Queen of Heaven

by Michael Orr

  The room brightened noticeably, coming back into focus as her lolling head found true north. “I don’t see any of you having an immaculate birth. Who here’s as holy as an angel? Or don’t you believe the things you preach? If god created angels to oversee creation, then you’re butting in on work that was never yours ta do.

  “You’ve waaaay overstepped your place as mere human beings. How much hubris d’you have?! I can’t even begin to imagine how disappointed god must be with you, taking all this authority upon yourselves when he’s already assigned it ta others who were specifically designed for it! How dare you!”

  She felt the forcefulness in her own stare as she scanned her jury. “You wanna burn me at the stake just for bein’ a person? Exactly how fast an’ how far down in hell d’you want god ta throw you?! Talk about sin! Talk about hubris and self-righteousness!

  “Hi, god...” she mocked. “We burned one’a your helpless daughters ta death for you. We know you created her just like you created us, but will you bless us with your grace and mercy now?”

  Her jury remained silent, but they’d taken on a new posture. Many of them were straining back against the wall, longing to leave. Others gaped, pierced by the magnitude of their error.

  “Or maybe it’s virgins you want. Did they promise you a bunch’a living sex dolls so your afterlife could be an eternal orgy? z’If other human beings would happily exist just for your own personal pleasure. You really don’t see the stupid of that?

  “Do you wanna exist as somebody else’s eternal party favor?! Oh, but you don’t think that far, do you? You just buy whatever they’re selling. Everything’s always and forever about you! What you’re doing out here has nothing t’do with god! Nobody kicked you outta yer garden. You got up ’n walked!

  “I’ve seen her speech. Nazanin Sukho didn’t crush your god. All she said was ‘find the real one’. If you’re gonna believe, believe the truth, not fairytales. Leave the false gods behind — these monsters who want you t’kill in their name. True god reveres life, not killing!”

  Some of the robes had begun swaying back and forth in prayer; others doubling over in shame.

  Witnessing the impact of her words, Trish forced the rage from her voice. These were human beings again. She needed to speak to them humanely.

  “Somewhere along the line, you completely forgot how god’s about life and mercy. Didn’t you? All you could think about was law...you who need mercy most of all. You somehow thought almighty, omnipotent god needed your help ta protect his own neighborhood. So you came out here an’ turned it into a war zone! ’Cuz that’s honestly the best that human wisdom can make of the divine plan. We’re fallible!

  “You...” she cast her judgment over the whole group, meeting horrified consciences there, “...all of you have an unimaginable amount of forgiveness ta ask for. You could start now. Or are you bound ’n determined to add mine t’the list?”

  That final note of accountability crushed whatever was left of the congregation’s resolve, and their own faithfulness sent them one-by-one to their knees. Murmurs of sorrowful chanting filled the chamber like audible fog, each voice struggling to reckon with a forgotten conscience. Even Surryah withdrew, taking his plasma torch with him.

  Their penitence lasted so long that Trish fell back into delirium, despairing of ever gaining her freedom or even a sip of water.

  44

  * * *

  CRUSADER NINE – ALLIANCE SPACE – NOV 9, 2371

  A magnificent aroma broke through oblivion, and crusty eyes opened to the sight of soup and a pitcher of water on a bedside table.

  Despite all the thirst and hunger beating her into a ragdoll, Trish had only strength enough to sob.

  Loni heard something in the corridor up ahead and peeked through a doorway. Inside was a battered girl on a cot sobbing out a mess on her face. The ‘Whore of Heaven’ according to the maniacs running this ship.

  She made to wipe the poor thing down, but the white glow surrounding the weeping creature took her back. She stood for a long time, staring.

  Who in god’s name are you? she wondered, careful not to break her ridiculous vow of silence. If she were to be overheard speaking to a prisoner there’d be nothing but pain. For both of them.

  The glow only brightened as the girl looked up at her in misery, unable to do more than cry. The stabilizing foam around her shoulders and the big blotchy purple bruise covering one whole side of her face spoke volumes. Glowing or not, Loni had no intentions of leaving the wretched thing in such a state.

  Cautiously, she brought over a chair and mopped up the gooey tears. Behind them was an angel with a face like nothing she’d ever seen. Chills rippled down Loni’s spine as she cradled the girl’s head and lifted a cup of water to her cracked and swollen lips.

  It was the work of half an hour to spoon her the soup and make sure she had enough water. The girl dozed off several times, coming-to whenever the spoon touched her mouth. But eventually, it was swallowed down and she drifted off into the mercy of unconsciousness.

  Loni gently laid the girl’s head back on the pillow and watched her sleep. The glow was fading, but not the beauty. Fragile. Delicate. Breakable in so many ways.

  This’z me, too, Loni realized. And everybody else.

  This was being human: soft and pink and easy to chew, cast adrift in a universe made of nothing but teeth and jagged edges. Their only safety was each other, but here she was — here they both were — trapped on a ship staffed by their own kind who had turned traitor and become agents of the jagged-edged insanity.

  “Hatred.” Loni broke her vow, no longer caring about the others’ priorities. She was seeing clearly this time around. These people had been seduced by Hatred and enlisted in its army. They’d been drafted into a war on the wrong side; a war against their own kind as if Hatred had a truer cause than their own.

  “It’s a thing!” she whispered, realizing the truth. “Hatred isn’t a fucking emotion; it’s a goddamn being with a face an’ a name. It’s a fucking proper noun.”

  In the aftermath of the battered girl’s glow, Loni could only see hate with a capital ‘H’. It was a being with its own agenda, and it convinced its own victims to join its ranks. It called people to escalate the very problems it caused.

  “This jihad’s on the wrong side,” she enlightened herself...not that she’d ever believed in it to begin with. It had never been more than a way out. But there was more going on than her little slice of unhappy. The crusade was doing terrible things to people who didn’t deserve it; heaping hate upon those who were guilty of nothing more than existing. Wasn’t it completely natural for people to visit other worlds if the means were there? Wasn’t it normal to want to explore the universe?

  Her eyes refocused, bringing the sleeping girl back into view. Wasn’t it right to dance? To celebrate being alive? To make people smile? Why should it be all somber prayer and penitence if the universe had invented existence and was offering it freely?

  “Oh, you bleeding bitch!” She focused her rage directly at Hate. Looked it square in the eye. Wanted to terrorize it for what it’d been doing to the human race since the beginning. Wanted to take it by the face and tear out chunks of its flesh until it was nothing more than a pile of meat-pulp on the floor. Wanted to...

  to...

  Disgust consumed her. “There’s no punishing you, is there?”

  Hatred might have a face, but not one you could hit. There was nothing to fight. Nothing to punch or kick or claw. It was an enemy you couldn’t do anything to. There was no use hating it back, because that was just more for it to feed on.

  Hatred made you mad, then convinced you that your anger was righteous; that it was just and fair; that it demanded action. You found yourself in a rage, demanding relief and having no way to make Hatred pay. You had only others like yourself to take it out on. And the more payment you took, the more hate you sowed and the more soldiers Hatred gained for its army. On and on throughout all of history.
>
  You couldn’t fight Hate with its own weapons. Hate of any kind — even when aimed at Hatred itself — was just another victory for the enemy. All you could do was put the weapons down and walk away. You had to make a different choice; otherwise, you were still a soldier for the wrong side.

  Loni sat there for a long time, furious at the unpunishable enemy who’d wrought such mayhem on her kind...on herself. This rage she felt was every bit as much the problem as the thing she raged against. It was all the same...made of the same stuff and feeding the same master. Hatred was perfectly content to be hated, and Loni had no mind to make anyone or anything else her master.

  She leaned in and kissed the girl’s forehead, thanking her silently for the revelation, then made her way out with all the violence of a feather.

  CRUSADER NINE – ALLIANCE SPACE – NOV 9, 2371

  After more sleep and another meal, this time under her own power, Trish was strong enough to get up and take care of nature. Someone had gone to a great deal of care with her, setting her shoulders back in their sockets and trussing them up with stabilizing foam. Her neck was badly jarred and moved around like gravel.

  She winced. I’ll need some serious chiropractic if I ever make it back.

  But at least the terrible lacerations in her tongue had been epoxied shut, and they’d washed her and fitted her into one of their white robes. They might also have given her pain blocks. It was nothing close to feeling good or even marginally okay, but it was worlds away from her anguish on the pillar. She felt just brave enough to peek outside.

  All around her, members of the congregation moved in mute purpose, eyes down as they tended to their damaged ship. No one addressed her or met her gaze, but they went out of their way to make room for her. It was like living among ghosts, and she had no idea what to do.

  Then, by some stroke of insight she realized it was over. All of it. She’d done her work; they had received it. There was nothing left.

  She tiptoed her way down strange corridors, hoping to find the landing bay without attracting their interest. Maybe she was free to go, or maybe they just didn’t know what to do with her anymore.

  She was lost in the ship’s endlessness, but occasional glimpses of white robes seemed to appear with the regularity of breadcrumbs. Were they leading her?

  She took a chance that they could be trusted now. Followed their clues. And after a long, wearying wander she found herself standing in the open vault of the landing bay. And there was Aerion sitting unattended, waiting for her.

  “I’m pleased that you’re alright, Trish.”

  “That’s an overstatement.” Trish approached the problem of how to climb up onto the wing with ruined arms. “And a bit premature.”

  It took painful minutes, but now she sat panting after settling herself into the cockpit. “What’s your status?”

  “My systems are normal and jump charge is at seventy-two percent. We may leave at any time.”

  “Did they do anything t’you?” Trish worried they might have booby-trapped her ship.

  “I am untouched,” Aerion informed her. “Although someone left a small package in the footwell. As your condition was unknown, I thought it best to allow it rather than use my perimeter defenses.”

  Trish tensed, but the package in question was so small. “You might just’ve saved my life, Aerion. z’It dangerous?”

  “My scans detect no threat to either of us.”

  Aerion started up the flight systems.

  Wincing again at more movement, Trish fumbled the box out of the well with her bare feet and used bumbling hands made of thumbs to open it, finding an exquisitely carved ivory cross so fine and delicate she didn’t dare grip it, resting it in her palm instead.

  When she looked up, a massive congregation was watching her from the far entry, just like upon her arrival. But unlike before, this time there was no accuser; no one to demand that she dismount; no one forcibly grabbing her out of the cockpit. Like shades abandoned in Hades, they only looked on in silence.

  She carefully set the cross in a prominent place on the dash for them to see, then swiped the canopy closed and had Aerion loft out into space. There’d be no piloting with her arms in this condition.

  “Calc--ate Asherah’s new posi---n, Aeri--.” Her voice failed against a sudden onslaught of tears. She was so blessed to be leaving. So grateful to be free of all the pain and terror of the last however many days.

  “Please ta-- me h-me.”

  EPILOGUE

  * * *

  ESS ASHERAH – EARTH ORBIT – MAY 24, 2371

  Earth glowed like a sunlit sapphire in the viewport and Teague was in high spirits as he made a final check of his suite. Wouldn’t wanna leave anything behind, especially the personal ‘thank you’ from Trisha Thierry.

  He searched for a few frantic moments and finally found it safely tucked away in his tote. The sight of her dancing almost imperceptibly on the holocard brought a rush of passions and he couldn’t help a smirk.

  Dad was right. I really had t’do this. I don’t even feel like the same guy anymore.

  He looked over at the upgraded connec-lens waiting on the stand. Did he really want to go through life treating everything like a game level?

  “What the hell...” He removed his original lens and popped in the new one. His view instantly digitized, with a network of gridlines measuring the suite and everything in it. The digitization quickly minimized into a widget he could open at any time, making room for a menu:

 
  Your own life; only tactical

  Pre-Game:

  Tour

  Features

  Preferences>

  *Gling-ong*

  He barely managed to keep from clicking Tour as the door chimed.

  Who in the world?

  Still two hours to go before mandatory debarkation, and he wasn’t expecting anyone to drop by. Unless...

  He got up and opened the door manually, hoping against hope that his favorite dancer was on the other side.

  “Mister Alaan?”

  The tactical gridlines reappeared and shrink-wrapped the striking woman who stood waiting for him to respond.

  Dressed to wow and wearing her auburn hair in an asymmetrical bob, she was as polished and professional as anyone his dad had ever introduced him to, and most of those were nobles. He guessed her to be late twenties and realized she wasn’t a complimentary escort for the flight home.

  “Uh, sump’m I can do for you?”

  “Possibly...” She invited herself in and glanced around his suite as if searching for traps. “Ever heard of THEME?”

  His new lens remained blank, following the nameless woman around the room like she was a gridline ghost. It did, however, register the nano-armored fabric of her femme fatale dress and the concealed-carry discreetly dermophiled to her inner thigh. Lenses always displayed the identity of anyone who wasn’t classified, but his new lens remained blank about this visitor.

  “Not yet.” He shook his head at her question, still appreciating the rear view when she turned to face him.

  “Good.” The cool, emotionless smile seemed right at home on her classical face. “The Office of Threat Emergence doesn’t like publicity — but we do like initiative.”

  She sauntered over to the couch, making pointed eye contact. “And situational awareness. May I take a seat?”

  APPENDICES

  * * *

  APPENDIX A:

  EID – EARTH ISOLATION DISORDER

  The twenty-first century was a turning point for the human race in a number of ways, but perhaps the foremost was the discovery of our quarantine upon Earth — something which was revealed to us accidentally. We’re all familiar with the fact that early astronauts spending weeks or months in Earth orbit returned from those missions weakened, and in many cases unable to stand. It typically took days or even weeks for them to fully recover, and this was assumed to be the effect of long-term exposure to the micro-gravity
of orbit. But events in the twenty-first century proved this assumption wrong.

  Amidst the widespread terrorism of that era, often regarded collectively as a third world war, the human race made multiple efforts to expand beyond Earth and colonize the solar system, with varying degrees of success. It was when we ventured beyond the confines of our star’s system that a more serious problem arose.

  From the mid-twenty second to early twenty-third centuries, every voyage into interstellar space beyond the influence of our sun ended in lethal crew decay.

  After a great deal of testing and supposition, pains were taken to establish an earth-like environment onboard by maintaining each expedition ship’s energetic signature at a frequency of 7.83 hertz, the same frequency at which Earth naturally resonates. But while this did extend the period of survivability for expedition crews, it was insufficient to resolve the fundamental issue, and all crews unanimously succumbed to what was now called ‘space wasting’.

  After this, research was expanded to include more abstract forms of investigation, and it was ultimately discovered that the Earth and our sun together emit an entire spectrum of previously unrecognized subtle energies that affect the human body on pre-physical levels. These energies, sometimes referred to incorrectly as orgone, are absorbed by the human body’s chakra system, well-known in Eastern medicine but rejected and dismissed by western allopathic practitioners.

  The chakras convert these energies into the building blocks of our cells, which go on to create tissues, organs, bone, etc. Without access to the solar system’s complex fields of subtle energy, the chakra system has no energetic ingredients with which to maintain the solid, concrete physical body. The resulting decay begins at the organelle level of cells, slowly taking hold at greater and greater levels until the body’s tissues lose integrity.