by Eric Thomson
“Mercenaries, then.” Rinne’s tone held barely suppressed scorn. “Like Qoli and her ilk.”
“No. We don’t intend to hire ourselves out for pay or fight for anyone.”
“What then?”
“My ships and crews, as well as the Marines we carry are quitting the empire. We’re leaving the madness to play itself out while we settle in a place where we can preserve enough knowledge and technology to rebuild once the fighting’s over.”
Rinne cackled. “An idealist — nay, a dreamer — commanding a damned cruiser? May the Almighty take me now because I’ve heard of everything.”
“It’s that, or die fighting for one side or the other, and we’ve had a taste of where such a soul-destroying alternative leads. The empire is finished, but we’re not going down with it, and if we can’t do anything to change the present, perhaps we can influence the future. Now I’ve told you about us, how about you tell me why Santana and his minions want your ship so badly? Maybe we can help each other.”
Dawn Trader’s captain didn’t immediately respond, and Morane knew better than to prod. Finally, Rinne said, “I can always judge someone by their face, Dreamer. Open a video link and let’s see if you’re an honest man or another Qoli.”
— 22 —
Morane gestured at the signals petty officer, and one of the side displays came alive. To DeCarde’s eyes, Rinne’s appearance matched his voice and his words. He had the narrow, seamed face of a lifelong spacer, framed by a wild, snow-white beard and equally unkempt white hair. His dark, hooded eyes glowed with an almost religious fervor beneath bushy brows.
He nodded once. “Morane.”
“Captain Rinne.”
“You don’t seem like the sort of over-bred prig I expect in command of a flashy imperial fast attack cruiser. Nor are your eyes those of a born mercenary, or of a dreamer for that matter. Interesting.” Rinne hummed to himself for a few seconds. “And before you say it, I am aware I look like a half-crazed frontier preacher, full of fire and brimstone, ready to rant against the unholy depravity of our empress and her familiars. But I reserve my ill temper for the imperial nobility, venal politicians and the servants of evil who do their bidding.”
DeCarde successfully repressed an urge to chuckle at the man’s words. He even sounded like a half-crazed frontier preacher.
Morane, however, kept a straight face. “And why were you fleeing these particular servants of evil, Captain?”
Rinne scratched his beard. “Well, since we’re beyond the reach of your weapons, and can escape if you have a mind to turn on us, I guess there’s no harm in speaking. Especially since we’re in your debt. I carry what’s left of the Order of the Void’s Yotai Abbey. Ninety-five sisters and one hundred and two friars, my crew and I included.”
A stunned silence descended on the CIC.
“What’s left, Captain?”
“The Yotai Abbey was the largest in the Coalsack Sector, and the hub of our network in these parts, connecting the minor abbeys and houses. Over seven hundred of us called it home. Dawn Trader carries what is left after Admiral Zahar proscribed our Order and set his troops upon us. We don’t know what happened to our Brethren in outlying star systems, but I fear the worst.” A fleeting expression of sorrow aged him beyond his years. “And merely because Empress Dendera once proclaimed her support of our work. That tainted us as imperial loyalists in Zahar’s eyes, and therefore the enemy of a godless creature such as him. My ship arrived in Yotai orbit while this was happening, and I saved what survivors we could find.”
“If you don’t mind, Captain — of should I address you as friar?”
Rinne grim expression softened, and it transformed his face from that of a mad preacher into something less intense. “Since I’m speaking with you as Dawn Trader’s master, captain is fine.”
“How is a monastic also the master of a freighter belonging to the Galactic Dawn Corporation?”
“Galactic Dawn is wholly owned and operated by the Order of the Void. My crew members, what little I have, are also of our congregation. Good, honest interstellar trade is one way in which we earn money to fund our various works and support our houses. Zahar might believe we’re Dendera’s pets, but the Order never took a single mark from her or her coterie. We stopped accepting donations from the high and mighty long ago to avoid any hint we might bow to political interference, or worse, use our standing as spiritual and worldly counselors to influence people.”
Morane shook his head and smiled. “I learn something new every day. The empire’s most mystical and reclusive religious institution runs its own shipping line.”
“And more. Or at least, it did. Only the Almighty knows what the truth might be nowadays. It seems those of us who live apart from the mainstream of humanity are becoming the enemies of all sides and friends to none.”
“What is Santana’s involvement?”
“I made the mistake of passing through Ariel and inquiring about sanctuary for my brothers and sisters. In contrast to Zahar, Santana welcomed us with open arms, on the condition we settle on Ariel and pledge obedience to his vice regal throne.”
A puzzled frown creased Morane’s forehead. “Why?”
“He labors under the mistaken belief we wield mystical powers capable of helping a ruler consolidate his grip. Arrant nonsense, of course. Our Order is thirteen hundred years old. You’d think it would be obvious by now if we were more than just humble servants of the Almighty. Dendera thought the same, from what I was told, hence her support of our good works. Which, I suppose was a better approach than Santana’s. When I refused and ran, he sent his mercenaries after us. The rest, you know.”
“I see.” Morane nodded slowly, unaware that DeCarde’s face wore a worried expression since Rinne confessed he belonged to the Order of the Void. “You were traveling where, if I may ask?”
“The Brethren aboard Dawn Trader voted to head for our abbey on Lindisfarne, where the Order established its own colony under imperial charter. There, our brothers and sisters live independent from oversight by the Shield Sector viceroy, or ruling warlord nowadays if I understand the situation correctly. We hope it is isolated enough to survive the madness sweeping across human space.”
“Lindisfarne?” Morane glanced to one side where a wormhole network projection, courtesy of Lieutenant Commander Creswell’s unbeatable sense of timing, marked the long, convoluted route between ISC119041-5 and the Lindisfarne system. Almost half of the wormhole junctions glowed the red of rebellion, many the purple of the unknown, while the rest showed loyalist blue. “You’d be hard-pressed to find a lengthier or more perilous route, Captain Rinne. I’ll transmit what we know of the situation so you can see for yourself. Wait one.” He nodded at Creswell.
Moments later Rinne’s eyes slipped to one side, and his frown deepened. “I see.”
“Our intelligence is a few weeks out of date, but any changes since then would likely be for the worse. Even your destination might not be safe. It has three wormhole termini, which makes it a not inconsiderable crossing point.”
“But it is our spiritual home.”
“Until the reivers come. They’ll not waste riches on fuel to cross the stars in hyperspace. Instead, they’ll visit every marked and undefended wormhole junction to look for plunder now that the empire can no longer police its own systems. Lindisfarne will be a prime target, considering it sits in a region of the galaxy known for aggressive, hostile species, not least among them human renegades.”
A pinched expression hardened the friar-captain’s face. He nodded. “There is truth to your words, Morane. In my years as master of Dawn Trader, I’ve fled from many a pirate, which is why I managed to evade Qoli for so long. They are as cunning as they are brutal, a trait the damned bastards share with Dendera’s Guards Regiments. But Lindisfarne is the Brethren’s choice. If the Almighty’s will is that we not reach sanctuary, then so be it. The Void giveth and the Void taketh away, by the will of the Almighty.”
Morane m
et Rinne’s eyes. “What if the Almighty wants you to find another sanctuary? One where you could lay the foundation for a rebirth? Another Lindisfarne, but less vulnerable?”
“You want us to enter your dream, Morane?”
“I am offering an alternative. Our voyage does not take us through four dozen star systems sinking into utter chaos. What if Santana isn’t the only one who believes in the Order of the Void’s mystical abilities? You evaded evil twice, the second time only because we made ourselves your protectors. Can you do it again and again, with no guarantee other former Imperial Navy ships might protect your passage? I doubt many out there would respect neutrality in a civil war pitting human against human. You’re either for one side or against it, with no shades of gray in the middle. And things will become worse. Much worse.”
“Hence your dream.” Rinne stared at Morane with eyes that betrayed no emotions. Then, he shook his head. “But I agree. The odds are against us, much as I wish things were different.”
“We’re likely the only neutrals you’ll encounter.”
Rinne seemed lost in thought for a moment. Then he asked, “Where does your dream take you, Morane?”
“I can’t reveal our destination until you commit to joining our little caravan, lest word gets out and we find undesirables invading what we hope will be a sanctuary.”
“Understood.” He gazed at Morane for a while longer then nodded once. “I will put it to the Brethren. It may take time. We love debating the smallest matters.”
“You have until we reach Wormhole Two, Captain. We will go FTL shortly to jump across the system. Once on the other side, I will listen on this subspace frequency for your reply. Should you wish to join us, we will wait.” Morane glanced at the navigation plot to one side of the CIC. “But only a day. After that, we cross the event horizon to continue on our journey.”
“Fair enough. Until later, Captain.”
When the display went dark, Morane turned to Mikkel’s hologram. “Get us underway for Wormhole Two.”
“Since we’re synced and ready, stand by for the jump klaxon.”
— 23 —
“Could we speak in private, Captain?” DeCarde asked once the customary transition nausea faded and Vanquish stood down from jump stations.
“Certainly. Join me in my day cabin. Commander Creswell, the CIC is yours.”
Once there, he drew two mugs of tea, handed one to DeCarde and sat. “What’s on your mind, Brigid?”
“The Order of the Void.” She made a face. “I don’t quite know how to put this, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea to invite them along. Rinne claims they’re nothing other than humble servants of the Almighty, but our family lore holds them to be more than that, something not entirely benign. Well, not everyone, but the sisters.”
“Oh? Your family believes in the sort of mysticism that drove Governor General Santana to try and capture Rinne’s ship?”
“One of my distant ancestors, we call him the Ancestor with a capital A, was a general of Imperial Marines under the first emperor. Family lore says he had something like a sixth sense capable of detecting anyone who touched his mind via empathic or telepathic means. After an ordeal fully woke this talent, he discovered the Sisters of the Void were empaths who could taste the emotions of others.
“Some supposedly even developed the ability to influence unwitting victims by, in the Ancestor’s words, mind-meddling, though these were rare and under tight control by their Order. Rogue sisters weren’t tolerated. The Order’s female branch was created to take women with the ability out of the mainstream and train them, so they didn’t either go insane by being bombarded with the emotions of others or use the talent to cause evil.”
A frown creased Morane’s brow. “That’s quite a fantastic claim.”
“Agreed, but family lore has always proved to be correct, and has been passed through the generations with no deviation from the original wording, although each generation added its own new bits of knowledge. And it says do not trust the Sisters of the Void. Ever.”
“Do only the sisters have this ability, or the friars too?”
“I don’t know. Family lore does not speak of the friars, or mendicant priests as they were known back in the early days of the empire. The Ancestor’s ability was apparently a male version, but his was a wild mutation triggered by the ordeal I mentioned. Perhaps the friars developed something similar over the last ten centuries. Consider that Rinne made a quick judgment about your character the moment he saw your face. Empath and subject are supposed to be within line of sight of each other, but no one knows if there’s a distance limit.”
“Or he could simply be equipped with good bullshit detectors. Some of us are, you know.” He gave her a crooked grin. “I took you with us on the strength of your word. Remember, the Order of the Void produces notable psychologists, among other medical specialties, and historically, clerics were trained to observe and influence people.”
“But if I’m right, it might explain Admiral Zahar’s desire to exterminate them, especially if Rinne was lying and Dendera does, in fact, enjoy the services of mind-meddlers. The advantages for a ruler would be incalculable, as Santana seems to think.”
“And yet the empire is slipping from her grasping, diseased fingers one star system at a time.”
“True. Maybe the sisters around Dendera, if any, drove her mad, either by accident or on purpose.”
“I’ve not heard the Order of the Void having apocalyptic aspirations.” He shrugged. “We’ll never know. But as a student of history, surely you remember the vital role of monastics in preserving knowledge when the Western Roman Empire fell?”
“And you hope the ones aboard Dawn Trader would assume such a role on Lyonesse to prepare for the fall of the Human Empire? Wouldn’t that be a case of forcing history to repeat itself?”
A rueful smile replaced Morane’s earlier grin. “Perhaps. But my point is valid, and they do come with many skills that might be useful if our sanctuary slides down the technological ladder.”
“If or when?”
“We’ll likely lose the ability to do many things. But so long as we don’t lose the knowledge of how they’re done, or worse even, the idea that they can be done... Which is the whole point. Besides, Rinne’s Brethren might well decline our offer and attempt the perilous trek to the Lindisfarne system, making this conversation rather moot. Though it would be disappointing.”
“And what about them perhaps being more than they admit? Couldn’t they be a danger to your sanctuary plans?”
“If you’re right, then they’ve lived and worked peacefully among us for centuries without imperiling humanity. Why should that change when we might become humanity’s best hope of recovery after the wars stop? If they wish to follow us, I will welcome them with open arms.”
DeCarde inclined her head, acknowledging the discussion was over.
**
“Anything?” Morane dropped into the bridge command chair, eyes scanning the various displays out of sheer habit. One readout held his attention for more than a few seconds. The countdown to their planned wormhole transit was now showing under an hour remained.
“No, sir. The relevant subspace frequency has been quiet,” Lieutenant Hak replied. “Though the CIC reports they can’t detect Dawn Trader in the area we last saw her. They might be rigged for silent running to avoid detection in case someone comes through the Coraline wormhole.”
“Perhaps,” Morane murmured as he felt disappointment replace his earlier sense of anticipation, even though DeCarde thought the notion of monastics reclaiming their ancient role as keepers of knowledge a bit too fanciful. “Are the ships ready and synced?”
“Ready and synced, sir.” Hak nodded toward the navigation display, which showed three blue icons almost touching the edge of a wormhole that remained stubbornly invisible to the naked eye. “We’re just waiting for the word to accelerate, but it must be within the hour. Otherwise, we’ll miss and be forced to come around.”
Mikkel breezed onto the bridge. “No sign of our mysterious monastic mind benders?”
Morane smiled at his first officer. “You’ve been listening to Colonel DeCarde, Iona?”
“She makes compelling points.”
He chuckled. “Not you too?”
“I strive to keep my mind open, sir. And I’ve always found the Order of the Void to be a bit — fey, I suppose is the best word.”
“And yet they have their uses, not least in bringing succor to the most disfavored in the empire.”
“True.” Mikkel took her station. “But we’re not disfavored, nor are we part of the empire anymore. But it seems what you or I think on the subject won’t matter, Captain.”
“Probably not.”
She smiled at him. “Don’t sound so crestfallen.”
“CIC to the bridge.”
“Officer of the watch here,” Hak replied.
“Sensors are picking up a hyperspace trail coming in our direction. Judging by the size, it might be Dawn Trader.”
A big grin appeared on Morane’s face. “Perhaps the subject will matter, Iona.”
“Possibly, but we should go to battle stations nonetheless, sir. In case that trail is someone hostile and not our mystic friends.”
“At this point, everybody might be hostile to the likes of us, I suppose.” Morane nodded at the officer of the watch. “Make it so, Mister Hak.”
Once Vanquish and her consorts were ready for any eventuality, they settled in to wait. Morane repeatedly fought off the temptation to glance at the countdown timer every few seconds and see how much remained before they were forced to accelerate toward the wormhole’s event horizon. Finally, the CIC called again.
“We detected an emergence signature one hundred and fifty thousand kilometers aft. It’s Dawn Trader.”