by Jay Allan
“Quite.”
“And ... you think that the unlicensed tech-bot in my quarters this morning would have done the same to me, should I have still remained in my bed?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“But how is this even possible? Sister Anna and Sister Maria—they were with me, in training! And Sister Tia ...” Esther trailed off as she wondered at Sister Tia’s connection to the others.
“Sister Tia had been identified as a potential candidate. We have been in negotiations for several weeks. She was coming around,” the Mother Superior supplied bleakly.
Esther fingered the necklace of plasticene beads that hung around her neck. Inside each bead, she knew, lay a powerful processor attuned to a combination of her own electromagnetic skinprint, phermonic scent, and vocal chords. The beads were designed to be readily accessible and instantly manipulated, and their powerful internal transmitters gave Esther near-instantaneous control of virtually any tech produced by the Conglomerate Church. And therefore any tech in the known universe. Not every nun wore the t’rosary—their power made them potentially dangerous in inexperienced hands—in fact, in this Order of the Sainted Cumulus Mesofactia, there were likely only a dozen or so nuns who did. Esther had only been aware of herself, her sisters-in-training (the recently-departed Sisters Anna and Maria), and the Mother Superior. As initiates into the High Tech, it was essential that they master the t’rosary in order to serve and protect the nuns in their care and the people that they served. Working the t’rosary over the past few years had given Esther a sense not only of pride, but of safety: no matter what malfunction she encountered, she had the ability, training, and tools to deal with it efficiently and effectively. She never removed the t’rosary, and she was sure that Sister Anna and Sister Maria had done the same. So why, then, had they been burnt to a crisp in their own beds? Why hadn’t their t’rosaries defensively activated at the first sign of trouble?
For that matter, why hadn’t hers?
That thought made Esther pause. She was well aware that the Mother Superior watched her expectantly, waiting for her response to such monstrous news. But as she replayed the morning’s events over in her mind, she was certain that her t’rosary had remained dormant. Was it possible? Where would tech outside the purview of the t’rosary even come from? Esther felt a tight knot begin to clench in the pit of her stomach.
“So,” Esther began, “the logical deduction is that the tech responsible for these deaths somehow exists outside the range and reach of the t’rosary.”
“Exactly. I am pleased to see how quickly you have grasped the gravity of the situation.”
“Our primary line of defense, the secrets of the High Tech, is, then, useless.”
“I would not be so dismissive,” replied the Mother Superior. “Those practitioners of the High Tech whose deaths we mourn—their deaths present us with a specific problem. Given our aversion to the violence inherent in a life stopped before its natural expiration, we may, at this point, choose to read these deaths in emotional terms. As such, they would signify loss, grief, despair, and, most importantly, ignorance. But I believe that whoever is behind these attacks is counting on such a reaction. I believe they count on our reading the situation defensively—in other words, given what is known about the Order of the Sainted Cumulus Mesofactia and specifically about its cultivation of the practitioners of the High Tech, whoever initiated these attacks will expect us to draw in tight against any future attacks.”
“And that is what we will do, won’t we?” asked Esther.
“Of course, it makes tactical sense to give one’s attacker the appropriate response they are looking for, in order to help draw them out. But what they do not know is that I, the Mother Superior, am choosing to revise the situation at hand.”
Esther looked up, puzzled.
“These deaths do not signify attack. They do not represent a need for defense. I refuse to read in them these terms. Instead, I willingly misread these deaths: they are, instead, invitations extended to engage in a very serious game. And I accept!” The Mother Superior’s voice heightened during the course of her speech, ending on a brilliant note of power, authority, and decisiveness. Esther shivered despite herself, anticipation and adrenaline running through her veins.
Esther struggled to display a calm that she felt desperately slipping away in the midst of a flood of thoughts, emotions, and questions. “Mother Superior,” she said, “What do you want me to do?”
6.
At Esther’s question, the Mother Superior took out her t’rosary. Carefully she activated a set of twelve beads, then lifted the ocular disk to her left eye. Quickly, she walked to her desk and placed the finial cross of the t’rosary against the whorls that occupied the lower left portion of the surface. Esther watched as a hidden compartment opened in the desk’s otherwise smooth surface. The Mother Superior reached in, and carefully lifted out a cream-colored envelope. Esther couldn’t be sure, but it looked as if it were actually made of real paper.
“I have here a key.”
“A paper key?”
“Yes, a key written on paper in ink. We must utilize such precautions in order to obfuscate whoever is responsible for these attacks. They clearly have access to advanced tech, and as such, all tech communications are potentially compromised. We use paper for the keys in order to add an additional level of security and secrecy to the project,” explained the Mother.
“Who is this 'we' you refer to, Mother?” asked Esther.
“There exists within the Conglomerate Church a network—the Shadow Network, as it is commonly called, although it technically has no name—of true believers dedicated to the continued survival of not only the Conglomerate Church itself, but more importantly, the survival of the human race. Humans: we are flung across the stars, scattered like sand across time and space. The race is fragile, far more fragile than we often want to believe.”
Esther nodded. She was not surprised at this news: the existence of such a network made a kind of logical sense when put into such terms. “But how would this Shadow Network deliver the key to you so quickly? We’ve only just experienced these deaths here."
“The key was prepared beforehand, should the need arise. A careful calculation has been made, and a possible course of action determined. I believe the mysterious and disturbing circumstances surrounding the deaths of Sister Anna, Sister Maria, and Sister Tia are of such a nature as to demand the use of this key. And, of course, we have an advantage.”
Esther tried to imagine what could possibly be considered advantageous in such a situation. “Which is?” she queried.
“You, of course,” replied the Mother. “Your death—this is our advantage.”
Esther blinked rapidly, willing her pulse to slow and her breath to even out. “I am, of course, honored to die for the safety of the Order of the Sainted Cumulus Mesofactia. When I began my training in the High Tech, I understood the risks.”
“Don’t be a fool!” snapped the Mother Superior. “There has been far too much death today—more blood on my hands than I ever thought possible. I would have to be a desperate fool to begin Sacrificial Protocol in these circumstances!”
Esther felt a soft release at the back of her neck.
“You, Sister Esther, are, however, for all intents and purposes, dead. Those behind this attack may or may not have had the ability to collect complete data on the success of the tech-bot. It hardly matters: as long as we here at the Sainted Cumulus Mesofactia publicly mourn your loss along with those of the others, you will be dead. You will be wiped from the system, and the attacker will assume that any contradictory data supplied by the tech-bot is an unfortunate glitch.”
Esther imagined the face of her own mother upon hearing the news that Esther had died. It was, of course, unimaginable. “Forgive me, Mother Superior, but what advantage does this strategy give us?”
“If you are for all intents and purposes dead to this community, then you will be in the ideal position fr
om which to use this key.”
“And what is this key? What does this paper say?”
“A name. An identity.”
“Whose?”
“I do not know. But it will be your job to kill them.”
7.
"You want me to kill someone?" Despite all the odd, unusual, and even unnerving events of the day, this announcement by the Mother Superior that she, Sister Esther Dale of the Order of the Sainted Cumulus Mesofactia and Initiate to the Mysteries of the High Tech, was to intentionally end the life of another human being, thus betraying every religious, moral, ethical, and social taboo she knew (not to mention the law) struck her as the most unimaginable turn of events possible.
"I'm afraid so."
"But ... why? How?"
"I’m afraid I can only address your first question: this is the purpose and function of the key. The individual identified on this paper has been fully researched by the network, and it has been determined that, in the event of an apparent attack by malicious forces intent not only on harming others, but on unraveling the strands that bind the human race together, that the appropriate retaliation is to kill this person."
"But how do you know that they are the responsible party?"
The Mother Superior shook her head sadly. She's saddened by knowing who's responsible? Esther wondered distractedly. Why sorrow? Why not revenge? Or relief? The Mother Superior cleared her throat as if preparing to deliver unpleasant news.
"I'm afraid you misunderstand. The key does not identify the responsible party. Indeed, the individual named on the key likely has no possible connection to the unfortunate events of this day. But their position has been fully analyzed, and it has been consensually determined that their death will initiate a chain of events that will shore up both the Conglomerate Church as well as the varying legal and social structures that undergird human society in this quadrant. We have been attacked. Our attacker has utilized tech that apparently falls outside the influence of the t'rosary. Ponder the long-term consequences implicit in this action."
Esther pondered. She considered the potential fallout—the inevitable loss of all Initiates (for their identities would eventually be located within the system, buried and encrypted though they were) and the resulting loss of t'rosary function would quickly prove catastrophic. Medical tech would fall into disrepair; the financial sector would quickly become corrupt as viruses, worms, and ghosts ran unfettered through both the tech and its programming; civic services would fail. It was only a matter of time before the corruption reached the convent here on NuO, and from there it would spread out across the quadrant. The Brotherhood would crumble. Her sisters would be held accountable. War.
"I understand," she told the waiting Mother. "I accept my responsibility according to the oath I undertook as an Initiate of the High Tech to guard the tech against inevitable corruption. I will accept this key, and I will unlock peace." She hoped her words sounded appropriately calm. Inside, she hated to admit, her stomach rocked back and forth, hovering between anticipation and revulsion.
"I knew you would not fail us, Sister Esther. And I am pleased by your willingness to act despite your current blindness. You demonstrate the admirable qualities of true faith." The Mother Superior crossed the room, leaving the broad table behind. She pressed the paper envelope into Esther's cold hands. "I hope you understand when I say that I must now go and prepare for the mourning of Sister Anna, Sister Maria, and Sister Tia."
"And myself."
"Of course. Begin Protocol 43F. Report to me directly when you have finished the unenviable task that lays before you. God bless, my child," she added in an unexpectedly kind, almost maternal tone. Esther wondered if it were possible that this woman with whom she had worked and worshiped for over two decades cared for her, Esther, personally. Before today, she never would have considered the possibility. But the day had proven so far to be quite exceptional; she would not be surprised to learn that hidden depths of humanity lay within the Mother Superior's weathered chest.
She drew the envelope up quickly to place it in her upper pocket. The smooth, crisp paper caught against the thinning skin between the thumb and finger of her left hand. A slight red line appeared as blood rushed to the site of the shallow papercut. Esther held her hand out, palm turned up toward the ceiling to keep the blood from spilling onto the floor of the Mother's office.
Her head bowed in brief submission and then she left. Apparently, she was now dead.
8.
Protocol 43F involved, first and above all else, securing a tech sanctum on the lower levels of the convent. Although the need for complete tech isolation was rare in their daily lives, the sisters of the Order often found themselves in need of such a space, usually to conduct research or test some new manufactured piece that required isolation in order to prevent any potential unfortunate accidents.
Somewhat ironic that I now am one of those unfortunate accidents, Esther thought as she descended the worn stairs. At first she had worried that the Mother Superior had cancelled her security clearance upon decreeing her death, but the door opened to the normal t’rosary code. Apparently she was being given a brief moment of grace in order to get her affairs in order.
She entered as the solid steel door slid open to reveal a windowless bunker. The lights overhead flickered to life as the room’s internal sensors registered her body heat. Without hesitation, she strode across the floor and pressed her palm against the black button on the far wall. A panel next to the button opened, and as Esther methodically removed every piece of clothing on her body, save her t’rosary, she tossed things towards the container revealed by the panel. Once her clothing was all in the metal drum, she closed the lid. There was a small, incendiary burp as her clothing was reduced to ash and dust.
Next, Esther pressed the blue button. The first panel closed, and a second opened. This time, Esther herself stepped into the small square space that had opened up in the wall. A clear panel of plasticene clicked shut behind her. She paused, unsure for a brief moment at how to proceed. But without any further action on her part, a slow, warming mist began to fill the chamber. Soft music played in the background, and a soothing voice spoke over the internal speakers.
“Welcome to the Re-Birth. Your request is being processed. Please relax as the micro-techs work to adjust your chemical signatures.” The swirling steam clouds that surrounded Esther began to thrum and pulse as they gently swarmed over her entire body. The process was not uncomfortable, but it was a rather odd sensation to know that one’s electromagnetic skinprint and phermonic scent were being redesigned.
“Please remove your t’rosary and place it in the calibration chamber to your left.” Esther did so. The last thing she wanted was for her t’rosary to fail due to re-birth.
“Please open your mouth and inhale. The micro-techs will now begin your vocal adjustment. If you wish to control the direction of the adjustment, say ‘Pitch.’” Esther inhaled, but remained silent. She refused to think of the re-birth as permanent. While the Mother Superior had been quite clear regarding the necessity of her current death, she had not definitively ruled out the possibility that Esther would, in the end, be allowed to resume her identity, at least within the confines of the convent, which is where Esther was certain she would end up after this unpleasant business was over.
“Please close your eyes. The micro-techs will now adjust your features.” Esther wondered if this portion of the process would be as unpleasant as it sounded. But all she felt was the gentle pulsing of the micro-techs against her skin. They tickled under her nose, and Esther stifled a sneeze. She was fairly certain that the micro-techs would be able to adjust should she happen to sneeze, but she certainly didn’t want to find out while they were performing micro-adjustments to her facial tissues.
Esther remained in the chamber for the better part of an hour. The micro-techs performed their adjustments admirably, sculpting, shaping, and shifting minute portions of Esther’s flesh. Her fingerprints were, o
f course, rewritten. Her eyes received a careful coloring thanks to the microscopic plasticene implants the micro-bots injected during one of the more unpleasant moments of the procedure. Her hair was colored and cut, her teeth received a bit of minute chipping (Esther had winced as she realized what was going on—she had always been rather unreasonably proud of her large, straight teeth), and in the end she emerged from the chamber a new person. Not that the newness was noticeable, for that would have defeated the purpose. And while she would look different to those who knew Esther before her re-birth, she would not be completely unrecognizable. That was a much more involved re-birth than the one she had received. But she would, for all intents and purposes, no longer register as Esther Dale when scanned by any tech in the known universe.
“Thank you for utilizing the Re-Birth. Congratulations on your new identity,” said the voice from the chamber. “Please pick up your identification from the slot on the left. Your t’rosary has been recalibrated and is now available in the exterior door. Thank you, and have a nice day.”
Esther was fairly certain that she did not want to look in a mirror. It would do no good to focus on her new looks. Luckily, the nuns had little use for mirrors generally, and thus did not keep many around the convent, let alone in the tech sanctums. As she gathered a new set of clothing, identical to the set she had so recently incinerated, Esther couldn't help but remember the last time she had gone through the Re-Birth chamber.
She had been at the convent for over ten years when the Mother Superior approached her about joining the Mysteries of the High Tech. Up until that time, Esther had been following a meandering path throughout the various groups and disciplines within the convent. She had spent some time in Re-Search, studying old printouts and scans, piecing together past tech in the hopes of improving their present production. She had enjoyed getting to know the sisters in the Finery, whose abilities to separate and manufacture the various ores and materials needed by those in Production. Her longest time had been spent moving about the various sub-schools of the Scriptorium: copying code, embedding programs, and, most importantly, developing defenses against the ever-present viral threats. It was likely her defensive ingenuity that drew the Mother Superior's attention to begin with. She had been persuaded—she was not difficult to convince, given that, in all her time and in all the disciplines she had studied with, none had yet gripped her with the call of vocation. And so she had entered the Re-Birth a novice, and emerged an Initiate. That time, she had been allowed to keep her name. Curious, she glanced at the screen to her right, which held her newly-assigned identity: Agnes Bartholomew. Somehow, Esther was irrationally disappointed.
