by Yronwode
“What do they do there?” Trajan Lear asked.
“They try and convince other people to believe in nothing,” Good told them.
Trajan Lear couldn’t believe this. “Your government permits this? I thought you were a Theocracy?”
Noah Good answered, “We believe in freedom of conscience, to believe as one chooses. If we denied the right to believe in nothing, than we would deprive people of a spiritual choice.”
“Even if that choice leads to the annihilation of the soul?” Trajan Lear asked, which reflected what Iestan believed… that the penalty for atheism was the soul’s extinction.
Noah Good repeated. “We’re very tolerant of the individual’s right to spiritual choice.”
“What are those pink buildings over there,” Matthew Driver asked, possibly to change the subject.
“That’s the Xiyyon Medical Center,” Noah Good Answered.
“It’s huge,” Trajan Lear said, almost whistling.
“It’s the largest Medical Facility on the Planet, providing the full spectrum of medical care, as well as research facilities and a medical university,” Noah Good said, rather proudly. “My mother works there.”
“You must have a lot of sick people in these cities,” Trajan inquired. He remembered the Medi-Plexes on Republic, but nothing on that scale.
“It’s the primary medical facility for the entire Midian Peninsula, and we also treat Xirong when they have problems their facilities can’t handle.” Soon, the tram was passing through the city center. The center was dominated by the huge Starcross Emissarial Complex. Its centerpiece was a pyramid of about 100
meters in height with the logo of the Starcross carved in three sides on the capstone.
Several downtown blocks of ornate palaces surrounded it, none of them more than twenty meters in height, each occupying an entire city block, gray sandstone edged and trimmed with copper, gold, and various crystals.
Noah told them that the palaces were where all the Starcross religious functionaries lived, about 6,000 people. Of course, they did not know that in the palace closest to the Pyramid, in a luxurious sixth floor suite, Eddie Roebuck was freaking out.
“Very posh,” said Trajan Lear, looking over the palaces and parks. “How do they manage to live so well if your total population is under six million and only a fraction of those are Starcrossers.”
“The Brianists have always been a majority, and they control several key industries on the planet,” Noah Good explained. “They control most of the banks and trading houses, and they hold the contracts for processing government revenues.”
“Does that bother you?” Trajan asked. “Not being a … a what did you call them, a Brianist?”
“Not really,” Noah told them. “There’s plenty to go around for everyone. And the Brianists are very good at managing finances.”
“From the looks of those palaces, I would have to agree,” said Trajan Lear.
The tram passed the city center, and several neighborhoods of small, older dwellings. Noah explained that a lot of Brianist families kept homes near the Emissarial complex in addition to apartments in Xenthe. Homes in Xiyyon were exempt from Midian property taxes. There also seemed to be a church or a chapel every few blocks.
“What’s that over there,” Driver asked, pointing to something on the cities far edge that looked like a forest of obelisks.
“The Necropolis,” Noah Good answered. “It’s where Brianists have their ashes interred.”
The tram left the Xiyyon proper, whose boundary was marked by a wall of stone, and came out on the other side into the Otherwise Holy Valley of Xiyyon. The tram passed through verdant parkland, irrigated with hidden networks of drip irrigation.
Noah told him that these had once been gardens that fed the earliest settlers. A few klicks beyond was the Temple of the Christian Saints, a white structure with seven impressively tall spires, surrounded by lush, manicured gardens. It was beautiful, but looked modest compared to the elaborate Starcross Temple. Across a stretch of parkland, Trajan caught a glimpse of the pagoda-like rook of the Temple of the Holy Twins, which seemed to be in a state of bad repair.
The tram pulled to a stop next to the Temple Station and the doors slid open. A pair of uniformed Midian Public Security officers were stationed there, looking bored.
(There had been a suicide bombing at an adjacent tram stop years before, but the Temple Station had never been bombed). An attractive young girl in a white blouse and black plants with a blue stripe down the right leg met them at the bottom of the station stairs. “Welcome, visitors,” she said brightly and hugged both of them before introducing herself as Temperance Kind. “But you can call me ‘Purr,’ everybody else does.”
Introductions were exchanged, and the four of them began walking the path to the temple, which was laid on smooth white stones between terraced gardens of flowers and blossoming trees. The day was already starting to grow hot, but the green plant life and the cooling mist of processed water made it much more bearable.
“Because of safety concerns, we can’t proselytize to the Xirong in the Wilderness of Howling Zeal,” Noah Good was telling them. “We still do some mission work with the Northern Tribes, and in the city of Xenthe. We also do Temple service in lieu of mission work.” He seemed content enough with it.
“What brings you to the Temple?” Purr asked.
It was a little awkward for Matthew Driver to explain how he had traveled through a StarLock and emerged in the Chronos Universe where time stood still, and committing a myriad of sins, few of which he could recall with any amount of certainty, but it had been necessary to survive, he thought. He tried to explain how had begun to fall in love with a woman only to see her transform into a fairy, and how he had spend several months trapped inside a universe that was contained in a bottle. He gave such details as he could remember about why it had been necessary to feed one of their party to a giant slorg (not being able to remember even what a slorg was.) He also recounted how he had been turned into two people, one good and one evil, and battled himself to the death, and several other stories.
Noah Good and Purr Kind listened politely and never once suggested he take some time off and rest in a Mind Rehabilitation Center, as so many on Pegasus had done.
“You seek Atonement,” Noah Good suggested. “You wish to meditate, perhaps in a prayer tower.”
“Affirmative, Atonement,” Matthew Driver agreed.
About then, Trajan excused himself to ride the train back to Xenthe, since he was not a Saintist. And lately, not much of an Iestan either. Their experience in the Chronos Universe had left Matthew with a deeper appreciation of his faith, where it had only left Trajan more confused.
“What do you think of our Temple Complex?” Purr Kind asked as they approached the shining white edifice of the main building.
“It’s very beautiful,” Matthew assured her. “How many Saintists are on this planet?”
“224,000,” Noah told them. “According to last year’s census. It’s not a lot.”
“There’s a whole planet in the Andromeda Sector that has only 193,000 people on it,” Matthew told them.
“How many Saintists live on your planet,” Noah Good asked him. Driver admitted he didn’t know, although it was certainly a small number.
“What are the Temples like on your world?” Purr Kind asked him as they mounted the twenty-two steps to the entrance.
“There’s only one,” Driver answered. “It’s in the City of Faith, and it looks …” He found it hard to remember. Then, he realized he had never actually gone to it. He had seen some images of it. “It’s made of gray-blue rock, and it’s kind of square shaped, with towers around the perimeter.”
“I hope you brought pictures,” Purr Kind said. She smelled nice. Like fresh-washed linens and summer flowers.
“I think there are some on Pegasus, ” Driver answered. “I’ll see if I can get them to you.”
Purr Kind rang the bell, and the three of
them sat down on some white stone benches in front of the temple. “The Council is eager to speak with you, to learn how the church fairs on your world, and on the worlds you have visited.” Matthew Driver was taken aback from this. “I came here to seek Atonement. I wasn’t prepared to brief your Council.” And, besides, he wasn’t sure how they would take the bad news. There really hadn’t been any temples on Meridian, EdenWorld, Bodicea, or Winter. He thought there were on Independence and Aurora, but he didn’t know for sure.
“It will just be an informal discussion, you’ll do fine,” Purr Kind assured him, and then laid a hand on his arm. It was a warm gesture, but Matthew Driver wished he belonged to one of those religions where they just whipped the sin out of you with a leather strap.
Somehow, this made him think of Eddie Roebuck.
Yronwode – Xenthe Security Base Four
A communications outpost hidden inside Xirong territory first caught news of the loss of the Ave Zilla. It received the doomed ship’s distress call, and also monitored Xirong transmissions reporting a bright flash in the sky followed by a fireball that plunged to the ground. They dispatched their data in a regular hourly report to the Midian Security Central Command and Control Complex. It was late in the day when Midian Security Council contacted David Alkema and transported him to the Command and Control Nexus located at the Security Base Four complex.
The Base Four was built into one of the hillsides outside the city’s northeast boundaries. Nearby hills were scorch-marked and strewn with debris. The complex was a frequent target of suicide missile attacks. There was a security fence 500
meters from the main gate and an array of vehicle blocks in between. Some were mechanically pulled into the ground to make a temporary path for the six-wheeled military vehicle that transported Alkema to the facility. After a long and thorough body search, he was allowed inside with instructions to not stray more than two meters from his armed military escorts… emphasis on armed.
Inside, the facility was Spartan, with no furniture or decoration except to support its military function. The interior walls were dove gray trimmed with dull green, and the interior doors, which were hinged on either side and divided up the center like shutters, were a complimentary shade of tan. The material that made up uniforms of his escorts were similarly patterned of gray and tan shapes that blended into each other like camouflage. Three gray stripes marked the sleeve of each uniform over the bicep.
Alkema guessed that the combination of colors indicated rank and function.
Alkema was led through the Command and Control Center and to a secure area in the back behind a double series of reinforced blast doors. The room contained four large two-dimensional displays hung on the walls, mostly displaying views of the countryside, accompanied at the side by legends and constantly changing text about current conditions and security alerts.
Alkema was soon introduced to Major Constant, a middle-aged man with white hair, well-muscled arms but a bit of a gut. Constant switched one of the displays to a map of the rest of the desert continent. “According to our our tracking telemetry, your commander’s ship seems to have crashed in an area we call the Wilderness of Howling Zeal.”
“Our ship carries an emergency transponder to help locate it in the case of an accident,” Alkema told them. “I can give you the relevant frequencies to scan.”
“No need,” answered a woman who identified herself as 1st Captain Steadfast.
“The intense electromagnetic field in the upper atmosphere makes carrier wave communication over distances almost impossible. Unless your ship crashed with sixty kilometers of the base, you’d have no chance of picking up the signal.”
“It’s a strong signal,” said Alkema.
“And we will do our best, but our listening post picked up nothing after the original distress call,” Steadfast went on. “Our other listening posts are scanning for the signal. We’ll have an update at the bottom of the hour.”
“Do we know what happened to the ship?” Alkema demanded. “Were they shot down by the Xirong?”
“We don’t think so,” Constant answered. “The Xirong don’t have the kind of weapons that could touch a ship like yours. We think his flight may have activated the containment system put here by the Commonwealth.”
“Containment system?” Alkema asked. “What is it?”
Constant tried to explain. “The Commonwealth designed Yronwode to be impossible to escape from. Flight above 10,000 meters is not permitted. Anything that passes above that is shot down.”
“Why didn’t you warn us about this?” Alkema demanded.
“It didn’t occur to us,” Major said, unapologetically. “The Kariad had no trouble leaving the planet. We assumed you could leave at will like they did.”
“Do we have any clue at all where the captain might be?” Alkema asked.
“Assuming he survived the crash?” Major Constant asked.
“Za, assuming he survived the crash.” Alkema got the idea that survival represented a great deal to assume. Constant seemed unable to articulate an answer either. So, seeing he was going to be stuck for a whil, Alkema asked, “The Wilderness of Howling Zeal, what is it like?”
“That is the name for the desert wastes across the gulf, west of the city, that are inhabited by the Xirong,” Steadfast explained. She drew his attention to a map. The equatorial continent of Yronwode was shaped something like a dog, and the Peninsula of Xiyyon was the lolling tongue of the dog. The head and chest of the dog constituted the Wilderness of Howling Zeal.
“Based on our tracking of your ship as it left of our airspace, it would have crossed the containment barrier here,” she indicated the dog’s floppy ear. “Therefore, depending on whether it was destroyed in flight, or managed to crash-land, it would have come down anywhere in this region,” she indicated the dog’s neck and back.” Constant shook his head and highlighted a massive, roughly crescent-shaped area of the map display. “If they were at 10,000 meters when hit, they could have come down anywhere in this area, which is about 400,000 square kilometers.” Captain Steadfast zoomed in on the map and magnified an area of dunes and blowing sands that looked much like the surrounding trekless wastes of dunes and blowing sand. “This isn’t real-time geospatial telemetry,” She said apologetically. “This is old data. We don’t have the capability to update the maps more than a few times a year.”
“Are you saying that entire area is desert?” Alkema asked.
“Most of it,” she answered, sounding almost sorry about it.
“Can we send in aerial search teams?” Alkema demanded.
“We’re doing everything we can to assemble the necessary teams,” Constant assured him. “By tomorrow morning, we should be able to send a search and rescue team to the area.”
“That’s hours from now!” Alkema pointed out. “Why so long?”
“That area is deep in Xirong territory,” Constant explained. “We need to gather men who are familiar with it, and make sure they are properly armed and equipped.
We’ve already sent out a call to our Specialized Forces.” Steadfast added, “On the positive side, a few more hours give our listening posts a better chance to pick up intelligence that might indicate where your ship went down.”
“Once we have the teams together, it’s just a matter of getting the go ahead from the First Council, the Security Ward and Ward of Externalities,” Constant told him.
This didn’t make sense to Alkema’s mind. “The Ward of Externalities, why?
What do they have to do with search and rescue?”
“By treaty, we need to secure Xirong permission for overflights of their territory,” Constant said, sounding nearly as frustrated as Alkema. “We have dispatched messages to Phalange Authorities in the crash area, but we probably won’t get a response for several days.”
“I can’t believe you need permission to conduct search and rescue operations?” Alkema repeated incredulously. “Commander Keeler could die while you waited for a re
sponse.”
“Violation of Xirong Airspace would be an act of war,” Steadfast explained.
“The same Xirong who are lobbying suicide missiles into your cities?” Alkema was still incredulous.
“We have to be honorable, even if they are not,” Steadfast said. “The Ward of Externalities will be in intense negotiations with their Xirong counterparts, if they are not already and we hope they will very soon reach an agreement.” Alkema scratched his chin thoughtfully and stared at the map for some seconds. “Would they shoot down your aircraft?”
Steadfast frowned. “Doubtful, but Anyone who authorized or participated in such overflights would be subject to arrest and trial.”
“I don’t believe this,” Alkema said, pounding the desktop. “Okay, we have don’t have a treaty with the Xirong. We’ll do the search. Would that violate the treaty?”
“It would be difficult …” Steadfast began.
“Hell no, it wouldn’t,” Major Constant barked. “It only covers Midian aircraft. And if the Xirong whine about it, let them whine. You may use your own aircraft, and your own personnel for the search.”
Alkema sighed in relief, then began giving orders. “I need my two pilots, Trajan Lear and Matt Driver here as soon as you can find them and bring them to me. We’ll use holoflage shields to lower the risk of detection. As long as Prudence stays under 10,000 meters, we should be fine.”
Steadfast looked at him disapprovingly. “Tell me everything you know about the containment system,” Alkema demanded of her.
“I will release the unclassified files to you,” she said. “But there isn’t much. We keep our aircraft below 8000 meters. Nothing that has encountered the containment system has survived to tell us about it.”
“Is it an energy barrier?” Alkema asked.
Steadfast explained. “We’ve sent probes beyond the 10,000 meter limit, they were destroyed by some kind of interceptor system.”