Every Last Mother's Child

by William J. Carty, Jr

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  The Bishop of Trena’s driver dropped him at the appointment gate of the palace. At the gate a biowoman in the livery of the Palace guard stopped him.

  “And who might you be?” She made the challenge.

  “I am the Bishop of Trena for the Church of the One God,” The bishop said, “I have an appointment with the Queen of the Kingdom of Trena.”

  “I see,” the woman said as her partner a Thonian woman came out of the other guard shack.

  “You are on the list to be seen. Please step on to the X please.”

  The bishop said nothing; but noted that this was the first time that he had been asked to step onto the X. The X was a security scanner. It scanned the bishop and said in a woman’s voice, “Please hand search the Bishop please. Due to recent events, electronic and remote searches have been temporarily deemed inappropriate.”

  “Sir,” the biowoman said pulling her weapon, “spread your legs and arms; as my partner is demonstrating. I must at this point advise you, that I am authorized to use deadly force to deal with any resistance to my partner or myself.”

  She didn’t ask if the bishop understood or not as her partner approached him. The bishop stood spread eagle on the spot as the woman started at his head and worked down his body. She looked in his eyes, his ears up his nose, and firmly patted the bishop down and politely touching his most private places. He had never been touched by anyone as intimately and as impersonally as the unclean thonian had touched him. When it was over the beta bioperson spoke to the bishop, “Sir this officer will escort you to the Queen’s audience chamber.”

  Mylea stepped out of the shadows. She was in an immaculately turned out Royal Trenaport Mounted Patrol uniform. It was a scarlet wool jacket with black skirt. On her epaulets was the insignia of a deputy chief in the Trena’s Royal Mounted Patrol. A black, old fashioned Sam Brown belt was around her middle, holding her service weapon, a heavy laser pistol, and night stick. A gleaming sword in a sheath hung from her right side.

  “This way,” Mylea ordered, on their way to the audience chamber, they passed sentries on their posts. Each sentry was a woman, either a cloned human female, or a thonian female, or an earth normal female. As they approached the sentries there was the unmistakable sound of weapons being drawn and in one or two instances the sound of a laser powering up to pre fire levels was heard. As they neared each post just about as they made eye contact with the sentry, the sentry did an about face refusing to look on him.

  That was a calculated insult. On the Theocracy home world a shunned or soon to be shunned priest was treated in just this same matter. To use women to make the point was telling him he was lower than low. He had a vague idea why the Queen had commanded his presence; but only a vague hint. Nothing in public had been said accusing him or the church of setting the explosion in the convention center, or the damn break. The Queen wouldn’t do that without proof. She must have something or he wouldn’t have been asked here.

  At the door to the throne room and audience chamber, the sentry opened the door and allowed him in without announcing him. The Queen was standing just inside the door beside her stood General Alphine in her full dress marine uniform. Standing next to her was Lisa Wilson. There wasn’t a man in the audience chamber. The Theocracy believed women’s place was in the home, pregnant, and were the servants of men. Women who worked in some of the special clandestine units were always cloistered upon their return. Often they were killed in the line of duty, often by their male leaders to prevent contaminating women back on the home worlds. This was a calculated insult.

  “Bishop,” the Queen said, “you are now considered persona non grata. You, every church official, any person who is part of your mission official or unofficial are to be off my planet within the next twelve hours. This police officer will escort you back to your residence and ensure that you get off world.”

  The officer in question was a woman.

  “My government will file an official letter of displeasure with your government.” the bishop said acidly.

  “Go right ahead,” The Queen responded, “maybe by the time your sorry excuse for a government, your intolerant college of cardinals, your heathen barbaric fellow priests gets around to do it my government such as it is will no longer exists!”

  “This could mean war,” the Bishop said.

  “Yes your grace it could mean war,” Princes Carroll responded, “and if your world decides to go to war with the Kingdom of Trena, you will be at war with the Earth Empire, and the Thonian Realm. A task force will be assembled, and we will aim for the heart of your home system. We will make one pass taking out everything we can and then leave your nation. We will be broadcasting what you have done on this world. We will make damn certain that your people know what your College of Cardinals has condoned on this world.”

  “And,” The Thonian ambassador’s life mate spoke, “should you try to mount a war fleet from your nation we will blockade your system. We will destroy every military spacecraft leaving the nation and to make certain we might take out a few that aren’t.”

  “Officer,” The Queen turned to the Thonian, “Escort this piece of human dung out of this chamber. Make sure he gets off my world.”

  “Aye Ma’am,” The corporal grabbed the bishop as she would a prisoner, and escorted the man from the hall. She stayed with him until the space port. When they got to his residence he found a squad of cops around and in his building searching it and putting his staff on a large bus. She allowed him all of five minutes to get his personal things. She didn’t allow him near his office, or near a computer terminal. She then escorted the entire group of priests to the space port, where he was given another extreme customs check. The final insult was almost too much for him to take.

  “Your Excellency,” the captain of a theocracy trash hauler approached him, “I am sorry; but the port captain informed me that I was to take you and your staff back to the home world. I don’t have much room for passengers, you will have to double and triple bunk, some of will be sleeping in the passages. We’ll be leaving here in a few moments.”

  “Is there no other Theocracy craft in orbit?’ The bishop asked.

  “No sir all other craft were ordered out of Trena Space this morning, except for my ship. I don’t understand why but the port authorities were adamant that I stay behind to take your party home.”

  “I see,” The bishop replied, he started to reach for his phone; but decided not to. “Get us out of here. That bitch of a queen of theirs has just bought herself a war.”

  “As you wish your Excellency.” the man said, escorting the bishop to a landing craft that had seen better days.

  It took thirteen days to go from Trena to the Theocracy home world. The bishop spent the entire time in his cabin. Although it was the captain’s cabin, it was not more than an eight foot by eight foot, by eight foot hole in a passage directly off the main access to the bridge. The insult that the Queen of Trena had given him had been more than just a personal insult. It was an insult to him, his congregation, his religion, and his star nation. As he prayed and meditated in his cabin using the scriptures to help prepare his proposal to the Cardinal his anger grew and grew. By the time the trash hauler arrived in the Theocracy he was ready to speak with the Cardinal.

  As the Bishop left the landing craft he was greeted by two members of Dark Order. They were the most pious of the monks, and priest in the Theocracy. They were the personal guard, and special agents of the Cardinal. They wore black from head to foot, a black veil covered their faces, and only the Cardinal knew their real names. They carried shepherd’s staffs and as he stepped off the landing craft ramp they blocked his way with them. They motioned for him to follow them. As he did two more fell in behind. Although frightened to his very bones, he didn’t let it show. He should have been greeted by Cardinal Naylan of the College of Cardinals, the cardinal who was responsible for the Theocracy’s Relations with other Star Nations. The Blacks w
ere here to make sure he talked to no one else before he talked to the Cardinal. They escorted him to an unremarkable black van. The van had no windows.