by Daniel Gibbs
“They progress in due time. I would ask you the same about our military fortunes?”
“The CDF and their Saurian lackeys press us sorely. Border planets continue to fall at an alarming rate, and what’s worse, the populations of those worlds aren’t actively resisting once our military forces fail.”
“To be expected. Our government has neglected the border planets for so long, the Terrans, with their promises of aid and help, sound good.”
Seville glanced around worriedly. Open dissent against the League’s government always scared him, because one never knew who was watching. “I’m sure that’s part of it. With the recent change in leadership though, I expect we’ll get a breather. A much-needed one, I might add. Our losses are so high, we can’t readily replace them without pulling from the home fleet.”
“Yes, I’ve noted that in your reports. Chairman Pallis doesn’t wish to supply them, does he?”
“No,” Seville replied with a snicker. “How’d you know?”
“Really, Pierre… give me more credit. I know what he has for breakfast, the old fool.”
Seville leaned forward. “We need to get something new from our friends. The mines were nice, but the Terrans have adapted to them. They weren’t the knockout weapon we were hoping for. What we desperately need is our own version of the anti-matter reactor. Once they bring the next generation of ships online with it, they’ll outclass us at every turn. We’ll face heavy cruisers with more firepower than our advanced battleships.”
“You need to have more faith, Admiral,” Borisov stated as he leaned back in his chair. “Why don’t you make us some drinks? There’s good vodka over on the side table.”
Seville stood and took the few steps to a small stand containing a tray with several crystal goblets and a bottle of clear alcohol. Someday, I’ll shove your precious vodka down your throat and kill you with the bottle. He poured a generous splash into two of the glasses and returned to the desk.
Borisov took one of the offered glasses and had a long sip. “Aaaah. Nothing beats Russian drinks. Now, stay calm, Admiral. I have everything under control.”
Seville made eye contact with him and held it. “It’s not your sailors dying by the thousands while those morons on the Social and Public Safety Committee refuse to consolidate our forces and instead insist on piecemeal defensive strategies that do not work.”
“Do you propose moving against Pallis now?”
No! I must stay away from his trap. He’s recording everything to use against me anyway. “I would never presume to act against the government of the League, Director.” Seville forced a smile. Try and entrap me with that, you Russian piece of crap.
“Then there is nothing we can do, except carry out their orders.”
Seville could’ve sworn Borisov winked at him as he replied, “What else do you need from me, Director?”
“Nothing, Admiral. Do your duty to the League, hold the Terrans at bay, and eventually, we will triumph.” After a moment of silence, he continued, “Feldt did have one thing right, though.”
“Oh?”
“His rigid focus on ensuring loyalty and complete devotion. Remarkable, wouldn’t you say?”
“The man was an unbridled psychopath,” Seville stated, his distaste evident in his tone. He narrowed his eyes and stared at the big Russian. I bet you run your organization in a similar manner.
“Oh, of course he was. But he had vision, Admiral. Something we lack these days.”
Seville stared into the cold, dark, lifeless eyes of Director Borisov. “What vision do you suggest we adopt?”
“Uniting the entire galaxy under the flag of humanity, under the League. Once we finish off the Terran Coalition, then we pacify the rest of the Sagittarius arm. And when that’s accomplished, turn our focus inward, toward the core of the galaxy. More ships, more planets creating armies and technology. Humanity will rule for a thousand generations! That is the vision I suggest, Admiral.”
He’s nothing if not ambitious. Right now, I’d settle for driving the accursed Terrans out of the Orion arm and away from our empire. “An expansive plan, Director.”
“You undoubtedly think it’s insane.”
“Not the word I would use,” Seville replied, keeping his expression as neutral as possible.
“All in good time. I must bid you good day… a classified briefing is coming up shortly.”
Of course. Get me out of your office and rub it in my face that I’m not privy to everything going on—typical spymaster. “Thank you for the update, Director. Good luck with your briefing.”
As Seville rose and walked out the door, Borisov called after him. “Admiral, I don’t believe in luck. I make my own.”
Ivanov Home
New Rostov
November 8th, 2462
The sun was setting as Gregory Ivanov pulled to his home in a self-driving aircar. Not quite the same thing as the fully automated helicars found on the Terran Coalition’s core worlds, it used hover technology to fly over paved surfaces and specially marked tracks. Still, the idea he’d have one—such things were previously reserved for the party elite on Earth or another so-called “Gaia” world—was so far beyond his wildest dreams, it was difficult to put into perspective.
His old modular home had been replaced—by a charity called Habitat Makers—and was now something he suspected most citizens in the Terran Coalition would look down on, but to his family, it was like a mansion. Ivanov got out and made his way up the sidewalk. A moment later, he was inside to find his wife singing a Christian hymn. “Natalie, I’m home!” he shouted in Russian.
The singing stopped, and a moment later, she stuck her head out of the doorway to the kitchen. “How was your day? Come help me. Dinner is almost ready.”
He gave her a quick kiss and a smile before going to the drawer the silverware was kept in and picking out place settings. “Do we need knives?”
“Yes, we have meat again.”
Meat. Three times a week. What are we coming to? They were lucky to get it once a month when the League was in charge. “Oh?” he asked her with a twinkle in his eye. “How’d you manage that?”
“I made friends with the wife of the butcher that opened up. They get something called corn-fed Iowa beef from New Washington, all the way back in the Terran Coalition.”
To view the Terrans with anything other than contempt was a path that had taken him a long time. Something strange happened along the way, though. He’d realized they were better than the League. “Amazing,” he replied as he set the table. “I had my interview today.”
“How’d it go?”
“They said I was in the top running for the supervisor position. I’m sure as a former League party boss, there’s a few points against me.”
Natalie came up behind him and started massaging his shoulders. “Husband, you sell yourself short. The aid workers took note of how you’ve tried to help these past weeks.”
Gregory leaned back and glanced up at her. “Perhaps. But I’m sure it counts against me in some way. I would have never expected the things they’ve done to happen so quickly, or for our lives to change as they have.”
She was silent until she’d set the plates down and took a seat next to him. “Shall we pray?”
There was another one of those changes. The two of them had been good atheists their entire life. Then missionaries from the Russian Orthodox Church had arrived. Many had converted, especially among the ethnic Russians that had been on New Rostov for decades. Natalie was one of them. “I haven’t yet decided if I have faith as you, dear. Why don’t you do it instead?”
She took his hands in hers and bowed her head. “Father, we thank you for the food we are about to receive. Please bless it to us and protect us from evil. In Jesus’ name, we pray, amen.”
It wasn’t lost on Gregory that six months ago, if she’d uttered those words anywhere on the planet, the secret police would have arrived and arrested her within minutes. He still wasn’t sure about t
he changes made by the Terrans, but he had to admit life was better. “My team finished up the last power relay safety system for the new planetary shield today.”
“What do they have you working on next?”
“A series of planetary reactors for clean power generation,” he replied with a snort. “Can you imagine? Free, unlimited fusion power.”
She took a bite of potato from her plate. “Don’t sound too disappointed, husband.”
Gregory cracked a smile and dug into his meat. “I’m not. I realize things are easier now. But when will the payment come due? The Terrans aren’t going to shower us in free things forever. I’m smart enough to realize they want to win our hearts and minds over to their way of thinking.”
“All our lives, the League has preached human solidarity and how we must all work together. What did that mean for us? Barely eking out a life on this planet, struck down by sickness, toiling in mines to send everything to humanity. Where is the solidarity in that?”
Her words weren’t without their effect. Gregory had questioned the same things at times, though never out loud. Natalie pressed on without allowing him to interject.
“Now, the Terrans, held up as the enemy of humanity, with their greedy capitalistic and individualist ways. They arrive and do all the things the League promised but never accomplished.”
She has a point. “I saw Earth once. It was beautiful. I always wondered why we couldn’t have that here, with all the promises the League made of socialism for all.”
“Yes, change the subject when you don’t want to hear the truth.”
Gregory rolled his eyes. “Again, we have something they want. At some point, they’ll get it and move on. Then we’ll be at the mercy of the corporations that want our ore.”
A beeping sound interrupted the conversation and their meal. Natalie reached over and checked her tablet. As she took in the contents of the screen, her jaw dropped open. “The Peace Union won the Presidency and the lower house.”
“Lower house?” Gregory hadn’t paid much attention to efforts to educate the population on how the Terran Coalition’s political system worked.
“Yes, one of the two legislative bodies that are co-equal to the executive and judicial branches of the Terran Coalition’s government.”
“You sound like you recited that line from a textbook, wife,” he replied with a chuckle. “Taking your lessons a bit seriously?”
She glowered at him. “The Peace Union advocates for a cease-fire with the League and the retreat of the Terrans. That means everything we’ve worked for here could be lost. I’m not going to back to living under the rule of the League!” Her eyes flashed defiance. “I’ve seen what life can be like with freedom. Real freedom, to think and believe as I want. It might not matter to you, but it does to me.”
“I’m not convinced the Terrans offer freedom. With the League, I knew who my master was, and how to exploit the situation to take care of us. Who knows who’s in charge now. It changes too often for my tastes,” Gregory said with a snort. “Still, you’re right. Our lot is better now. For that reason alone, I hope this new government doesn’t abandon us.” Unspoken was his fear that if the CDF left, when the League returned, they’d kill everyone who cooperated, which was most of the people on New Rostov. Topics of discussion veered away from politics as they continued to eat, but a pit of fear remained in his belly. One that wouldn’t go away.
34
Walking through the passageways of the Lion of Judah, Eldred pondered to herself that it was a good thing the ship was so big. It was large enough to have multiple chapels, one entirely dedicated to Christianity, another to Islam, a third to Judaism, and a fourth used by the other religions, which included secular humanists. The Christian place of worship housed all subsets of the faith, including Catholicism. She’d made an appointment hours earlier with the ship’s resident Roman Catholic priest, Father Mwangi, to attend confession. The first time in fifteen years I’ve set foot inside of a church.
As she crossed the threshold and cleared the hatch, she started to feel as if she didn’t belong. The voice of doubt and despair began to fill her mind. When she forced them down, everything became a blur in which she finally found herself seated in the confessional booth, the door closed, and the screen open, through which she could barely make out Mwangi. After making the Sign of the Cross, she began, “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was fifteen years ago.”
It took a moment for the response to come. “A very long time, child. I greet you in the name of Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior.”
“Father, I’ve done horrific things. So many horrific things. I’ve killed people through my actions, and by my inaction, some of which were innocents. I have lied repeatedly to those around me and to myself. I’ve broken every commandment there is.” Eldred started to cry, tears streaming down her face. “I stopped going to confession because I felt I was making a mockery out of it, by not being able to stop my sins.”
“Killing an enemy in war is not murder, my child. God has made this clear through his word and divine inspiration to the Pope on many an occasion.”
Eldred stared at the screen as her tears continued to fall. “I may be wearing the uniform of the Coalition Defense Force now, Father, but not too long ago, I was in a three-letter agency. It wasn’t always clean, you understand. Sometimes, I had to do things outside of the lines. Out of bounds of the law.”
“If it bothers your conscience so much, child, why not confess your crimes to the proper authorities and accept judgment?”
“I received medals and awards for my actions, Father.” The tears had stopped now, replaced by a blank expression and a dull, lifeless voice. “My superiors praised what I did as quick thinking under pressure.”
The priest paused for a moment as if he was considering what she said. “Do you have a specific sin to confess? One that weighs on you the most?”
“Recently, on Gilead, I used an honorable woman to bring down an evil man. I lied to her repeatedly. I told her I’d get her out if she’d provide me the information we needed. I knew I couldn’t do it, but I told her enough times she believed me. She died because of me. Not only that, but she didn’t even get last rites. Because of me.” As Eldred spoke, the guilt welled up inside of her. Dark thoughts along the lines of ending her life filtered through her mind. “It’s all catching up, Father. I’ve tried to ignore what I’ve done over the years, bury it inside of myself, and say nothing matters except victory over the League.”
“What of your faith? Do you still believe?”
“I guess. I don’t know. Yes. But I don’t see how God could ever forgive me. I don’t deserve it.”
“None of us deserve anything from God,” Mwangi said as he leaned closer to the screen, the rich timbre of his voice filling the confessional. “Yet He sent His only son to save us. His word says He is faithful and just to forgive us of our sins if we will only ask and believe.”
Eldred started crying again, cries of anguish coming out of her. “Colonel Cohen told me the same thing.”
“Out of the mouths of two witnesses comes the truth,” he said with a trace of mirth to his voice. “Allow me to give you a different perspective. I see many come through these doors. Many are hurt and broken, just as you. What we all have in common is a realization our behavior is sinful in the eyes of God. As long as we can confess, we’re not too far gone. I know the pain you feel right now, because I served too.”
“What do I do, Father?”
“Have you done anything to change your circumstance?”
“Yes… I put in for a transfer to military intelligence. I have no illusions that I’ll be doing distasteful things, but I feel at least the CDF exists in the light. There are rules to follow and consequences when one doesn’t.”
“Then you’ve taken the first step toward what Jesus charged us to do—go and sin no more.”
Why is it so hard to accept? “Thank you, Father.” After a moment, she retrea
ted into Catholic ritual. “This is all I can remember. I am sorry for these and all my sins.”
“Before I give you a penance, can you tell me what your next posting is?”
“CSV Oxford, intelligence analysis and field work.”
“Then I assign you as penance that you will to the best of your ability, by doing things that are morally right, advance our cause. Go to mass at least weekly, and ensure you take the Eucharist.”
“Thank you, Father. But I feel as if there should be something more for what I’ve done.”
“A punishment?”
“Yes.”
“Child, our God and His son are beings of mercy. You’ve punished yourself enough. Embrace Christ instead.”
Eldred dried her tears, fighting to keep her composure. “My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart. In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good, I have sinned against You, who I should love above all things. I firmly intend, with your help, to do penance, to win no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin. Our Savior Jesus Christ suffered and died for us. In His name, My God, have mercy.”
As Mwangi spoke the liturgical form of Absolution, the only thing she heard through the Latin speech was “Ego te absolve,” which meant “I absolve you.” Clinging to the belief that her numerous mortal sins were now forgiven, Eldred closed her eyes and made the sign of the cross as the prayer ended. “Amen.”
“Child, I commend you for this difficult step. I wish I could continue to minister to you as your journey progresses.”
“Thank you, Father. Thank you for not judging me.”
The old priest smiled wide enough that she could see it through the screen. “Judgment is God’s job, not mine. I bless you in the name of the Savior, our Lord Jesus Christ. May you prosper and live in peace.”
She pressed down the uniform sweater she wore, the standard CDF black for space crews, and stood. “Amen, Father. I wish the same for you.” As she walked out of the small wooden booth to the empty chapel, her soul felt refreshed. Something dark was lifted off of it, and for the first time in months, she genuinely smiled as hope spread about her body.