by Eric Thomson
“I don’t want to impose myself. A good leader knows he shouldn’t get involved when his people are working out novel ways of keeping him under control.”
“Impose yourself? Perish the thought. I insist.”
“In that case, I accept, but as I’ve asked you before, please call me Jonas. When I’m here, I’m nothing more than a long-retired veteran with a life membership in the Lannion Base Officer’s Mess.”
“My apologies.” Barca sounded anything but contrite. “Force of habit. You were my military commander and president for too long.”
One of the mess staff, a woman in a crisp white tunic and black trousers, approached their table. She nodded politely at each of them in turn.
“Good evening and welcome. The private dining room is ready, General.”
“Thank you, Sarah. Could you please add a table setting and warn the kitchen? President Morane will join us.”
The latter gave Barca a sharp glance.
“At once, General.”
“And a chair outside the door for his bodyguard.”
After Sarah walked away, DeCarde turned her eyes on the republic’s head of state and raised a restraining hand.
“Don’t get mad at Adri. The staff would be shocked if we called you ‘Admiral Morane’ or just ‘Jonas.’ After all, you hold the highest office in this star system. Not that your casual attire reflects that exalted status.”
A frown creased Morane’s forehead.
“What do you mean casual? This is one of my best business suits. I know better than visiting the mess while looking like a bag of hammers.”
DeCarde smirked at him.
“Your suits look better with the accouterments of office.”
“I can’t always be a fashion plate like you, Madame Secretary.”
Barca shook her head in mock despair before climbing to her feet.
“Shall we?”
Morane drained his mug and nodded at Warrant Officer Madden, who stood with the energy of a compressed spring. DeCarde noticed his loose, unbuttoned jacket sported a familiar bulge under the left arm.
“I see Madden is carrying his sidearm even in the mess. Excellent.”
“Are you looking for faults in the guard detail, Brigid?”
“No. Just making sure my old regiment is upholding its lofty standards.”
As they headed for the corridor leading to the private rooms, Barca said, “Sarah can bring you a fresh pint of ale, if you like, but I’ve ordered a bottle of the Dereux Grand Cru.”
He grinned at her.
“Forget the ale. Only a fool refuses that particular nectar.”
“And did you wish to visit the Knowledge Vault afterward? I’ll be happy to make arrangements with the duty officer.”
“So I can gaze upon endless ranks of hermetically closed starship-grade alloy cabinets?” Morane shrugged. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass. The vault’s safekeeping is now your responsibility.”
“But it is your brainchild,” DeCarde pointed out.
The low buzz of two dozen conversations died away the moment they left the main room and entered a softly lit passage paneled in pale wood and decorated with paintings depicting Lyonesse landscapes. Barca led them into what was unofficially dubbed the defense chief’s private lounge back when Morane put up the twin stars of a rear admiral and became the first head of the newly independent republic’s military establishment. Neither the furniture nor the ambiance had changed since then. It remained a cozy rather than a luxurious space, albeit one without windows since it was set deep inside the granite cliff that housed Lannion Base’s primary facilities.
Three settings were carefully laid out on one end of a dark, gleaming wooden table capable of accommodating twenty guests with ease. Wine glasses sat beside each while a dark green bottle held pride of place in the center of the small grouping.
Barca indicated the head of the table where the Chief of the Defense Staff usually presided over private functions.
“Would you like to sit in your old chair?”
“I’d rather you did. That seat is for the admiral or general in command, not the president. I’m merely a last-minute guest.”
Barca and DeCarde exchanged glances. At the latter’s silent urging, Barca inclined her head.
“As you wish.”
Once they were seated, Barca reached out to pick up the wine bottle and served her guests before filling her glass. After placing the bottle back in its spot, she raised the glass and said, “To your health.”
“And yours,” Morane replied before taking a sip. He nodded approvingly after swirling the wine around his tongue and swallowing. “Excellent vintage. You keep a fine cellar.”
“I’m keeping faith with the example you set for us when you were Chief of the Defense Staff.” Barca carefully placed her glass on the table. “Ah, here’s our first course.”
After the server left, Barca said, “I’m meeting with Brigid where I know we won’t be overheard because of strange news reported by our intelligence people. I figured if Brigid thought it might be something worrisome, she’d bend your ear. But now that I can tell you directly...”
Morane’s eyes lit up with interest. He had created a security unit, initially at company strength, shortly after taking command of the Lyonesse Defense Force to give himself eyes and ears across the settlement area, as well as a military police capability. Those eyes and ears mainly belonged to part-time soldiers, members of the Ground Forces’ reserve units who lived and worked or studied within the civilian community. Over the years, Morane and his successors had used the intelligence gathered by this eclectic group to head off many problems before they became political firestorms.
“We’re listening,” DeCarde said.
“Have you ever heard of a faction within the Order of the Void calling themselves the Lindisfarne Brethren?”
“No.” Morane and DeCarde shook their heads in unison.
“Isn’t Lindisfarne the Order’s homeworld?” The latter asked before taking a bite of her appetizer, smoked fish.
Morane nodded.
“Indeed. That’s where Dawn Trader was heading when we saved them from those rogue frigates on our way here, remember?”
“Sure. It’s on the other side of the empire from Lyonesse, or rather the former empire, right? I wonder whether the Order’s motherhouse still stands.”
“Chances aren’t particularly good. If memory serves, it has several wormhole termini with connections to what were frontier star systems a generation ago.” Morane speared a piece of fish with his fork.
DeCarde watched him enjoy the delicate flavors. “They liked living dangerously.”
“They preferred living as far from Wyvern and the imperial throne as possible. This is delicious, Adri. But you were saying?”
“Several of my reservists, university students, heard whispers of these Lindisfarne Brethren while interning at the abbey and the outlying priories. Strangely enough, those whispers come mainly from friars and not sisters.”
“Did your spies find out what this new faction represents?”
A grimace spread across Barca’s face.
“Not directly, but my intelligence analysts examined the Order’s activities over the last few years and think the Lindisfarne Brethren want Lyonesse to become the Void’s new motherhouse.”
“So?” DeCarde asked. “If the Lyonesse Abbey is the only one left, then it becomes the de facto motherhouse.”
“Perhaps, but there could be a wholly secular political component. Our records show the Order ran Lindisfarne as a colonial fief. The head of the Order acted as governor in all but name, while the planetary administration was, at least at the higher levels, entirely staffed with Brethren, mostly friars.”
Morane cocked a skeptical eyebrow at Barca.
“And you think this Lindisfarne Brethren faction wants control of Lyonesse?”
“Do you still see Sister Gwenneth from time to time? You two were co-conspirators back in the da
y.”
“Sure. She visits Emma and me every few weeks for a day or two of rest and relaxation away from the abbey. We keep it quiet, so the news nets don’t pry.”
“Did she ever mention the Lindisfarne Brethren or discuss her abbey proclaiming itself the Order’s motherhouse?”
“No. We stay away from politics, both the secular and the theological kind, as much as possible. When I’m home, I’d rather talk of anything but those.”
Barca took a sip of wine, ate a bite, then asked, “If this were merely a push to re-designate her abbey as Lindisfarne’s replacement, don’t you think she would have mentioned it? Then there’s the apparent secrecy. Again, if it were simply a matter of proclaiming Lyonesse as the home of the Order’s motherhouse, why the whispering?”
“Adri could be on to something.” DeCarde pointed her fork at Barca. “It’s no secret many within the Order think they should be the guardians of the Knowledge Vault instead of the military. Control of the planet’s administration would give them their wish.”
Morane let out an exasperated sigh.
“I thought we solved that question long ago when I asked Friar Whatshisname, the loudmouth who is the Order’s designated boor — pardon me, chief administrator — how many divisions the Almighty could field to protect the vault from barbarians and unscrupulous politicians.”
“Friar Loxias. We believe he’s one of the driving forces behind these Lindisfarne Brethren.”
“Oh.” Morane, now wearing a thoughtful expression, finished his appetizer, then sat back and took a sip of wine. “Assuming this faction wants the Order to control Lyonesse and set up a theocracy of sorts, how can they believe the people would stand for it? The planet’s original colonists and most immigrants before the empire’s fall were fleeing tyranny. They’d never let the Void sweep aside our republic’s institutions.”
“That is the puzzling part,” Barca admitted. “We can spin theories all night long, but short of suborning a sister or a friar and spying on the Lindisfarne Brethren from within, I can’t see a way we might determine whether this movement is benign or malign. I was hoping Brigid might ask that you sound Gwenneth out when you next meet. If we can settle the matter while not alarming anyone in the administration, especially the vice president, so much the better. With elections coming up in just under two years, she’s more skittish than usual since she fancies herself as your potential successor.”
An ironic grin briefly twisted Morane’s weathered features.
“Agreed.”
DeCarde chuckled at his expression.
“Don’t be shy, Jonas. Tell us what you really think of your vice president.”
“Charis is a talented administrator, a decent human being, and has Lyonesse’s best interests at heart. The fact I’m not a fan of her style is neither here nor there. I made sure the constitution required the senate to choose the president and vice president separately from each other. That means I can’t complain if they gave me someone with whom I don’t enjoy the same sort of easy relationship as I have with you two. But she’s appointed a lot of the right people.”
This time, DeCarde scrunched up her face as if she’d caught a whiff of rot.
“Not all of her appointments are what you might consider the right people.”
“If you’ll recall, I nominated a few duds as well during my first term. Sometimes, you’re stuck with folks who aren’t your picks because of political considerations. The president serves the people, and the people’s various constituencies deserve broad representation at the highest levels.”
“How did we turn into politicians? Before landing on Lyonesse, I was nothing more than an honest Pathfinder battalion commander and you a starship captain.”
“Someone needed to step up once we decided the empire was finished for good. I’ll speak with Gwenneth and find out what’s going on in her flock.”
— 3 —
Lieutenant Commander Kuusisten, a stocky, muscular forty-five-year-old with close-cropped blond hair and icy blue eyes set deep in a broad, angular face, turned toward Sister Katarin and stared at her with raised eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’m almost one hundred percent sure a man’s mind is powering that rescue beacon and he’s not one of those rare friars whose ability approaches that of the sisters. This mind is too undisciplined, but it feels unusually powerful. We must find him, Captain. One such as he belongs in the abbey, not on a ruined world.”
“If you can pinpoint his location, we’ll send a shuttle.”
Katarin gave him an amused smile.
“My abilities don’t work like a targeting sensor. When we’re in orbit, I shall give you the general area, then go with the shuttle so I can guide it to the precise spot.”
“Understood.”
“I should bring Sister Amelia with me. Experiencing a real rescue would serve her well.”
“As you wish. There’s plenty of room in the shuttle, even if I’ll be sending an armed landing party.” When he saw the question in her eyes, Kuusisten said, “We don’t know what conditions are like on the surface nowadays. If I lose you and Sister Amelia because I neglected basic precautions, I might as well not go home.”
Katarin inclined her head in acknowledgment.
“Of course.”
After staring at Yotai’s image on the primary display for a few heartbeats, Katarin rose and left the bridge to find Sister Amelia. She wanted her opinion of the mind behind the beacon now that they were closer. Katarin intercepted the younger woman as she emerged from her cabin, eyes bright with eagerness.
Amelia halted abruptly and bowed her head. “I was coming to see you.”
“Why?”
“The mind of a man powers the beacon, one untrained in our ways.”
“You reached this conclusion based on what evidence?” Katarin joined her hands loosely at her waist and watched Amelia with an air of anticipation, head tilted to one side.
“His thoughts are unfocused, undisciplined, yet powerful, but they seem more aggressive than those of our sisters and friars. I cannot tell you why I’m convinced a man carries that beacon, I merely know it is so.”
Katarin nodded. “Agreed. Did Cory and Milene hear him?”
“They did, though not as clearly as I, and concur.”
“Excellent. You will accompany me aboard the shuttle when we retrieve this wild talent.”
Amelia inclined her head again. “I’m honored to take part in the rescue. It’s been a long time since the last one.”
“Then please prepare. We will leave before the end of the watch.”
**
“Sisters.”
Lieutenant Koris Leloup, Dawn Hunter’s second officer and, for the occasion, leader of the landing party, waved Katarin and Amelia up the shuttle’s aft ramp. He, along with the dozen bosun’s mates already aboard, was clad in black combat armor with matching battle harness and helmet. They wore the Lyonesse Navy’s double-headed condor and anchor insignia above their helmet visors, badges of rank in the center of the chest, and the ship’s crest, a stylized representation of the goddess Artemis superimposed on a rising sun on their right upper arms. Few noticed the irony of a pagan deity used to represent a naval vessel that once belonged to a monotheistic religious order. Still, Katarin always felt a spark of amusement every time she saw the badge.
She smiled at Leloup, whose seamed face was the only part of his body not covered by armor, though that would change once he lowered his visor. Commissioned from the ranks, like all Lyonesse officers save for those who once belonged to the Imperial Armed Services, he exuded a calm competence honed by years of salvage missions into the former empire’s most dangerous parts.
“Is everything ready, Koris?”
“Indeed, Sister,” he replied in a deep, gravelly voice. “Petty Officer Anton is at the controls and expecting both of you on the flight deck. Take the spare jumps seats so you can guide him to the target.”
“While you sit at the gunnery stat
ion?”
A faint smile played across Leloup’s thin lips. “Of course. And you’ll stay on the flight deck once we land. Unarmored Void Sisters cannot leave the shuttle.”
“And what if we wore the same tin suits as you?” Katarin reached out and rapped Leloup’s breastplate with her knuckles.
“You’d still not be allowed out — Captain’s orders. We don’t know what the conditions are on Yotai and must assume we face a hostile environment. The Void Brethren might hold naval warrants, but you’re still non-combatants.”
“Understood.” Katarin nudged Amelia and nodded at the door leading to the shuttle’s flight deck. “Let’s settle in.”
A few minutes later, the small spacecraft nosed through the force field keeping the hangar deck pressurized when the space doors were open, giving Katarin a splendid view of Yotai from low orbit. At this altitude, the devastation wrought by Empress Dendera’s Retribution Fleet a generation earlier was no longer visible, thanks to the fast-growing native flora. However, she knew the slightly discolored patches along major rivers and near most estuaries hid ruined cities.
Once the shuttle was clear, Petty Officer Anton set it on a course that would take them to the area surrounding the ruins of Yotai’s former capital, Lena. As they descended, Amelia, under Katarin’s close supervision, periodically reached out to touch the map displayed on a screen between Anton and Leloup’s stations, her finger tracing ever-smaller rings around Lena and its former spaceport.
None of them spoke a word, though Anton acknowledged each of Amelia’s indications with a nod while Leloup used the craft’s sensor suite to scan the area. After a few minutes, he let out a grunt of surprise. One of the side displays came to life with an aerial view of what appeared to be the Lena Spaceport’s runway, or what remained of it.
The sensor zoomed in with dizzying speed, focused on the wreckage of a small starship that seemed to have crash-landed recently. The surrounding vegetation still showed clear charring from out-of-control thrusters.