Theocracy: Book 1.

by Doug Dandridge

  “I don’t think you’re any such thing,” said the Monk, giving her a serious look. “But you’re not the damned demons those other people are.” He looked over at Derrick, wondering if he really meant that concerning the ex-marine, then decided that he would give the man the benefit of the doubt. “Now, when will you release me of these restraints? I promise I will behave.”

  “We need to show you something first,” said the woman, here face troubled.

  Patrick shot her a questioning look and she shook her head. “You need to watch. Then we will talk about it.”

  One of the walls of the room became a viewer, and Patrick saw himself looking at the hard faced blond man he had met before. Colonel Nathan Chung, a name he would never forget. And he stood there with Sean at his side. Sean’s face was screwed up in pain, and he could see that the Colonel had his brother’s hand in his. This was after the Colonel had broken his brother’s finger in order to make a point.

  He heard the hated words of the man, and then the vid went past the point where he had memory. Past the point where he had consciousness. And his breath sucked in as he watched the big man break his brother’s neck, the snap clear over the vid. Chung then released the limp body and let it fall to the floor, his hateful face filling the screen as he glared over the com link.

  The wall turned back to a blank white surface. Patrick felt his breath catch in his throat as the anger grew. He glanced at the two people, feeling some anger towards those who had allowed this to happen, before he threw that thought out and said a mantra to calm himself. The rage was still rising in him, this focused like a laser at the man who was responsible.

  “I will not allow emotion to control me,” he said in a low voice. “I will use my mind as God meant it to be used. As an instrument of action, not reaction.”

  “I am so sorry, Patrick,” said Alyssa, rubbing his hand with her palm. “I wish there was something we could have done.”

  “You did what you could,” said Patrick, keeping the tears in by force of will. “It was the right decision. One that I should have made myself, but for the weakness of the moment.”

  “I still wish that you hadn’t have had to have gone through it,” said the woman. She stood up from the bed and looked down on him. “Now, I would like to release you from your bonds. If you promise not to do anything that all of us will regret.”

  “How can I make such a promise,” said Patrick, willing the ship to sever the material of his bonds. “I do not always know the consequences of my actions. How can anyone?”

  He pulled his hands up and the restraints parted. Derrick jumped and started to reach for something, but Patrick raised his empty hands.

  “There is no need to fear retaliation,” he said the other man. He pulled his ankles apart and those restraints parted. “There is only one I seek retribution from, and that is the man who killed my brother. And I will seek that retribution as it was taught to me to seek it. Coldly, dispassionately, at the time of my choosing.”

  “And what about our destination?” asked Derrick, his hand still on the weapon by his side.

  “The destination remains the same,” said Patrick, sitting up in the bed and swinging his feet onto the floor. He looked up at the man, meeting his gaze. “I can guess that the ship is still on the last heading that I ordered. Or you would have had no cause to wake me.”

  “We didn’t wake you only because you control the ship,” said Alyssa in a soft voice, looking over at her partner and making a downward motion, telling him to refrain from pulling his weapon. She looked back at the Monk. “There are other reasons as well. You are a member of this crew. Commander of the ship, if not of the other passengers. And your input is desired.”

  “Then let us repair to the bridge and see what needs be done,” said Patrick, getting to his feet and motioning for the others to proceed him. He looked down as he felt something rubbing against his legs, and he reached down and picked up the cat, cradling the beast in his arms. “And I forgive you, stinker,” he said, rubbing his face in the soft fur. “Your mistress may take a while. But you’re OK.”

  A few minutes later they all sat on the bridge. The ship had extruded a table from the floor, and chairs around the table. Shadow lounged on the table top, which seemed to soften like a cushion where he lay, and was hard as wood across the rest of its surface. Just another miracle of the ancient vessel. No, corrected Patrick. Not a miracle. Something everyday to the people who built this ship. Something that could become everyday once again.

  “As you can see,” said Derrick, gesturing toward the wall that had become a viewer, showing a dozen dots against the star field, “our opponents continue to chase after us. We figure they will be gaining ground in about another day, after they pass our velocity.”

  “I thought their ships were not as fast as this one,” said Patrick, squinting his eyes. As soon as he started the squint the image leapt forward and he could see one of the enemy ships in detail. The image seemed to be distorted by a greenish cast, then the image went blank. Another image sprung into being, with the enemy ships again at a distance.

  “That would normally be true,” said Alyssa, staring at the shapes of her foe. “But this ship is limited by its heat generation, which,, of course, is due to its lack of wormhole heat sinks. And those ships, using a more primitive tech, can actually make thirteen more gravities of thrust, as long as their crew stays in the tanks.”

  That was not the first time Patrick had heard that term, but it was still something unfamiliar. He tapped into the memory of the ship and whistled as the concept flooded his mind. “How ingenious. But still kind of hard to fight the ship or repel boarders.”

  “Neither of which is a worry at the moment for those people,” said Alyssa, using a term that Patrick knew meant derision. “They can shine those lasers on us the whole time and hope it adds to our heating problem.”

  “And does it?” asked Patrick while looking for the information from the ship.

  “It might if we weren’t already a good distance from them,” said Derrick with a smile. “But this ship also has powerful electromagnetic shields, which spreads the light out even farther than the distance does. And a lot of that light is being bent around us and sent off at angles into space.”

  Again Patrick tapped into the ship’s memory and was again amazed at what he saw. But it was such a simple concept, even if the execution was difficult. The incoming weapon beam was just light, and light could be bent by a properly configured field. And Daedalus’ field was properly configured. Then he looked with his mind’s eye at the views of the enemy ships, which looked just a miraculous to his poor sensibilities as the ancient vessel. He looked for any records on the builders, but of course there were none, this civilization having risen well after that of the Terran Empire having fallen.

  “I want to know more about these people,” said Patrick, looking back and forth between the two agents.

  “What would you like to know?” said Derrick, looking over at Alyssa, who nodded her head.

  “You call them the Theocrats,” said Patrick, deciding to start with what to him was one of the central issues of any civilization. “Which brings up images of priest or elders ruling the society.”

  “That is more or less correct,” said Derrick, nodding. Patrick could see the hate in the man’s eyes when he said anything about the Theocracy. But he had also learned that just because someone hated something didn’t mean that the emotion was deserved.

  “More or less?”

  “They are the priests of their damned religion,” agreed the man, steepling his fingers on the table. “Or I should say the Bishops and higher ranks who rise to Theocrat. But I don’t think they are what you think of as holy men. More bureaucrats and businessmen.”

  “But the society is based on religion?”

  “IF you can call it that,” answered Alyssa with a frown. “There is human sacrifice, of course. And then the slavery of other peoples. And those who don’t work are sacrifi
ced to the Dark Gods, while the chosen are killed in order to appease the Light Gods. I could go on for a while if you really want to hear this stuff.”

  Patrick shook his head, feeling sick at the description of religious perversion that the two were portraying for him. He could sense the anger in both of the two, their total hatred for their enemies. That much was clear, that they were telling the truth as they saw it. But that didn’t answer the question as to its veracity. Was it something they were told, and so grew up believing? Or was it what they had personally experienced.

  “When I was a marine we captured a ship,” said Derrick, his voice growing thin. “We chased the damned thing through half a solar system before we finally overtook her and knocked out her engines. She was a slaver.” The dark face went pale and the man shuddered for a moment. “They had humans and aliens crammed together in their own filth, stacked like boxes in a cargo compartment. All were scared, emaciated and overheated. But that was not the worst part.”

  Patrick could read the raw emotion on the man. Could tell that this was something seen and heard and smelled. Not something passed on by someone else.

  “The worst part was the children, the babies.” Derrick had started to cry, the tears flowing from his eyes. Alyssa leaned over in her chair and put an arm around the tough man’s shoulders. “They slaughtered them by the dozens, all in an attempt to curry the favor of the Dark Gods, so that they could get away. Well, they got away all right. Away through the airlock and into space, without suits.”

  Patrick could read the sincerity in the man. The pain of hurtful memories that he had dredged up so that the man in front of him would believe him. And the Monk did believe him.

  “Don’t fret, Derrick,” he said, sliding his own hand onto the ex-marine’s forearm. “I will help you kill the sacrilegious bastards. With the help of God Almighty, I will. And he will not fail us.”

  Derrick nodded his head, and Patrick flashed him a smile. Yes we will, he thought. And save my people at the same time.

  * * *

  Colonel Nathan Chung hated to spend long periods of time in the acceleration tanks. It was wearing on body and spirit, not being able to move around, to eat, drink and exercise according to his own whims. He knew it was necessary. They wouldn’t catch the ancient ship without killing the entire crew unless they used the tanks. But it was hard on everyone, and they would not be fit to fight any kind of infantry action for several days after coming out.

  It didn’t look like their painting the pursued with lasers was having any kind of effect either. He hadn’t thought it would. The Admiral had hoped it might cause the ancient ship to overheat even more, and slow her down. That was based on the theory that the ship used the legendary inertial compensators, which seemed to be born out by their initial impossible acceleration. Chung had believed that their electromagnetic shields, or whatever more advanced version of them the ship might have, would prove more than a match for attenuated laser light. And so far he had proven correct.

  Chung knew that his physique would be up to whatever challenges came. His nanosystems would keep him in fighting trim. No, the part he hated the most about the tanks was the enforced sleep inducer they used to keep their occupants from going mad from inaction. And the dreams that came with that sleep.

  And one dream was particularly bothersome, one that still gave him great distress, despite the distancing of time between the him of now and the event. But no time seemed to be enough, and it had struck again.

  He remembered seeing the girl as if he had seen her yesterday. A rare young beauty, she was not of his social class. She was not someone he could ever marry. He was, after all, the grandson of a Theocrat, and the son of a rising Bishop who would someday ascend to the Theocracy. Still, she had caught his eye and he had spoken with her, and was soon in love. They had both given up their virginity to each other, and the world was bright and beautiful to their young hearts.

  And then the parents had found out about it, and both sets were livid, though for very different reasons. Her parents had planned to use her virginity to draw her into a respected marriage with another merchant house. His father was not bothered that he had bedded the girl. After all, she was of a lower class, and such were meant to be bedded.

  But the merchant overstepped his bounds by hiring an assassin to kill the youngest son of a Bishop whom he felt had besmirched the family name. Nathan’s bodyguards had captured the assassin and made him betray his hirer, before feeding his intestines to the hogs while he watched.

  The Bishop has insisted that the merchant’s entire family suffer the punishment of the rich man. His wife, his sons and daughters, even his servants were to be killed. Chung had not seen the justice of this, and had pled with his father for the life of his young love. His father had beat him, then made him watch as the family was executed, mostly in the efficient manner of the Theocracy, poisoned, or strangled. But he had saved the girl for last, and he had made Nathan watch the entire bloody mess.

  The inquisitors went to work on the young woman in their bloody workshop, after her soul was consigned to the Dark Gods to serve them through eternity. Then her screams had rung through the day, as Nathan was forced to watch her torture, as his father sat next to him and made him watch. “Remember,” had said his father in his deep voice. “They are our playthings, to do with as we please. We cannot tolerate their actions if they revolt or try to harm one of ours. And this is the reward.”

  And Nathan had cried throughout the thirteen hours it had taken for the girl to finally stop screaming, because in death her lungs no longer worked.

  “Let that be a lesson to you, boy,” had said his father after it was all over. “These things are nothing to us. But they could still hurt us, if we let them. This will show them the price for trying to harm their betters.”

  Nathan had watched many more executions and sacrifices, of lower classes and slaves. He had hardened his heart to them, much as he suspected his father wished him to. Be he had never forgotten that girl, his first love, sentenced to a horrible death, along with her family, because of his transgression with her.

  If only that damned dream would go away, he thought, looking out through the liquid of the tank at the tinted landscape of the marine bay. But the dream was not going away. It was getting stronger, appearing more often. And he was afraid that portended something horrible was coming.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “How long is he going to sit like that?” asked Derrick, looking at the screen that showed the Monk sitting on the floor of the room they all called the gym.

  Alyssa shook her head as she watched the motionless man over the viewer. She was still amazed that Patrick had given them so much control of the ship, to the point where they could look in on him whenever they wanted. Of course, he could do the same, and had retained operational control of the vessel. He had said it was about building trust, but he didn’t trust them with control of the ship’s course.

  “He hasn’t moved a muscle,” said Derrick, a frown on his face. “How in the hell does he do that. I’ve studied martial arts for most my life, but never saw any shit like this.”

  “He told me its remapping his muscles and nervous system,” said Alyssa. “Something about this Fae state he goes into in combat, and having complete control of his body. Something we took away when we changed his mass and length.”

  “If he gets any better, I don’t want to see it,” said Derrick, his frown growing. “He kicked my ass without complete control. And how can he be so much better than our own practitioners? How?”

  “His world was hit so much harder than many of ours,” said Alyssa, watching the serene looking face of the Monk. “They were a popular world, due to the dinosaur hunts that they offered to the wealthy. And they were thrown back into the stone age, having to survive the deadliest creatures around with no tech. So they developed their bodies and minds according to the Buddhist tradition, but with different religious underpinnings. And we get, this,” she finished,
gesturing at the man on the screen.

  As soon as she made that gesture the man’s eyes opened and he leapt from a cross legged sitting position into the air, straightening and turning in a forward somersault, to land lightly on his feet in a fighting crouch. He jumped up again, throwing a kick, then spinning in the air and flinging another leg into a pretend strike. As he landed on the floor he sprung up again and spun through the air in a twist, then landed in a hand spring and launched himself toward the bench. He landed, and picked up his shield in one easy motion while he kicked his sheathed sword into the air. Hand grabbed handle and flung the sheath away, and the Monk shouted out as he stood there in a ready position.

  That was when the robots came storming through the opening ports in the walls. A dozen of them, some holding modern looking weapons, others archaic swords and spears. The ones with firearms started to shoot as soon as they registered the Monk, while the edged weapon wielders moved in closer.

  The Monk caught everything coming in on his shield. Beams and bolts and even what looked like auto weapons fire, bouncing it all off his shield while he moved in what looked like a choreographed dance that he had to be making up as he went along.

  Every shot hit the shield, or completely missed both protection and man. Meanwhile, Patrick moved in on the robots, never presenting a target to more than one direction at a time. The sword slashed out and one robot fell to the floor, its head and right arm falling in another direction. Another slash and a second robot joined the first. A pair of rights and lefts in rapid motion and two more fell. A spin through the air, and when his feet hit the floor so did two more robots, leaving only the blade wielders.

  That part of the battle was almost anti-climactic. A robot fell every three seconds, until the room was still, Patrick standing there with his sword pointed out. He walked back to the bench and sheathed his sword, then lay weapon and shield against the wall. As soon as they were down another dozen robots flooded into the room. All were unarmed, just as was Patrick now. And all swarmed toward him.