by Adam Carter
Hart blinked. She had never known anything like this to happen and could hardly even believe it was happening now.
“The Themistonians are under our protection,” the male voice returned. “Go away.” The transmission was cut and the sword-ship changed its position so it was pointed directly at the pirate vessel. It was a standoff, and one Hart knew the pirates were going to lose.
“Mr Sturgeon,” the captain said, “get us out of here.”
Sturgeon nodded to Hart, who veered the Buccaneer to the side until they gained a clear view of space. Then she put all power to the engines and shot their vessel onwards. She half expected for the sword-ship to fire on them as they passed, but it did not. Instead the pirates were able to view the Jupiter’s Glory in all its magnificence as they passed it. Up close, its surface was formed of dull greys, pitted with repair towers and viewports, yet still maintaining a sword-like sheen.
Once they had passed it, Hart glanced back. The mystery woman on the other end of the transmitter had cared enough to stop Hart from being struck, but her concern had not stretched far enough to destroying the pirate ship. It seemed even Good Samaritans only cared as much as they needed to.
“Eyes front, runt,” Sturgeon said, cracking her round the head with his hand.
Hart turned her attention back to the starscape ahead of her. She had learned to ignore the pain, to ignore the blood, and no longer had any tears to shed. She was twenty-one years of age and her life was already over. She was resigned to her fate, for it seemed there was no one out there who was willing to save her.
CHAPTER TWO
Father Dumah stared into the sky with disdain. Themisto was a small world and receiving visitors was never a welcome occurrence. The two craft coming in to land had drawn a great deal of attention – one was Themistonian and brought their children home, while the other was an immense sword of a vessel and was plunging towards the soil as though it intended to pierce the very ground.
“Pah!” he said. “The Lord surely tests us this day. Lo, what blasphemous rains the clouds do bring upon fair Themisto.”
Beside him, Sister Ariel raised an eyebrow, although she knew Dumas could not see the action. The people of Themisto were covered in so many layers it was impossible to see who was beneath the robes. The idea was that upon first glance no one could tell a Themistonian’s age, sex, skin colour or anything else which would mark them as an individual. Themistonian society was all about religious worship, and Themisto itself was so small that the entire world held the same religious beliefs. In her twenty-five years of life, Ariel had never once questioned her beliefs, just as no one else on Themisto ever questioned. Through choice, Themisto was cut off from the rest of the Jupiter system, and everyone benefited from the arrangement. If Themistonians kept to themselves, they could not be influenced or led astray by foreigners, and nor could they in turn affect said foreigners.
It was the perfect religion, for it kept itself to itself and didn’t bother anyone.
Ariel watched the first craft land, although indeed the sword-like vessel did plunge into the ground, pushing itself through the soil before coming to a rest. She could not imagine why a spacecraft would be designed to punch into the soil like that instead of lying flat like any ordinary craft, but knew there would have to be some reason for it.
“Defilers,” Dumah muttered, which was to everyone else a shout. “Sacred Themisto has been wounded, stabbed by the outsiders who even now desecrate our ways.”
“You know,” Ariel said, “as welcoming committees go, I’m beginning to think you were a bad choice.”
“I, Dumah, am head of the Church of Themisto.”
“God’s the head of the Church of Themisto, dear.”
Even through his many layers of robes, Dumah appeared flustered. Ariel did not bother to hide her smile, for she knew he could not see it. Before he could respond to her, she grabbed him by the arm and marched him towards the waiting vessels. Already the Themistonian youths had emerged from their own craft, their excitement evident through their single layers. It was a foible of youth that they often walked around with only the one robe, which defeated the object of people not being able to tell a Themistonian’s age. Unlike many of her people, Ariel knew a fair bit about the wider Jupiter system and had heard stories of teenagers in other cultures wearing earrings or getting tattoos, even spiking up their hair. Teenagers rebelled, it was what they did no matter the society they lived in, so Themistonian teenagers were no different. Still, no Themistonian would ever commit the cardinal sin of walking around with their skin on show.
The teenagers lost some of their excitement as Dumah growled at them. “Foolish youths,” he boomed. “That joyride almost cost you your lives. To the confession box, each of you, vile curs without leashes.”
Ariel did not contradict Dumah. He was, as he had said, the head of the church, but more than that he was right in what he was saying. The youths had taken out their ship for no other reason than to fly around space for a while, and they had fallen foul of trouble. From the transmission they sent prior to returning home, they had run afoul of pirates and had only survived due to the intervention of the sword-ship now presently embedded into Themistonian soil. Ordinarily, visitors were discouraged, but the youths, in their joy at still being alive, had invited their rescuers back for a celebration. Once the invitation had been extended and accepted, even Dumah would not be rude enough to refuse.
While the youths slinked off to their punishments, Ariel and Dumah awaited their guests. Looking over the vessel shaped like a sword, Ariel found she was incredibly impressed.
“What do we know of these people?” she asked.
“Carpoans? Nothing. Well, a little. Carpo is a small moon, as is Themisto. They are a violent, warlike people and are not to be trusted. They are likely unbelievers, infidels and blasphemers. But at this moment in time,” he added through gritted teeth, “they also hold us in their debt.”
Ariel knew little about Carpo herself, no more than that in fact. When settlers had left Earth hundreds of years earlier they had colonised the rest of the solar system. Jupiter itself was a gas giant, so it was difficult for people to live there except in floating bubble cities. The satellites of Jupiter, however, had been another matter, and most had been settled. With so many moons, the Jupiter system was the most powerful in the entire solar system, with the most variety of cultures. Some of the larger moons, such as Ganymede or Io, were home to millions of people and dozens of countries. The smaller ones, like Carpo and Themisto, held a tiny fraction of those populations. Ariel did not blame the Themistonian youths for wanting to see the Jupiter system, but it would have been nice if they had managed to do so without having brought warrior Carpoans to their home.
Still, all things considered, Ariel was rather looking forward to foreign company. Perhaps they would be able to help further with their problems, but that all depended on how receptive Carpoans were to suggestions. If nothing else, it would offer a fresh change to the daily routine.
With a grinding sound, the door to the sword-ship began to lower and Ariel readied herself to greet their guests.
Her eyes widened at what she saw, for she knew Dumah was going to explode.
There were three people revealed by the lowering ramp. The first was a well-muscled man dressed in what appeared to be workman’s trousers and a mechanic’s jacket. Beside him was a smaller man, wilier in appearance. He had a thin, wiry frame and a scratchy beard he seemed unable to control. Ariel would have placed him somewhere in his forties, while the muscular man would have been ten years younger. The third member of their group was marginally the youngest, and it was she whom Ariel knew would cause Dumah the most concern. She was slim, with long dark hair cascading down her back, and her attire was entirely black. It almost appeared to be a uniform to Ariel’s eyes, but there was no insignia anywhere she could see.
The three visitors started down the ramp and Ariel tensed herself for the volcano beside her.
&n
bsp; “So this is Themisto,” the bearded man said. “Reminds me of home.”
Ariel approached them before Dumah could say a word. “Greetings, travellers. You have the gratitude of Themisto for saving the lives of our youths. We would be honoured were you to enjoy our hospitality while in our care.”
The bearded man went to say something, but the woman cut him off. “Very kind of you,” she said, extending her hand. “Iris Arowana.”
Ariel accepted it with joy. “Sister Ariel.”
“Sister?” the bearded man asked. “You’re not my sister.”
Arowana rolled her eyes. “The whole planet is religious, Wraith. I’m guessing pretty much everyone here is either a sister or a brother.”
“Indeed,” Ariel said. “We take our religious order very seriously.”
“Oh,” Wraith said. “If you’re all monks and nuns, how do you reproduce?”
Ariel sensed the growl coming from beside her and quickly sought to introduce her companion. “This is Father Dumah. He is head of our church and is equally pleased by your presence.”
“Yes,” Dumah said through clenched teeth, “I could not be happier about it.”
“Father Dumah,” the muscular man said, extending his own hand, “a pleasure to meet you. Gordon Hawthorn.”
“Captain Hawthorn,” Dumah said, begrudgingly accepting the offered hand.
“Captain Hawthorn,” Hawthorn said with a glint to his eye. “If only.”
“I do not understand.”
“He means,” Arowana said, “I’m the captain. He’s my pilot. Wraith is our doctor.”
“You?” Dumah said, retracting his hand so quickly it was as though he had been mistakenly stroking a viper. “You are the captain?”
Ariel had known this was going to be bad, but suddenly everything had become a whole lot worse. “I should show you to your chambers,” she suggested, but before she could move an inch Dumah began to shout.
“The temptress strides brazenly into our midst, displaying her wares to draw us to the Devil’s side, and now you meekly admit your subservience to her reptilian charms?”
“Hey,” Arowana said, unconsciously pulling her top together at her chin, although her shirt had not been displaying any skin beneath her throat. “Who are you calling a reptile?”
Hawthorn laughed, which he quickly turned into a cough when Arowana glowered at him.
“Father Dumah,” Ariel said, keeping in mind these people were Carpoan soldiers, “please remember these kind people saved our children.”
“Saved their bodies and corrupted their souls, no doubt.”
“Hey!” Arowana said again, more forcefully this time.
“I told you this would happen,” Wraith said. “No one in their right mind ever goes to Themisto.”
“Please,” Ariel said, “we’re getting off on the wrong foot here. Themistonian society isn’t like what you’re used to.”
“Foul harlot,” Dumah said, producing a wooden cross from his robes and holding it before him.
Arowana eyed him strangely. “You’re telling me.”
“Our society is enclosed,” Ariel explained. “We have little outside contact and … well, our men are a bit …” She leaned in closer and said behind her hand, “A bit sexist.”
“I should retire here,” Hawthorn said, which earned him another glower.
“We are not a bit sexist,” Father Dumah said. “We have simply realised that women are the root of all evil. Labour pains – everyone knows they are God’s punishment for the sins of Eve.”
“No,” Arowana said, “not a bit sexist at all.”
“Please,” Ariel said, knowing full well she would be repeating that word a lot. “Just bear with us. Our men are also a little … uh …”
“Absolve my eyes, Lord,” Dumah said, raising his hands to the heavens. “Cleanse me of temptation.”
“Yeah,” Arowana said, “I think I know the word you’re looking for. Is it just the men?”
“Yes,” Ariel said.
“Why’s that?”
“No one knows. It’s probably genetic degradation. Themisto is so small we have only a limited pool of people, so our genes could well have been affected by inbreeding.”
“Just the men?” Arowana said, scratching her chin as she contemplated this. “Well this trip’s already turned out to be more interesting than I figured it would be.”
“Genetic degradation,” Dumah spat, which wasn’t a good idea since if he really did spit it would be into his robes. “The Lord works as the Lord works.”
Ariel did not want to get too involved in an explanation of Themistonian society, but the men and women of their world were almost different species. The men were so obsessed with their religion they could never let go of the past, while the women were forward-thinking and always open to alternative ideas. It meant the men thought they were superior but did not notice the women were running everything.
Explaining all of this to outsiders was not something she would have been comfortable with, however, so she merely said, “We have prepared a feast in your honour. Our finest chefs have been hard at work and I think you’ll be extremely pleased with their results.”
“A feast,” Wraith said, clapping his hands. “You can be as rude as you like if there’s food at the end of it. Lead on.”
Ariel was glad at least one of the strangers was not offended by Father Dumah’s reception. Hawthorn and Arowana exchanged a glance which told Ariel they were more intrigued than offended, which was also good. As she led them towards the feast, some of Ariel’s tension fell away. She had never before met Carpoan warriors but they were nothing like she had expected. So long as they could continue to not offend their guests, there was even a chance the Carpoans would not annihilate their society upon leaving.
Plus, Captain Arowana had drawn Ariel’s interest. Perhaps dinner would be more interesting than any of them had expected.
CHAPTER THREE
There had never been a question of saving the lives of the Themistonian youths. Hawthorn had steered the Jupiter’s Glory towards the incident the moment he had realised what was going on and neither Arowana nor Wraith had objected. Saving people from pirates was without doubt a good thing – it was accepting the invitation to Themisto that had provoked the debate. From Hawthorn’s perspective, he had only ever heard snippets about Themisto and had not really believed any of it. All Wraith thought about was the party they were being offered, but it was Arowana who had warned them against doing anything other than flying off in the opposite direction.
As the three of them sat down to dinner, Hawthorn was beginning to understand Arowana’s reservations. Arowana knew a lot about everything and took great joy in reminding him of the fact at every possible opportunity. Hawthorn had put his foot down on this occasion, mostly just to spite her, but Dumah’s reaction was causing him some concerns.
The feast itself was grand, with what appeared to be several courses laid out at once. Hawthorn noted there were several different types of fish on the table – grilled or braised in a variety of ways – just as there were many types of bread. There was plenty of other food but he could not get the image of fish and loaves out of his mind. He also noticed there were two different drinks on the table: jugs of water and bottles of wine.
Their companions were an odd bunch as well. In addition to Sister Ariel and Father Dumah, there were two others, named Cassiel and Temeluchus. All four of them wore ridiculous amounts of clothing, although Hawthorn noted it was Dumah and Temeluchus who wore the most. They were the two men, but if one could tell a Themistonian’s sex by how many layers they were wearing it defeated the object of their covering up at all.
Also, the excess of clothing made eating very difficult, and Hawthorn saw four forks struggling to work their way through the scarves and hoods as each fought to find a mouth.
“So,” Hawthorn said, pouring some wine, “what do you do around here, Temeluchus?”
“Brother Temeluchus shall no
t answer,” Father Dumah said. “He enjoys a vow of silence.”
Hawthorn paused in pouring his drink. If no one could see Brother Temeluchus and no one could hear him, what was the point of him even being at the feast? “Well,” he said as he set the bottle back down, “that must be handy. I mean, if you don’t ever speak, Temeluchus, no one knows whether it’s really you under there. You could hire out body doubles and go lie naked on a beach some … ow!”
He glanced across to Arowana, who was scowling at him. Somehow Hawthorn managed to refrain from rubbing his injured shin.
“Father Dumah,” Arowana said, “we offer thanks for this fine meal and for your kindness.”
“Speak not pleasant words to me, harlot, for know I well the stickiness of a woman’s honey set to trap the unwary fly.”
“You’re welcome,” Sister Ariel said quickly. Hawthorn was under the impression she was terrified of her guests, which stood to reason since she believed they were Carpoan warriors. He sipped at his wine to hide his smile. They were no more Carpoan warriors than Father Dumah was an atheist. Wraith was from Carpo, but his crew had been killed off a while back. Hawthorn and Arowana had hooked up with Wraith when he was in need of a pilot and the three had stuck together ever since. Flying around in a Carpoan sword-ship was handy for clearing the spaceways of potential trouble, and since they had landed none of the Themistonians had even thought to ask about the rest of their crew.
“Are you on a mission?” Sister Cassiel asked with a great deal of eagerness to her voice. Hawthorn pegged her to be around eighteen, perhaps slightly younger, for she was certainly shorter than the others and had a thinner frame.
“We’re on a long-distance assignment,” Wraith said while he tore at a loaf of bread. Lies came easily to that man, perhaps because the telling of a lie was met with instant punishment back on his home world of Carpo, so he was revelling in his freedom. “We’ve been delivering clean water to orphans.”