“Yeah.” The callousness of it all stabbed Jake’s mind like a stylus through his temple. He hadn’t been with his family when they died. Their deaths were no less real, though.
He winced at the brightness of the lights in Pammy’s office, and his own churning thoughts. He didn’t like himself very much in that moment. “Losing Billy and Mickey was worse than losing my family. I was there. I watched them die.”
And that made it all worse. Billy and Mickey shouldn’t be more important than Mom and Dad and brother Lance.
“Stop wallowing, Jake. That’s how soldiers live with the filth of war. We’re fighting a different kind of war. Up close and personal. Now report!”
Jake spilled the entire episode on Prometheus XII. Everything, from the unbearable heat to the smell of Mickey’s bowels releasing at the moment of death. Failure. Total failure.
“Anyone see you come in here?” Pammy asked when he’d spewed the last of it.
“Are you kidding? This office is tucked beneath the main dish of the station in a forgotten corner near the power plant. You’ve got your own space dock. No one comes down here without a specific invitation. Not even your admin. Most of the people on SB3 don’t even know this office, your department, or even you, truly exist.”
“Never discount the power of conspiracy theory, Jake. Quite a few people know I and my department exist, or believe it so, and are actively looking for this office. So, I repeat, has anyone seen you. Think carefully from the time you entered SB3 sensor range.”
Jake forced his mind back to that awful escape from Prometheus XII and the pirates that masqueraded as the law chasing him into orbit.
Those pirates pursued him with the same persistence and finesse as a pack of Marils.
“Someone ought to go back there and see if they have Maril tech in their ships,” he added as an aside.
Then timeless sensory warp in hyperspace. He didn’t dare take the sleepy drugs flying solo. The shift of the spectrum and the horizon and then the visit from the ghosts of his comrades felt more normal than his time on that cursed planet.
He didn’t tell her about that, though.
“I jumped out of hyperspace in the wake of that big luxury liner docked at the VIP bay. So much turbulence from their engines I don’t think anyone in control could have spotted the extra blip.” He’d needed to coast in their wake to save the last few drops of fuel for docking. “I broke free of them in the shadow of the station. Slipped into your dock without anyone hailing me.” Literally gliding in on empty. “Two guys in the bay to lock down the ship. Both yours and both trained to turn a blind eye to whoever gets out of one of your ships.”
“And between the bay and here?” Pammy steepled her hands, palms together, and tapped her fingertips together in an odd cascading rhythm. A sure sign her mind worked furiously.
“Nada.”
“Any sense of movement in the shadows, a light that didn’t track right?”
Jake closed his eyes and walked himself through the short trip. His mind had been centered on his own misery at the time. He had to concentrate. No doors opened from the corridor. No side aisles or alcoves. Just smooth white walls and bright lighting. No shadows.
He shook his head.
“Fine. Let me give you the antidote to those Numidian nanos and get you bleaching to Harmonic traits.” She patted his hand affectionately.
“Did you know that when Harmony’s original three colony ships took applications they carefully screened for only Caucasian features and mostly light skins?” She prattled on, keeping his mind occupied with something other than his own grief. “They screened out all traces of homosexuality, independence, liberalism, and perversions. Then they created and froze embryos only from their faithful Caucasian followers. They wanted to avoid any trace of prejudice among their people. Promote harmony, they claimed. Prejudiced bastards is what I call them.”
She scooted her chair with an expert flick of her toe. A blank wall behind her desk opened with a touch of her thumb to reveal refrigerated shelves filled with huge syringes.
“No. Oh, no. Not again. Please, Pammy. I can’t bear the itch again.” Jake thought about bolting for the door.
Where would he go?
“Now, Jake. Bleaching won’t bother you nearly as much as turning you into a Numidian. Besides, I need you to shower, eat, then sleep for about a day while I make arrangements to sneak you into Harmony space. By the time you wake up, the process will be complete. You won’t feel a thing.” She grabbed seven of the largest syringes he’d ever seen and flicked her chair right up to him so that their knees touched.
His chair had no rollers. He was trapped. Unless he committed a horrible breach of protocol and manners and pushed her away.
What good would it do? She’d chase him down and jab him with those half-meter-long needles. And sleep sounded good about now. So did a shower and food.
“Join me for dinner, Pammy. We’ll have a nice bottle of wine and then fall into bed together. You can keep me company until I fall asleep. You wouldn’t want me having nightmares, waking up raving, yelling loud enough to wake the entire station. But I can’t promise you forever.”
Pamela smiled. “Sounds like fun. I didn’t ask for ‘forever.’ Besides, I own your ass, Jake, and don’t you forget it.”
He gulped, unsure of just what she meant.
“Another time, Jake. I’ve got too much to do putting together your cover. Now be a good boy and sit still.” Before she finished talking, she had jabbed the first of the needles into his thigh, right through his flight suit.
“YeeOww!”
“That will kill the nanos in you. Now I’ll put in the DNA sequence to give you the right caste mark. Hold out your arm, Jake.”
Sissy stared at the array of crystals and wands on the tiny altar before her. Laudae Shanet had wasted no time in beginning her training. Barely two hours had passed since she’d first set foot inside the Crystal Temple. Hardly time enough to figure out all the knobs and levers in the necessary of her suite. Or to meet the seven children assigned to assist her and learn from her.
Experience with her younger brothers and sisters might help keeping their high energy in check. What could she teach them about being a priestess? She knew nothing and yet she was supposed to lead them all as the High Priestess.
Laudae Penelope had demanded the right to supervise this first session.
So the three of them, with their twenty-one combined acolytes crowded into a small side chapel intended for private prayer and meditation. A few simple chairs filled the center. Laudae Penelope sat in one. Her seven assistants ranged behind her, standing in a semicircle.
Laudae Shanet’s seven clumped tightly around the right side of the altar. Sissy’s watched from the left; their eyes wide with awe. She thought she remembered their names. Or she would shortly, given half a moment to think about it.
Mary, the eldest at twelve, showed signs of transitioning into a young woman. She held her head high and her back straight, very proud to serve the High Priestess even if the HPS was a mutant freak. A Lood.
No one had said the hated word in her presence, but she saw it in their wary eyes and cautious posture.
Martha peered out at the world as if she needed her eyes corrected. A book was never far from her hand, and she quoted them word for word. Or at least the one on ritual.
Sarah sort of blended into the wall. Just another eleven year old wanting to be older with more responsibility than she could handle.
Jilly. Ah, Jilly. She bounced about with much more energy than sense, a pun or sarcastic comment—or both—on the tip of her tongue. “Missy Sissy,” she’d crowed at first meeting. “Missy Sissy came to Temple. Missy Sissy tried to talk. Missy Sissy wanted to walk. Missy Sissy down she fell.”
The entire array of women and girls looked horrified at the poem. (At the poem or because it was awkward?)
Until Sissy laughed long and loud. “That about sums it up,” she said, picking herself up fro
m where she’d tripped on the thick carpet of her office. An entire room just for her office, as well as a bedroom and a sitting room. At least she shared the sitting room with her girls.
She liked the sound of that. Her girls.
Bella was a bit younger than Jilly but stood almost a head taller. Another quiet one who observed before she spoke, and she spoke rarely.
Sharan was the littlest, looking about eight even though she’d proudly announced that she had reached her tenth birthday two months before.
And lastly there was Suzie. Just ten with wide questioning eyes and a tendency to sidle behind Mary.
Sissy had them fixed in her mind now. But she’d forgotten what she was supposed to do with the crystals and the wand.
She wore another of those ugly green dresses that didn’t fit properly. This one had an unflattering ruffle at the hips over a slim skirt that barely fit over her thighs. Her high-heeled shoes with sandal straps at the heel pinched her toes and rubbed her instep wrong.
Pointedly she leaned down and slipped them off. She couldn’t concentrate wearing the dang things. An ominous ripping sound came from the back of her skirt, right over her butt. Hopefully the ruffle covered it.
Laudae Shanet, bless her heart, removed her own shoes. Her acolytes and the seven girls assigned to Sissy did, too, giggling along with Jilly.
Laudae Penelope, in a gorgeous emerald outfit, tailored to fit her precisely, sat back in her chair, right leg crossed over left, her high-heeled shoes molding to her narrow elegant feet.
Her acolytes shuffled their feet in uncertainty.
“Miss Sissy prefers to perform rituals with her feet in full contact with Harmony,” Laudae Shanet said quietly.
Laudae Penelope ignored her. “Show me what you know about crystal ritual,” she said in a bored voice.
“I’ve only witnessed others,” Sissy said quietly. The books Stevie had brought her and she’d puzzled through word by word, only mentioned the idea that crystal sounds alerted Harmony and the other gods that someone wanted their attention.
“Well, what do you remember about it? It’s the simplest part of ritual. Anyone with any education at all should know it.” A bit of anger tinged Laudae Penelope’s voice. She bounced her crossed leg impatiently.
Fear churned inside Sissy. What if she did something wrong? Would Harmony withdraw her favor and cast Sissy out? Now that her mutant caste marks had been revealed, High Priest Gregor would have no choice but to order her to the slums or an asylum. Maybe he’d take pity on her and exile her to one of Lady Marissa’s death factories out in the desert. Working until she dropped from fatigue, malnutrition, and dehydration was preferable to going insane chained to a wall in an asylum.
“Take it slow and tell me what you remember,” Laudae Shanet said quietly. “I’ll stop you if you do something wrong.”
Sissy flashed her a smile of gratitude. She let her left hand touch each of the seven wands. They all felt cold and lifeless. Except . . . She let her fingers caress the littlest one farthest to her left. Warm tingles moved slowly from her hand to her wrist, up to her elbow, then her shoulder. Finally a flood of singing energy filled her mind. She grasped that wand firmly and held it up in triumph.
“No,” Laudae Penelope said firmly. “Why in the names of the Seven did you choose that one?”
“It . . . it seemed right,” Sissy said. Shame flooded her face.
“We always start with the largest wand against the largest crystal to call the congregation to order,” Penelope said on an exasperated sigh.
“Like a shift change bell,” Sissy replied. Not exactly what the book said. Understanding came slowly. The little wand felt so right.
“If you must use such a primitive analogy, yes.” Laudae Penelope heaved another great sigh.
Sissy wondered if Laudae Penelope had trouble breathing, too, and had to inhale and exhale with exaggeration.
“Actually, the little wand against the littlest crystal is appropriate to begin other rituals,” Laudae Shanet said. She held her head straight in defiance.
A bit of relief dried the tears of shame crowding at the corners of Sissy’s eyes.
“Such as?” Laudae Penelope’s face flushed and she narrowed her eyes.
Fear built up in Sissy once more.
“A blessing of a handfasting. A gratitude for rain after a long hot summer,” Laudae Shanet replied. “A private celebration of good fortune, naming a child, or a small wedding with only family in attendance.”
“I need to know that one,” Sissy whispered.
“Rural trivia. We don’t perform those here at the Crystal Temple.”
“Why not?” Sissy asked. “Those are important rituals.”
“Important?” Laudae Penelope stood up, nearly exploding with self-importance.
Sissy had her measure now.
“Important to the people of Harmony.” Sissy’s ears rang as a force outside herself took command of her words. She tapped the little crystal, a shaft no taller than her hand and as slender as two fingers, with the delicate wand.
A tiny chime matched the vibration of the words in her mind that had to come out. Now.
“Those rituals remind us how the Goddess is present in all aspects of life. Big and small. Without Harmony, we would revert to chaos. Harmony has to be at the center of our lives to maintain civilization, peace, and purpose.”
Sissy touched the littlest crystal again. A total of seven times, each tap harder than the last. A single clear note became a chord. It swelled, gained volume, echoed. Then it set the other six crystals vibrating. Each in turn loosed its own note in harmony.
Laudae Penelope held her ears to block out the reverberations. She stepped back, knocking over the chair. It clattered loudly, dissonant against the crystals.
Sissy dashed to right the furniture.
“No,” Laudae Shanet commanded. “You are the High Priestess. Others serve you now.” At her quick nod, the youngest of Laudae Penelope’s acolytes bowed to Sissy, righted the chair, bowed a second time, and retreated.
A small smile played across Laudae Shanet’s mouth. Then vanished as quickly as it had come.
“Tricks. It’s all tricks,” Laudae Penelope said as the crystalline tones faded. Poison nearly dripped from her mouth. “Give me an hour and I’ll be able to repeat that trick.” She turned on her well-shod heel and stalked out of the tiny chapel.
Her acolytes remained, gape-jawed and silent.
“Don’t bet on that, Penelope,” Laudae Shanet said. “You have just witnessed Harmony’s truth.” She bowed deeply toward Sissy and backed away. “Use your instincts in every ritual, Laudae Sissy. Harmony will guide you.”
“I’m not a Laudae yet. I haven’t been ordained.”
“Harmony has spoken through you, Laudae Sissy. You don’t need an ordination to confirm what we all just heard. You are Laudae Harmony!”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
IN THE CLOSED COMMUNITY OF Crystal Temple rumors flew faster than thought. Gregor prowled the twisting corridors listening to hushed conversations. Missy Sissy this. Missy Sissy that. All about Missy Sissy and how Harmony had spoken through her, reprimanding Laudae Penelope.
What was his Temple coming to, referring to the new HPS with the childish nickname “Missy Sissy.”
Totally unacceptable.
And yet those who used the name seemed more than willing to accept Sissy as she was, mutant caste marks and all.
The priests had begun calling Sissy Laudae Harmony.
“Why hasn’t anyone reported directly to me?” Gregor demanded the moment Guilliam stumbled into his office, arms full of files.
“Um, I am reporting to you now, My Laud.” Guilliam deposited his burden on the orderly desktop.
Gregor frowned at the clutter. “You were not there. Your report is hearsay and therefore useless. I want to talk to Shanet. Get her here. Now.”
“First, My Laud, your signature on these documents.”
“What is this?” Grego
r demanded.
Guilliam looked at his feet. “The rotation roster that you requested, My Laud.”
“I didn’t request . . . oh.” He flipped open the top file. The first item up was indeed a list of names shuffling personnel among the far-flung parishes across the planet. “I don’t see Laudae Penelope’s name on the list, Guilliam. But I do see yours. At the very top. I don’t remember giving you permission to rotate.”
As he flipped through the file, nodding approval of the other changes, he peeked at the one directly below. Ah, the communications reports from deep space. Still sealed with wax and a new electronic thumbprint. No one, absolutely no one, but himself and one communications officer had the clearance to look in that file. Two other communications people had died in “accidents” rather than risk a leak of this information.
“Please, sir. I . . . um . . .” Guilliam looked over his shoulder in search of eavesdroppers.
“This office is secure.” No one would dare eavesdrop here, even if they could get past the layers of offices and assistants between Gregor and the outside world. Still, he pressed a button beneath his desk that set up a jamming field blocking electronic listening. Another toy created by the Spacers and shared only with him.
“Sir, they all come to me with their complaints. All of the women. They want me to pass them on to you.” Guilliam dropped into the visitor’s chair in total exhaustion. “Laudae Penelope wants Laudae Shanet sent to the desert. Laudae Shanet wants Laudae Penelope rotated to serve in an asylum— preferably on the Southern Continent. One acolyte wants to transfer to Miss Sissy’s entourage. Three older girls want to serve someone else, anyone else, other than Miss Sissy or Laudae Penelope. Most of them are quaking in their shoes—except they are all going barefoot now like Miss Sissy—in fear of Miss Sissy. I can’t sort it all out and serve you as well.”
“Has Laudae Penelope spoken to her aunt, Lady Marissa, yet?” Gregor tapped his caste mark, elbow on the desk, obscuring the files.
“I don’t know, sir. I can’t keep track of them all,” Guilliam whined.
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