by H. T. Kofruk
, year 3072
Gloria was fidgeting with her fingers, not knowing what to do with them. It was strange to be in a place where there was no Web-Com. In Tai-pyoung, the capital of the Pacific Federation on Pacifica, the great man-made island, she had been able to conjure up a screen anywhere she wanted, which she could manipulate expertly with her fingers. Such screens were encrypted with the DNA of the users, making them invisible to other people. Hence, people using Web-Com did look slightly daft, waving their fingers around in the air. But she could do so much like listening to the latest music from Afrika and the Independent States of America, or watching the much coveted films from Mumbai, or just gossiping with her friends.
But her job as assistant of the President of the Pacific Federation brought her here, to Saan, the Peaceful Planet. Saan was the most Earth-like of all the planets in the Pacific Federation territory. But in truth, it wasn’t much like Earth at all; a day in Saan would last 122 hours; the almost vertical axis meant there were virtually no seasons; it was rather cold except near the equator where it was barely tolerable; the gravitational pull was about ten per cent stronger than on Earth, making just taking a walk tiring. The government was trying to promote Saan as a tourist attraction for the rich, much like the Atlantic’s Lordsphere or China’s Diqiu 2. But the cold climate had put off some of the early tourists. The almost complete lack of local flora and fauna certainly didn’t help either.
But for Gloria, the biggest pain in the neck was the boredom. They were trying to set up a Web-Com on Saan but the time it took to bring the contents from Earth meant that everything was basically at least three months out of date. The government was attempting to make Saan ‘the Complete Alien Experience’ by adding footage or holographs of other planets in the Pacific territory and even creating twenty bio-domes that perfectly replicated their environments. But she just found most of it lame; how was a bunch of grasshoppers playing drums interesting?
Soon the President would be done with the meeting and she could go home. Being one of the president’s assistants meant Gloria had to deal with a lot of obnoxious people but the money was at least pretty good. Plus, she was so dying to sleep with one of the bodyguards. Those guys were hot! Maybe not the old guy though…
Dirk Jones was around fifty years old but no one knew for sure. Though he was in great shape with broad shoulders, thick arms and durability that would put someone twenty years younger to shame, his greying hairs and crow’s feet gave away his years. His Navajo descent was evident in his dark hair, bronze skin and bushy eyebrows. It was said that his great-great-grandfather had been one of the signatories of the Native Act that formally gave the Pacific Federation citizenship to five hundred thousand people of the Navajo Nation, among other Native American tribes. Consequently, the Navajo, along with the Ghurkhas and the Okinawans, became the most loyal protectors of the Pacific Federation, making up a disproportionately large part of the Security Services.
The great arched door of the meeting room, made of oak and decorated with cherry-wood Chinese characters, opened wide to show a room with two dozen generals and admirals looking at a host of holographs. The president, wearing a deep-blue suit and a turquoise necklace, walked out with a tired expression. Dirk dutifully led her forward while Kijung, her chief aide, trailed her by half a step. Gloria stood up as the group approached. Kijung whispered in her ear “Go get some coffee” as he walked by.
Phuong hadn’t slept for more than thirty-six hours. She felt greasy and her shoulders ached. It seemed she had seen a thousand star charts and ten thousand estimations. It was funny how soldiers would be so confident of victory. The type of positive group-think that characterized so many military strategy meetings made her feel uncomfortable and anxious. Thank god the Minister of Defence had some good sense in him. She felt sorry for him though for having to deal with that obnoxious oaf the Atlantic had named Defence Secretary.
“The chinks won’t know what hit ‘em. We have the element of surprise” he had said through the communications link. “You guys can tag along if you want.” The arrogance of the lumbering idiot was suffocating.
The cautious nature of the Pacific Minister of Defence could also sometimes be a bit tedious when planning tactics in meetings; each decision had to be reviewed time and again with a backup plan, and even a backup of the backup. That made these kinds of meetings exceptionally long and, frankly speaking, boring. She liked to think, however, that it was that kind of attention to detail that kept the Pacific Federation in competition with the Atlantic and China when it came to military and colonial strength; though the Chinese military was three times the size, it wasn’t just the threat of Atlantic Alliance intervention that kept the Chinese emperor from planting the flag of the Golden Dragon on the soil of his ‘vassal countries’.
Phuong knew she had to get some sleep. But being the first war-time president in almost twenty-five years was distracting on its own. As soon as the fighting officially begins, she would have to seek out her Chinese and Orthodox counterparts to carve out an agreement that would effectively ban any party from bringing the war to Earth; this war would be strictly colonial.
Leaving Dirk and Kijung at the door, she entered her room where a four-handed Sanaïn masseuse was waiting. She had no problem disrobing in front of him since ‘he’ had no sex; he was a nurse-drone who would never mate. Unlike his warrior brethren, the drone Sanaïn had soft flesh and even softer hands, evolved to give pleasure to the queen. Phuong took a quick shower and then lay face down.
Two of the masseuse’s fleshy hands kneaded her stiff shoulders while the other two worked on her Achilles tendons. An oily substance secreted from the tips of his fingers and seeped deep into Phuong’s pores. The substance apparently carried a hundred benefits to human health including muscle relaxation and sexual stimulation. The first Rendens, after discovering this, built ‘farms’ where they would collect the liquid from hundreds of Sanaïn drones while keeping the colony queens captive (and the warriors dead). But now, with alien rights movements gaining momentum in the Pacific Federation, Sanaïn Love Oil, as it was called, was only collected ‘slavery-free’. As a result, its value skyrocketed and only the most exclusive cosmetics shops and massage parlours in the major capitals of Earth could get their hands on any. As a result, some ex-military types who had the means, mostly former generals or admirals, were known to somehow get drone eggs through tough quarantine to nurture as personal masseuses.
The compound she was in, named the Hall of Peace, had originally been built for tourists, a sprawl of hotels, pools, restaurants and fitness centres. With the cold climate of Saan, the whole thirty-acre compound was covered with glass made from the red sands from the deserts of the planet Akai and crystal from the pole areas of Saan itself. Her room had one whole wall that was essentially part of this glass dome.
After a good half-hour of massaging, Phuong got up covered in the orange substance and went to take a nice hot bath. Upon finishing and feeling much better, she treaded softly out the bathroom wearing her gown. She walked to the glass wall and pressed her hand against it. It was warm to touch and had a slightly slippery feel to the surface. The view outside was far from romantic; it was a barren land with black soil and a few hedges of green plants here and there. The sky was grey and looked as if it was about to spill a million orange-sized balls of hard ice as it sometimes did. After a few seconds of clearing her mind while looking at the hostile but strangely beautiful vastness, she touched the window pane lightly, turning it opaque, then turned and walked towards her bedroom.
It was there she discovered her masseuse. In fact, she almost stepped on his head. The yellow, headless body was lying on the bed while the head was on the floor near the doorway. Shocked, Phuong looked at the head and then at the torso and then back at the head. The body was still moving its limbs, failing to understand that it was dying. But the head understood that well. Sanaïn nurse-drones didn’t have vocal chords since their duty was following orders, not giving them. She realized that h
er masseuse was still trying to communicate with her with his eyes. He was blinking his saucer-sized eyes rapidly and looking at her. Why would he look at me? What is he trying to tell me?
But then realized that he wasn’t looking at her, he was looking behind her. She swivelled around, wondering whether she wanted to know what was there. To her relief, it was only her aide Kijung.
“Madam President” he said to her politely, always with the easy smile.
Kijung had been her aide for two years. Although he was a big, plump man, he somehow moved very fast and had an eye that never missed a thing.
“You scared me” she sighed.
As soon as she felt relieved, however, she remembered the dying alien. She looked at Kijung and realized that he looked different. He no longer had a protruding belly and definitely looked more athletic. He was wearing a black suit with black boots and black gloves made from bio-rubber that stuck perfectly to his hands and feet. And on his left chest above his heart there was a very faint outline of a dragon.
Before she could scream, he produced a blade hidden behind his forearm and did the same to her as he did to her masseuse. Except she wouldn’t be able to tell anyone with her eyes.
Chapter 28: The Bearded Mask
‘The Orthodox Empire, despite its name, is not an overly religious super-state. Unlike the One God Pope, there is no one single supreme Orthodox patriarch. This has given religion a secondary role to the Orthodox government and military. As a result, the Orthodox Empire has always been relatively accepting of other religions and thus, was easily able to take advantage of the orphan state of the Catholics after the Expulsion. The One God movement has certainly created many enemies, but none more filled with hate than the Catholics.’ – Dai-ho Ryoo, Pacific Federation Member of Parliament,
The man with the bearded mask had finally come. He had silently entered the prayer room to pass on the will of God. And as silently, he came to where Paul was kneeling naked. Even with his eyes closed Paul knew it was the man with the bearded mask. He had known for several days that he would come. He opened his eyes and looked up at the mask. The long beard attached to the mask drooped down to Paul’s eye level. The bloody crown of thorns was painted on the forehead. The ends of the mouth curled ever so slightly upward to form a sad but strangely confident smile.
The masked man touched Paul on the forehead and then soon left as silently as he had arrived. Paul knew exactly what that meant. As he stood up, his cramped legs cried out in protest. He had been kneeling and praying for at least three hours but it was difficult to tell exactly when talking to God. The blood on the whip marks on his back was dark and caked.
He put on his rough grey woollen cloak and covered his head in the deep hood. He walked barefoot on the cold stone floor to the bath house across the courtyard of the monastery. The main gate of the monastery was open to allow the masked man’s vehicle to leave. The morning drizzle left the greenish-brown soil of the courtyard mushy. The belching sound of the mud as it was pushed between his toes sounded wholesome and natural to Paul.
Upon reaching the opposite side of the courtyard, he found a greenworm on the hard stone edge that bordered the mud, struggling to get back into the moistness. He bent over and picked it up. Though similar to earthworms on Earth in natural function, the greenworms here were shorter and thicker with dark green, scale-like skin. Their cousins in the rivers were also green but much larger, the size of large logs, and were known to swallow grown men and excrete their bones. He put the greenworm down in the mud and disrobed once more in the bath house.
The bath house was filled with individual wooden baths where Paul and his brothers would cleanse their bodies and souls. But the water was always ice-cold so that the Grey Monks of Constantine would never know the pleasure of warmth. Cold was their friend and lifelong companion. Some of the oldest and weakest members of the order would die while taking baths and it was said they would experience the ultimate warmth before being taken to God where they would always be warm.
Paul entered the water without hesitating. His bronze skin was soon covered with goose pimples and his shaved head sparkled from the droplets of ice-cold moisture. He sat cross-legged in the bath and envisioned the flame of God. He pictured the Lord’s fury in the form of a giant burning tornado, so big and powerful that it dwarfed stars and suns and whole systems. The goose pimples soon disappeared and his skin turned from tan to red. The moisture evaporated from his head and was replaced by sweat.
He left the bath house steaming behind him and headed towards the abbot’s office. The other monks were emerging from their Spartan rooms to engage in morning prayer before breakfast. He was glad to see that Gabriel, his squire, had awoken while he was bathing and had already worked up a good sweat in the training yard. The adolescent was not big but quick as lightening. Paul stopped an instant to watch. Gabriel had let the upper part of his cloak fall down beneath the belt, revealing his shiny ebony skin. His knuckles were tough with layers of dead skin protecting them. As the youth continued hitting the wooden man wrapped in sinewy rope, dust rhythmically rose in the cold morning air. He would soon be a master of Godsfist and move on to other weapons.
He entered the abbot’s empty office and stood silently. There was a small globe of Earth on the desk. Earth, the gift that God gave unto them. The One God followers had sacked, burned and pillaged Vatican, their ancient holy home. The extermination of the Catholic faith was sudden and brutal. Luckily, scores of the faithful were able to flee to the south and east, aided by their ancient brothers, the Orthodox Church. Ten million Catholics fled to Orthodox territory and were given sanctuary in the tiny Russian territory of Kaliningrad Oblast, where they lived in poverty and despair. But as the One God followers surrounded the territory, even Russia was helpless to defend them. The bombings killed hundreds of thousands, and millions died in the cold Baltic Sea as they tried to escape to the Russian mainland. Paintings and songs were created to commemorate this tragic event, so that the descendants of Earth’s Catholics would not forget, and certainly not forgive.
Their perseverance earned them a prize, however. As the Orthodox relentlessly discovered new planets, they came across one that was similar to Earth in many ways. To date, Tolsgrad was the only planet in the Orthodox Empire that was habitable to humans on the long term. And they would stay a long time. Of the three main continents, the smallest, which they later named Constantine, was given to the Grey Catholics, as they had renamed themselves. And for three centuries, the Grey Knights of Constantine trained and hardened themselves for the reinvasion of Earth.
And Paul knew that that day was near. The twelve masked men were gathering the Grey Knights and many of them were already at the capital, New Kaliningrad.
The abbot soon entered the room from the other door that led to his personal chapel. He was dressed in a grey and green cloak over a simple cotton shirt. His head was covered by a grey cap. His fingers wore four thick gold rings. On Tolsgrad, that was not a sign of extravagance; gold was more abundant than silver was on Earth. The abbot was a small, thin man with a kindly, wrinkled face. To Paul, he was like a father.
“Come, my son. Sit” beckoned the abbot. Paul bowed and took the chair in front of the abbot’s desk.
“A masked man came this morning” announced Paul.
“Yes, I know. And I know what it means”
“I will almost certainly meet our Lord Father soon. I will regain our home, though”
The abbot sat back in his chair and gave a quick turn of his globe. The yellow and brown surface of the globe was old and cracked, and many of the names of countries and continents had worn away to the extent that they were no longer readable. “This is one of the few relics that remain from Earth. They say the names of countries, seas and cities have changed greatly since we left. Even the climate has changed, apparently, and thousands of God’s creations no longer roam the lands or swim the seas.”
Paul knew what the ab
bot was thinking. Constantine was a good a home as any. The Grey Catholics lived lives that were well within their means and the limits of what nature could provide. There were no obese people in Constantine, and everybody was expected to work hard. Greed, extravagance and flaunting of wealth were non-existent and the people were healthy and happy, with strong children. There were many in the clergy that believed the Expulsion was a punishment from God for their sins, that Constantine was their new home where they were to live humbly and in line with the Bible.
But Jesus never walked the woods or crossed the rivers of Constantine; he walked the streets of Jerusalem, on Earth. The Holy Church, founded by the apostle Peter, was not built on New Kaliningrad, but on the holy grounds of the Vatican, on Earth. The Blessed Virgin Mary never appeared on Constantine but there were scores of approved apparitions, on Earth. Paul believed that Earth was the true home of the Grey Catholics, taken from them by a cult.
“The Lord created Earth as our Eden. Our task is to protect God’s creation on our home” he replied.
The abbot smiled a smile of resignation. “I knew you would say that. I suppose all I can do is bless you.”
Paul got up and kneeled before the abbot. “Deus te benedicas” said the abbot with his hand on Paul’s head. “Thank you, Father” replied Paul. This time, ‘Father’ had a different meaning.
He got up and walked out of the abbot’s office without looking at the old man’s face. He knew that the old priest’s face would be attempting and failing to conceal pain, and he could not risk being shaken or weakened. Outside, the sun was coming into force, expelling the mist that stubbornly hung in the still-cold air. Would the sun look similar on Earth? Judging from the pictures in the monastery library, there wasn’t too much difference. He felt, however, that a sunrise on Earth would be grander, a window to the warmth of God.
