their eyes. Whether at the restrictions laid on them or his words, he couldn’t tell.
“I think the Order of the Void should take its rightful place in the Estates-General, and from there become a force in the republic’s governance. One which can represent the disenfranchised.”
Hecht gave Loxias a knowing look.
“And you’d like us to use our connections within the community to see the Order becomes part of the Estates-General.”
“If you would be so kind.” Loxias’ smile broadened.
“Again, what’s in it for us, besides another ally in the Estates-General?” Downes asked. “We already have plenty of friends in that
august body.”
“For one thing, we would make it our mission to transfer control of the Knowledge Vault away from the military, as you wanted years ago, Mister Downes.” Loxias glanced at Hecht. “And as your father wanted. If anyone has a chance of succeeding, it would be the people who filled that vault.”
“You forget it’s in the virtually impregnable basement of the Defense Force’s main installation on this planet. No president will sign off on moving it to a lesser location, and the Defense Force will not give just anyone access.”
“One thing at a time, Gerson. Morane’s time as president is almost finished. If his successor designates the Order as custodians, the military will give us unfettered access. We can work on moving it elsewhere in due course. Perhaps a site Hecht Industries or one of its partners could build. The teachings tell us vengeance belongs to the Almighty, but you can help usher in the next best thing — a rollback of Jonas Morane’s militaristic republican dreams.”
The former count and Gerson Hecht exchanged a meaningful glance, then the latter nodded.
“We will see that the Order of the Void joins the Estates-General.”
Loxias inclined his head in a gesture of humility that, not coincidentally, hid the gleam of triumph in his eyes.
“Please accept my heartfelt thanks.”
— 29 —
“A Council of Elders?” Gwenneth looked from Loxias to Keleos and back with a slightly raised eyebrow that could convey either incredulity or contempt. “Don’t you think we hold enough meetings as it is? And how would such a council differ in scope and composition from the abbey’s operations committee? I consider every department head an elder of the Order.”
“But not every wise elder is a department head. Marta, for instance,” Loxias replied. “Or Rinne. Or many Brethren I could name. Besides, the operations committee focuses on the day-to-day management of this abbey, its priories, and its other dependencies. You’re the nominal chair, but as chief administrator, I run it. Since we’re the Order’s motherhouse, we must create a council concerned with our policies, our plans, our future, our relations with the secular world, and more.”
