Into the Light

by David Weber

  . VIII .

  SOKYR CHELSO’S RECTORY, CITY OF MYRCOS,

  AND PRIME DIRECTOR’S OFFICE, CITY OF DIANZHYR,

  REPUBLIC OF DIANTO

  “Shaymork take it!” Sokyr ChelSo nor Chelth snarled. “Taysar sear them all!”

  Trygau HyrShalTry nor Ganyth bent his head in agreement and deference as Sokyr stalked around the stone-walled chamber. The priest was in a truly foul mood, and from Trygau’s expression, it was obvious he was in full agreement with oum.

  “Even that godless apostate Qwelth should see where this has to lead!” Sokyr continued. “Ha! It’s not a case of should—of course ou sees. It’s where ou’s always wanted to go anyway! But ous soul will pay a mighty price for this, Tryagu. Mark my words! Ou will burn in Hell forever, because there’s no possible excuse for ous actions! Even ou has to recognize that! The Book clearly states that Chelth created Sarth and all that lives upon it out of nothingness. We’re Ous people and the work of Ous hand, and the Book says nothing about Ous having created other worlds, other people! These aliens, these Earthians, may claim whatever they choose, but they cannot be the work of Ous hand. Yet they come to us with this preposterous tale of other murderous aliens among the stars. And why?” Ou whirled to face Trygau, jabbing an accusatory digit at him. “I’ll tell you why! They’re here to drive those godless, secular policies which have controlled the Sitting for far too long! They’re going to tell us all about those awful ‘Shongairi’ and warn us of all the changes we have to make if we hope to survive, and all the while they’re simply Shaymork’s talons, reaching into the world to finish off the one true religion. And it’s the cleverest thing Shaymork’s done yet, too, because it plays directly into those atheists’ prejudices and blind faith in ‘science’!”

  “Of course it does, Bearer!” Trygau said. “I realized that the instant the news broke, and every word their accursed leader’s said only underscores my fears.”

  Sokyr’s nasal flaps flared angrily, and ou jerked a headshake of agreement. The truth was that ou normally found Trygau’s fervency a bit trying. Or, rather, that ou found the way the male expressed that fervency a bit too sycophantic. Sokyr never doubted the strength of Trygau’s faith, but ou doubted the male had ever truly thought about their shared beliefs in all the ten years since he’d joined Sokyr’s Chelthists. That was what better educated brains—like Sokyr’s—were for. And he would follow to the end without ever once questioning or testing his faith the way The Book of Chelth urged Ous worshippers to do. But those very qualities suited him especially well for his role in the Chelthite struggle. He’d amply earned his position as the leader of Sokyr’s action teams, and this day-half his unquestioning agreement with anything Sokyr said was both soothing to ous fury and fuel for ous rage.

  “You can bet that’s not what that gutless wonder Mykair is going to say, though,” the priest grated now. Ou stamped over to the window and glared out into the evening day-half’s rain. “Ou’s going to fall right into line behind ous good friend Qwelth.”

  Sokyr’s tone made the prime director’s name a curse, and Trygau shook his head in fervent agreement. Sokyr clenched ous nasal flaps tight and suppressed an urge to spit out the window. Mykair ChelMyk nor Chelth was the anointed high priest of Chelth, at least according to the “mainstream” Chelthian church. Sokyr and ous followers knew what Mykair truly was, however. And the apostate traitor’s lifetime friendship with ous old school friend Qwelth QwelSynChar only made oum even more willing to trample the deity ou supposedly served into the dust.

  Sokyr gripped both hands together behind ouself as ou stared out into the slowly gathering dark, watched the raindrops glitter in the wash of light from the lamps which flanked ous front door. Why, ou wondered, not for the first time. Why had ou been born only to see the final downfall of God?

  Not so very long ago—indeed, barely two centuries ago—that question would never have crossed ous mind. No one would have dared to suggest anything like this … this foul, evil, heretical apostasy could possibly come to pass! But all those other pantheons, all those other minor, all too often totally false deities and their blinded followers, had been jealous of Chelth’s position as the Republic of Dianto’s patron deity—the one true God, before whom all others bowed. And so they’d waged their vile campaign in the Sitting, buying one vote after another, until they finally had enough to pass their never-to-be-sufficiently-accursed “Freedom of Religion Act.” Freedom!? Freedom to turn their backs on the God who’d given all of them life in the first place! That was what they’d meant by “freedom,” and Qwelth—yes, and especially Mykair—were their spiritual heirs, sworn to complete the destruction of Chelth and all Ou had ever stood for.

  It was also what the Band of Myrcos had been formed to oppose. The Band’s political arm continued the struggle in the Sitting, yet it had become little more than a bad political joke, retaining barely an eight of seats. That was why Sokyr had been drawn to the Band’s extralegal arm so many years before. Ou had fought the good fight with every ounce of strength, yet even as ou’d fought, ou’d felt the flame of hope flicker ever more weakly.

  And now Shaymork had sent these demons, these Earthians, disguised as a beneficent alien species, and Qwelth and Mykair saw their opportunity to snuff that flame completely. To stamp out the last flickers of the once mighty blaze of Chelth.

  Not on my watch, the cleric thought grimly, staring into the rain. Not on my watch, and not while there’s a breath within me.

  * * *

  THE SERVER WITHDREW, and Qwelth QwelSynChar picked up the carving knife and fork.

  “I assume that, with your usual greed, you’re going to insist on a drumstick?” ou said, nasal flaps waggling in amusement.

  “You know me entirely too well, my nata,” his guest said solemnly. “Alas, that you should consider it greed, however. I prefer to regard it as the possession of an exquisite palate for the finer things in life which impels me to constantly seek them out.”

  “Like ou said—greed,” Syntevo QwelSynChar put in. She nodded her head sadly, eyes laughing at their guest. “It’s no use trying to fool any of us, Bearer Mykair! We’ve known you far too long. Besides, Qwelth and Charkyno have told me all about what you were like in school, before you fell into the clutches of the church.”

  Mykair ChelMyk nor Chelth chuckled and waved a digit at her.

  “I did not ‘fall’ into the clutches of the church, my daughter,” ou said solemnly. “The incentive package was simply too good to pass up. Think of it! A lifetime warrant to poke into other people’s lives, dictate the way they’re supposed to live, and lay down my own opinions as the very law of Chelth. Who could possibly have passed that up?”

  All three of ous hosts laughed, but Charkyno QwelSynChar, Qwelth’s other consort, nodded his head far more somberly than Syntevo had nodded hers.

  “All very well to joke about it, Mykair,” he said. “But that’s not that bad a description of the way the hard-core Chelthists see the church’s role.”

  “If I don’t joke about it, I’d have to weep, instead, Char,” the primate of the Church of Chelth replied. “The good news is that the hard-core, as you put it—personally, I prefer ‘lunatic fringe’—is slowly but steadily dying out.”

  “And getting increasingly militant as they feel their numbers shrinking,” Qwelth put in, beginning to carve the roasted, stuffed syldak.

  “Exactly,” Charkyno said, darting a look of agreement at oum.

  “Unfortunately, you both have a point,” Mykair acknowledged. Ou picked up ous wine glass and sipped, then set it down with rather more precision than usual beside ous plate. “Would it be reasonable of me to suppose that the reason for this convivial evening is for the three of you to pick my brain about how the Band is likely to react to the Earthians’ arrival?”

  “You wound me, old friend,” Qwelth said, looking up from ous knife and fork. “How could you possibly suppose we would have any such ulterior motive?”

  “The f
act that I’ve known you for more than a century, perhaps?”

  “Well, there is that,” Qwelth conceded.

  “I suppose that if you hadn’t invited me here to ply me with syldak, wine, and conviviality, I would’ve had to make an appointment to discuss it with you in a more official setting,” Mykair said with a sigh.

  “I know, but it’s been too long since we had you over for dinner, too, so it struck me that we might as well combine business and pleasure. I barely had to twist Charkyno’s arm at all to get him to agree to tolerate your presence.”

  “I truly appreciate your willingness to endure my visit, birthmate,” Mykair said solemnly as Charkyno fluttered his nasal flaps derisively. Charkyno had met Qwelth and Syntevo, who’d already paired, when they’d spent several days visiting with his and Mykair’s parents while Qwelth and Mykair were still in upper school together.

  “It’s difficult, but I bear up under the weight of it as best I can,” ous sibling replied with equal solemnity.

  “I’m sure. But, getting to the meat of your concerns,” Mykair said, returning ous gaze to Qwelth, “I’m not sure how the Band’s going to react. Not yet. I’m afraid the odds aren’t in favor of sanity, though. They seldom are where the Band is concerned.”

  Sorrow had replaced ous earlier humor and ou nodded ous head sadly. Ous role as the leader of the Chelthian Church brought oum all too frequently into conflict with the Chelthists, the self-proclaimed “holy warriors” out to restore Chelth to Ous “rightful place” as the acknowledged supreme ruler of the Universe. They seemed unaware of the fact that Chelth was perfectly capable of accomplishing that goal Ouself if that was what Ou wanted. Or of how their own intolerance and willingness to embrace violence must grieve Oum.

  “I think it would astonish some of the truly fanatic Chelthists to discover how deeply I sympathize with them on many levels.” He sipped more wine, then set the glass down again. “But the law is the law, and The Book of Chelth has always recognized the primacy of freedom of belief. That freedom can’t be extended solely to those who already follow Oum. It must be extended to all, or it becomes meaningless for any. There’s no way the Band can admit that, however, and I’m already hearing rumbles about ‘demons.’”

  “Demons?” Syntevo repeated. “That’s absurd!”

  “To anyone with an open mind, of course it is,” Mykair agreed. “But I believe we’re talking about the Band here, aren’t we, my daughter?”

  “Point taken,” she replied. “But still—demons?”

  “A sufficiently narrow reading of The Book can support almost any bigotry, Syntevo,” the priest said sadly. “Of course, one has to twist the words totally out of context, but that’s never a problem for any true zealot. Indeed, it’s the essential core of Chelthite thinking, and I’m quite sure the Band’s position is going to be that whatever else they may be, the Earthians cannot be Chelth’s children. And if they aren’t Chelth’s children, what else could they be?”

  “That’s what I was afraid you were going to say,” Qwelth said, putting the syldak’s fat drumstick on Mykair’s plate. “I’m sure you’ll do everything you can to tamp that down, Mykair. I just wish I felt more confident you’ll be successful.”

  “As do I, Qwelth. As do I.” Mykair nodded ous head again, nostril flaps drooping. “I will do all I can, I promise. I’m very much afraid, though, that in the end it’s going to be up to you and the police, because I’m equally afraid it would be impossible to overestimate these people’s ability to do something outstandingly stupid.”

  . IX .

  PUNS OUTREACH,

  SARTH PLANETARY ORBIT

  “These people are beginning to piss me off,” Dave Dvorak said sourly. “Two and a half months—their months, not ours—” the Sarthian month, called a triad, was forty-two of their long days in length, which came to fifty-three Terran days “—we’ve had delegations scattered to hell and gone all over the frigging planet, and aside from the Republic, Desqwer, and Synchanat, we’re getting nowhere really, really slowly.”

  He glowered around the compartment, as if daring someone to dispute his assessment. An assessment, he knew, which sounded … well, for want of a better word, petulant. But damn it!

  “With all due respect, Mister Secretary, you are attempting to negotiate an alliance with an entire planet.”

  Admiral Francesca Swenson’s tone was mild, and her blue eyes twinkled—undeniably, they twinkled—at him across the conference table, and he hunkered down in his chair, resisting an urge to cross his arms and pout. Aside from the fact that she was eight inches taller, the red-haired Swenson reminded him a great deal of a somewhat younger version of his wife.

  “And your point is?” he growled, then raised his left hand and waved it. “I know—I know! But if we hadn’t gone along with the Qwernians and scattered delegations everywhere, I’ll bet you we’d be a lot farther along than we are now.”

  “They aren’t really ‘scattered everywhere,’” Abu Bakr said. Dvorak turned a betrayed gaze upon him, and Abu Bakr snorted. “Well, they aren’t. They are, perhaps, spread over-broadly, but there aren’t really all that many of them.”

  “They are spread broad enough to make me a little uneasy, though,” Brigadier Wilson said. Abu Bakr looked at him, and he shrugged. “Look, Benjamin and I—” he twitched his head in the direction of Captain Benjamin Bertrand, the commanding officer of PUNS Troy “—have an entire brigade up here. If we could stack up every Sarthian army in one place, we could probably polish them off in an hour or so. But they aren’t stacked up in one place, and if we have to start dropping relief forces over such a broad area, it’s going to spread my people pretty thin.”

  “Well, there are always Longbow and his people,” Abu Bakr said.

  “Of which we have precisely six,” Dvorak pointed out before Brigadier Torino could open his mouth. “And, deploying them would be the one thing we don’t need in Dianto.”

  “I agree it could be … problematic, Sir,” Torino said. “On the other hand, there is that old saying about ‘Needs must when the Devil drives.’”

  “You had to go and mention devils, didn’t you?” Dvorak asked in a disgusted tone, and several people chuckled. Not that there was anything especially humorous about it, the secretary of state reflected. But sometimes all you could do was laugh at the universe’s curveballs.

  Dianto and its daughter states were coming along nicely. If he’d wanted to, he could have signed a bilateral alliance with them tomorrow and let the rest of the planet stew in its juices. In fact, he was tempted to do just that, and he knew Prime Director Qwelth and the members of ous Directorate were beginning to get a little impatient themselves. But the decision before his mission ever left Earth had been that the Planetary Union wasn’t going to be dividing up any of the planets it contacted. The mere fact that they’d contacted Sarth was bound to be traumatic for its existing societies. It couldn’t be any other way, when such a huge shift in their understanding of the galaxy and their place in it had been imposed upon them, and when the Terrans began actually introducing cutting edge technology, that could only get worse. The last thing anyone back home—or Dvorak, for that matter—wanted to do was to Balkanize the planet or create a situation in which power groups which were both theoretically allied to Earth used their new technology against each other! The idea was to find allies, not destroy existing cultures.

  Yet, much as he liked Qwelth, and as much as he’d come to admire the accomplishments of the Republic, Dianto wasn’t without a few prickly spots of its own.

  The worst of them, almost inevitably, he thought sourly, were its religious nuts.

  As a Methodist lay servant, although his certification had lapsed—something to do with not having enough hours in the day—Dvorak was very much a person of faith. He was also, however, a historian, which meant that he fully understood how often religion could be a negative force, usually (although not always) because its tenets had been twisted to serve secular need or ambition
. Because of that, one of the many things he’d come to admire about the Republic was its ecumenicalism, which had spread to New Dianto, Desqwer, and Synchanat, as well. No other nations on Sarth, including the Republic’s ally, the Kingdom of Shanth, had adopted a constitutional amendment guaranteeing freedom of religion and prohibiting the establishment of any official state religion.

  The downside was that, once upon a time, Dianto had had a state religion. The pantheon of Myrcos, one of the original founding clans of the Republic, had been recognized as the preeminent religion of the entire Republic, and its chief deity, Chelth, had been the recognized patron of Dianto. Nobody had questioned that for a long time, but eventually the adherents of other gods had begun to feel marginalized. So the Sitting had amended the Constitution to make all religious beliefs equal.

  The vast majority of Diantians thought that had been a good idea. The ones who didn’t think it had been a good idea, thought it had been a very bad one, and some of them were perfectly willing to resort to force in an effort to turn back the clock and reestablish Chelth’s supremacy.

  Did the Diantians really have to be that much like us? Dvorak thought in exasperation.

  “It’s mostly that idiot Sokyr, Mister Secretary,” Alex Jackson said.

  “And if it was only Bearer Sokyr and his parishioners, that would be one thing,” Dvorak replied. “Unfortunately, he’s not the only Chelthist running around the planet, and not even Bearer Mykair seems to be able to shut him down. I wouldn’t mind so much if he just didn’t like us, but his insistence that we’re ‘demons’ is a genuine pain in the ass. Especially where the vampires are concerned. You don’t think turning your people loose would validate what he’s been saying, Longbow?”

  “Actually, I don’t think it would, for anyone with a genuinely open mind,” Torino said after a moment. “On the other hand, I don’t know how many minds down there are genuinely open, and I’d rather not find out the hard way that I’m wrong.”