Aisha gazed across the way at the Prime Minister’s booth, where the thickset, well-coifed man slumped in his seat, resting his drooping face against his fist, staring at nothing. Aisha had never met Elan Falco, but he knew how much the man loved his family—his sons mainly, but Sierra, too, he imagined. Aisha felt for him.
“Aisha!” Riahn called from the suite.
Aisha peeled himself away from the balcony, grabbed his tablet, and weaved through the glass barriers back into the suite. He brought up his notes as his lively, stout, curly haired boss pulled him into the circle of people. Aisha tensed in the crowd, even though they paid no attention to him, carrying on their own conversations instead. Without letting his relaxed face slip, Riahn leaned close to Aisha.
“A coalition is forming,” he whispered. “You’d do well to keep your eyes and ears open, my boy.” The minister took surprising joy in teaching Aisha the intricacies of their political system, sometimes more than the young curate would like.
Aisha nodded as Riahn put on a somber expression for a newcomer—Jeremay Effex, a councilman of the Universal House of Justice, enveloped in an aura of tranquility. His suit and hair were crisp, his dark eyes sad and far away. The man moved through the dense crowd with hands behind his back and returned a gloomy expression to Riahn. Aisha tensed up even more as the high leader in their religion approached.
“What a tragedy,” Riahn moaned, putting a ring-studded hand over his heart and shaking his head.
Jeremay nodded lightly, reluctant to speak, gripped by genuine sorrow. His eyes turned to Aisha, seeing the young curate in a way few men of importance ever did.
Riahn picked up on the councilman’s interest and put a hand on Aisha’s shoulder. “Your grace, this is my curate, Aisha. Studious young lad.”
Jeremay held out an open palm. Aisha swallowed and reached out to shake it.
“Aisha.” Jeremay dipped his head as an equalizing gesture. “Did you know Sierra?”
“Uh, no, sir,” Aisha pushed out. “I’m sure she was lovely.”
“She was,” Jeremay said quickly. “A true Carinian gem. Her efforts for peace were unparalleled.”
“Indeed, your grace,” Riahn said. “Her presence in the capital will be sorely missed. Uh, to what do we owe the honor of your visit?”
Jeremay’s hands remained behind his back as he addressed Riahn. “I’ve heard you’re meeting with party leaders, trying to coordinate a consensus.”
A soft laugh escaped Riahn, and his cheeks blushed. “Oh, yes. Merely advising, of course. Trying to help everyone understand the various perspectives.”
Jeremay nodded without smiling. “I came to remind you of the words of Abdu’l-Baha. ‘Concentrate all the thoughts of your heart on love and unity. When a thought of war comes, oppose it by a stronger thought of peace. A thought of hatred must be destroyed by a more powerful thought of love.’”
Riahn put on a warm smile. “Mmm . . . a message well-received, your grace.”
“I figured it would be beneficial for the Minister of Unity to hear at a time like this,” Jeremay said. “When anger runs hot, it’s easy to forget all peoples and nations are one family, children of the same Father. Peace be with you, brother.” The councilman bowed his head and slipped away.
Aisha couldn’t help but smile as he eyed Riahn, who slowly let his fake smile recede. About time someone spoke some truth, he thought.
Riahn’s face turned to a scowl. Aisha had only worked for the Minister of Unity for a few months, but already he realized the man was far more complex than his public image would suggest. His shrewdness often got in the way of his principles, but only the few who worked for him could discern that.
“Not an easy task, pleasing everyone.” Riahn put on a lax smile as a representative from the Unification Party entered, an old friend, apparently. “Lola, my darling, you look lovely. Horrible about Sierra, isn’t it?”
Aisha glanced between the tight groups of politicians, aides, and lobbyists locked in serious discussion. More talk of implications mixed with whispers of possibilities. He noticed the room was mostly Unificationists with a handful of Dominionists and a few Reformists—the three largest parties. Aisha wondered about this coalition that Riahn seemed so animated about. The Minister of Unity—technically a Unificationist but far too concerned with people-pleasing to be a hardliner—worked his way through the room, shifting deftly from hopeful to doleful depending on his audience. No one spared Aisha a glance.
Back in the main chamber, a new speaker took the podium. To Aisha, that held far more interest. Out there, he felt the pulse of political life in a way that made sense: statesmen and women would debate, exchange ideas, speak for entire planets—some of them thousands of lightyears away.
Aisha weaved through the packed gathering and returned to his place on the balcony.
Chapter Twelve
Ulrich Morvan, Minister of Arms, stood behind the lectern, looking as suave and polished as ever. The popular Dominionist leader bore a slight, confident smile and a knowing gleam in his eyes. His ink-black hair was slicked back to a tight point at the nape of his neck, and his dark eyebrows came to sharp tips. The collar of his suit sat stiffly around his neck, while his wide, glossy lapel flared out to his waist. He exuded an air of calm, of poise, of elegance. His very presence on the podium made Aisha lean closer, hoping to hear the way forward.
Prime Minister Falco had not given any. Perhaps Morvan would.
The Minister of Arms took a short breath. “In the beginning, God created.” He paused, seemingly to let the rather innocuous statement sink in.
Riahn slid open the glass door of the suite and tapped the tablet screen in Aisha’s hands. “Take notes,” he whispered.
Ulrich Morvan: begins with appeal to True Religion, Aisha entered quickly.
“And his creation was perfect,” Morvan said in a smooth, golden voice. “But man rebelled and has been rebelling ever since. Nevertheless, to those who would listen, God spoke.”
Aisha wondered why he had to take notes when Riahn was standing right beside him, listening to the speech in person—not to mention the fact that it would be recorded and played on every news channel in the republic.
“To Noah, righteous in an era of corruption, God spoke a merciful warning, and the ark-builder listened. He and his family were saved from the wrath of the seas.”
Anecdote of Noah—point?
Aisha noticed the teleprompters were off. Morvan gave the speech from memory, impassioned, as if he had been born to give it. Aisha made a mental note to find out if Morvan delivered all of his speeches this way.
“To Abraham, our forefather, God spoke, and the man of faith listened. Abraham trusted God when it took great courage and strength, and he was rewarded. His sons became the progenitors of great nations.”
The orator’s eyes swept across the house floor with a twinkle that gave Aisha confidence he would somehow connect all this back to the prima filia’s death.
“To the children of Israel, God spoke through Moses, at a time when they needed to hear him most. Israel listened, and with great faith, they conquered nations and empires.
“To Jew and Gentile alike, God spoke through the Christ, the Prophet-Messiah, at a time when their hearts were darkened, turned everywhere but to God. Those who listened went on to dominate the empires of Europe and America for millennia.”
That didn’t make sense in Aisha’s head. He leaned over to his boss. “I thought the Christians were pacifists.”
“They are now,” Riahn replied quickly. “Weren’t always that way. Now shush.”
“To the pagan tribes of Arabia,” Morvan went on. “God spoke through the prophet Muhammed. Those who listened subdued many peoples and nations in the name of God and went on to form a great civilization.”
Aisha typed a revelation as it hit him: Strong appeal to Abramists in his party.
“To Persia, God spoke through the Bab and the Baha’u’llah. Many refused to listen. But to those
who listened, to those with patience . . .” He spread his hands and gazed around the house floor. “God granted the greatest empire in the history of mankind.”
Applause picked up somewhere in the ranks of representatives and spread through the chamber, lasting probably five seconds. Impressive, considering all were supposed to remain silent and orderly for this portion of the debate. Morvan raised his hands to stop the applause.
“But to whom much is given, much is required.” He paused, taking on a more mournful look. “Sierra Falco, our dear prima filia, has been killed. Her death was clearly not an accident, nor was it the work of amateurs. It was a purposeful, military attack against our republic.”
Another bout of applause began, but again, Morvan cut it off. “Today, as God spoke to many peoples in many times the message they desperately needed to hear, so, too, does God speak to us.”
Aisha paused from his thumb-tapping and watched, listened. He could have heard a stylus drop on the other side of the chamber.
“His message is one that echoes through the ages,” Morvan said. “In the days of Noah, God sent the Great Flood to purge the Sacred Planet of evil. In the days of Moses, he sent ten plagues upon the pagans of Egypt to free his people from their chains. In the days of Muhammed, God used the faithful to suppress the unbelievers and save the world from corruption. Today, God has a message for those who would listen. And his message is this . . .”
Riahn leaned over the railing, watching with wide, unblinking eyes.
Morvan’s hand balled into a fist on the lectern. “Rise. Up. Rise up, people of Carina!” Applause built from the floor, but he kept on, talking over it. “Rise up in defense of your holy heritage! Rise up for all you hold dear! Rise up in defense of your brothers and sisters on the Sacred Planet who live, even now, in the shadow of the Heathen King.”
He paused to let the applause taper. “There is a darkness rising in the galaxy, a new Babylon that dwarfs the Babylon of old, and we cannot afford to shut our eyes to it. That darkness is the barbaric feudalism of the Sagittarian Regnum.”
The audience responded with a bout of ovation.
“We must face it. We must contain it. And ultimately . . . we must eradicate it.”
The applause reached a peak, but Morvan had one last thrust.
“This, people of Carina, is our calling. It is our burden. We must avenge Sierra’s death. We must defend our homeworlds. And we must make safe the Sacred Planet, for now and forever.”
Representatives stood in a wave, showing their approval. The cavernous chamber roared with praise.
Riahn straightened, smiling, and slowly began to clap. And Aisha felt a strange sensation, like a force working in them all, powering the cogs of this political machine, pulling everyone along in its current. A movement far bigger than Aisha, than Riahn, than Morvan, or even Falco. Aisha felt the hand of God in this chamber, and it terrified him. Why would he be afraid in the presence of the loving God? And why would the God of peace and unity call them to war? Was the Sacred Planet in danger? So many questions whirled in his head.
As Morvan stepped off the podium and the applause died down, Aisha whispered to his boss, “Why the bit about the Sacred Planet? What’s Earth got to do with the prima filia?”
Riahn held his smiling gaze on Aisha for a moment, then patted him on the shoulder. “Come on, my boy. We have more work to do.”
The Minister of Unity
Chapter Thirteen
Elan Falco slammed his fist onto the Izowood desk. “You went behind my back to form a coalition? This is unacceptable!”
He stood behind his broad, yellow-tan desk, made from the timber of Baha’runa’s signature tree: Izo. Durable as steel yet flexible as rubber, marvelously appropriate for the prime minister. At least Riahn thought so. Elan Falco governed from staunch principles, but his ministerial appointments often swayed him like an Izo tree in the wind. Even now, he scowled in stern disapproval, but the bags under his puffy eyes spoke volumes of his frailty. Family men did not make for the kinds of politicians who led galactic superpowers.
Lexar Tahn, the dutiful Minister of Justice, sat in a chair beside Falco’s desk, legs crossed and fingers steepled, features furrowed in a concerned grimace. Clearly, he sided with the prime minister, as most Unificationists inevitably would. Riahn, on the other hand, was unique—a bridge-builder among islanders, neither partisan nor ideologue.
“Now, hold on, Mister Prime Minister,” Riahn said with open palms. “It wouldn’t be accurate to say we went behind your back. You’ve just lost your eldest daughter. We wanted to be sensitive.”
Ulrich Morvan, sitting in the next chair over, added in a soft voice, “If I were in your position, I’d want to spend this time grieving, not politicking.”
Falco relaxed a bit, sighed, and slumped into his seat. “Believe me, I’d like to grieve. It’s all I feel capable of right now. But I have a job to do, and I want to do it. When my ministers withhold crucial information from me, like forming a war coalition, I can’t very well do my job, can I?”
Tahn, draped in the pristine white of his former appointment as a House of Justice councilman, drew in a sharp breath. “What bothers me most,” said the minister, some hodgepodge of Asian-Pacific races Riahn couldn’t pinpoint, “is the suggestion we ought to bypass a full investigation.”
“With all due respect, Minister,” Morvan said. “A full investigation would be a waste of both time and opportunity. All preliminary reports indicate this was a professional, military attack on an official Carinian ship, which is more than enough for a resolution of just cause, is it not?”
“But we don’t have any idea who carried out the attack,” Tahn insisted. “Could’ve been Orionite paramilitaries or a rogue Sagittarian lord. It could’ve been friendly fire for all we know.”
“Please, Minister Tahn,” Morvan said. “You can’t seriously believe that. An attack of this sophistication could’ve come from only one source, and that is the Sagittarian Regnum.”
“We don’t know that!” Tahn protested. “Until they claim responsibility or we have some proof.”
Morvan shook his head. “That’s a naive way of thinking. They want to abuse our legal system by hiding in the shadows, prevent us from gaining the prerequisites for a resolution of just cause.”
“So what do you suggest?” Falco jumped in. “Throw out our law altogether?”
“No, but we should reform our war powers laws to reflect modern challenges, as we Dominionists have been saying for decades.”
“The Reformists, too,” Riahn added gently.
“Yes, the Reformists are with us on this front.”
Tahn bristled. “The fact remains that we have no intel to suggest the Sagittarians carried out this attack.”
“Another fact is that no one besides the Sagittarians could have possibly carried it out,” Morvan fired back.
The wrinkles on Tahn’s forehead deepened. “That’s not true, and you know it. Some Orionite groups have the capability. The Sagittarian nobles from Lagoon Nebula could have done it, and they’re only a few dozen gates from Owl.”
Morvan rolled his eyes. “Very well then. It’s materially possible someone else carried out the attack, but it’s politically impossible. When the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, did the Americans need to conduct a full investigation to find out who did it? Was it possible the Germans could’ve carried out the attack? Or the Russians, or the Chinese? No, everyone knew it was the Japanese. It’s the same in this instance.”
Tahn recoiled. “You can’t compare this to Pearl Harbor. They’re worlds apart.”
“I want to address Earth,” Falco said. Displeasure emanated from him like heat. “Ulrich, I see no reason to have brought up the Sacred Planet in this debate.”
Morvan looked him in the eye, not backing down. “Elan, there’s no denying we have a special relationship with Earth. Carina has duties to the True Religion as much as it does to her own defense.”
“The True Religion
wasn’t attacked!” Falco boomed. “My daughter’s yacht was attacked! And frankly, Ulrich, your invoking of religion is uncalled for and offensive.”
Morvan’s eyes fell away. He folded his hands over his lap and stayed quiet for a moment. The silence was thick enough to slice. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to offend you. I only said what I believe is best for the republic.”
“If I may,” Riahn cut in. “The worry is about pilgrimage. A billion Carinians make their pilgrimage to Earth each year, and they want to be assured of its safety in the midst of crisis. If we are vulnerable to attack, what’s to stop our enemies from attacking Earth as well?”
Morvan continued the line of logic seamlessly. “And if we show ourselves weak and sluggish right now, the Carinian people will feel no assurance that Earth is safe.”
Minister Tahn’s eyelids fluttered in annoyance. “Typical Dominionist response. Every conflict that arises must somehow be about Earth. It’s demonstrably not about Earth.”
“Do you not believe that the safety of Earth is of vital interest to Carina?” Morvan asked in astonishment. “Of the Carinian pilgrims?”
“Of course it is,” Tahn answered. “But I’ll remind you that we have no evidence the Sagittarians want control of Earth! How many times must I say it? Just think: Why would the Heathen King want an impoverished, overpopulated, resource-stripped planet that draws most of its income from religious pilgrimage?”
Morvan sat up a little taller for emphasis. “To become the dominant force in the galaxy.” He enunciated each word with care and precision. “We know Zantorian is ambitious, likely just as ambitious as Vradiman was. And he’s following the same pattern as his predecessor. Vradiman dedicated most of his life to domestic issues, uniting the aristocracy, building up his defenses. Everyone in Carina thought he was harmless. Then in his later years, he turned his attention outward, and where did that lead? Twenty years of colony wars, most of which he won.”
“I am aware of our history, Mister Morvan,” Tahn said. “But we are not doomed to repeat it, unless it is by our own volition.”
Sacred Planet: Book One of the Dominion Series Page 6