by Eric Thomson
“No doubt. But he’ll get them back once they realize I won’t be attending weekly cabinet meetings or visiting Government House regularly.”
A mysterious smile softened Morane’s craggy features.
“I think we can arrange things and make you appear like an honored friend of the powerful and sit at their tables without actually having you interfere in secular governance.”
“I should mislead the Brethren?”
“Would it be misleading if you attended the president’s weekly cabinet breakfast once a month? We invite community leaders regularly. The only reason you’ve never attended is because you never accepted the invitation.”
“I was making a point.” Gwenneth gave Morane a mildly exasperated glare. “Render unto Caesar and all that.”
“Don’t I know it. My attempts at enticing you out of the abbey over the years were for naught.” He gave her an annoyed glare of his own. “Just play along. I know you can do that. From now on, you’ll be the honored guest every last Thursday of the month. Enjoy the meal, chat with the secretaries. Exchange suspicious looks with Brigid DeCarde. Have fun. The food is pretty good too. Then go home knowing Loxias and his crew saw nothing more than their abbess breaking bread with the most powerful in the republic. There’s no misleading if they believe what they want. Simply say that whatever you heard came under the banner of cabinet confidence and keep silent.”
Gwenneth took a sip of her drink, eyes on the bay’s dark waters, then said, “Very well. I can play that game in the interests of keeping the peace.”
“Excellent. Expect a formal invitation by the end of the week.”
“Thank you, Jonas. Though I think Loxias will eventually see through the ploy when he notices nothing much has changed in the way we interact with the government.”
“It’s called buying time so you can figure out another way of bleeding off your friars’ excess energy and ambition. Perhaps you should set up a men-only priory or sub-abbey or whatever you want to call it on Isolde and charge it with opening the first permanent settlement. Brigid came up with the idea, by the way.”
An amused chortle escaped Gwenneth’s lips.
“Oh, dear. I can’t see many of them volunteering to hack a new house out of the wilderness, separated from the rest of us by the expanse of the Middle Sea. My flock isn’t exactly known for its pioneering spirit. But I’ll propose it nonetheless, out of sheer devilment. Who knows? I might find a few dozen takers; in which case I’ll speak with the Home Secretary at one of those breakfasts and offer the abbey’s help with efforts to open Isolde. But enough about my problems. How is your retirement plan to create a Defense Force Command and Staff College progressing?”
“Surprisingly well. The university finally accepted our proposal we build it next to the Lannion campus so we can share facilities and personnel. The plague ships seem to have muted those among the faculty who dislike anyone in a uniform.”
Morane didn’t mention the latest incursion, which bypassed Outer Picket. That news was still embargoed at his orders until the Navy examined the wreckage and adjusted its dispositions. Nor did he tell Gwenneth progress on developing an antiviral was going nowhere. The Barbarian Plague had stumped the finest minds in the republic.
**
“She’s visiting with President Morane at his private residence again.” Sister Keleos dropped into an empty chair at Loxias’ table in a private corner of the refectory. The evening meal was still more than an hour away, and the Lindisfarne Brethren leaders had the hall to themselves. “He’s probably behind her unexpectedly giving in to our demands.”
Loxias nodded.
“Morane is a shrewd operator, as he proved before and during his time in office, and he won’t want us involved in secular governance, let alone taking charge of the Knowledge Vault. Which means Gwenneth is playing us for fools. This isn’t over yet.”
“Then you’d better find another way of ousting her. We looked like right fools during that assembly, after the lobbying we did to convince folks it was time for an orderly transfer of power.”
Though Keleos kept any hint of emotion from coloring her words, everyone at the table knew she expected to become the next abbess and was therefore thoroughly annoyed Gwenneth not only didn’t step down but became Summus Abbatissa instead.
“I will. A shame we couldn’t make our move today, but everyone will see soon enough what a sham her proclamation was. We’ve waited this long. A few months more won’t make a difference. Once Morane leaves office, things will change. I’ll talk to my non-Brethren friends and see how we can build support on the outside now that we’re formally the motherhouse.”
“Making an end-run on Gwenneth and Morane’s little machinations, eh?” Sandor gave him a skeptical glance. “Now that she’s wise to our plans, it could be harder than you think.”
“Perhaps.” Loxias scratched his salt-and-pepper beard. “But here’s something Gwenneth might not realize. As Summus Abbatissa, she can amend the Rule if enough Brethren vote in favor and said amendments don’t violate Canon Law. Canon Law doesn’t cover a lot of the Order’s current policies and practices. For instance, abbesses ruling unchecked by a Council of Elder Brethren, or appointing only sisters as heads of abbeys and priories.”
“The latter practice exists,” Keleos said, “because Brethren leading houses are those with a strong talent, for obvious reasons, which rules out friars. That’s reality. Besides, the Order was women only for the first half of its history, pretty much until we needed a fleet of starships under our control, which means most consider it an unwritten clause in the Rule. As for a council? I can’t think of a single abbey with one in living memory.”
A sly smile split Loxias’ face.
“Other than Lindisfarne, you mean? It had the ruling council, the one governing the entire Order.”
“Oh.”
“Oh, indeed. Surely you didn’t think I’d be without a backup plan. Since this is now the motherhouse, Gwenneth can hardly resist calls for a Council of Elder Brethren based on a venerable precedent. And as for friars with insufficient talent, if we can convince Stearn Roget his future lies with us, he’ll be the perfect candidate for our first prior and then abbot. Gwenneth’s victory will be short-lived. In fact, I think this outcome could be even better for us in the long run.”
**
Roget sensed Seled Hyson’s vicious mind lashing out unconsciously on the other side of the door before it opened. He steeled himself for another bout of migraine while embarking on one of the meditation exercises Sister Mirjam taught him as a way of developing defenses. When Hyson entered the interview room, the mental assault intensified. She gave Roget her usual lewd wink and blew him a kiss. For a fraction of a second, he felt an unaccustomed surge of rage at her behavior, and something in his head slammed shut like a starship airlock.
He no longer picked up Hyson’s roiling emotions, and a wave of indescribable relief washed over him. It must have shown in his face because Hyson gave him a curious glance as she sat across from them. That glance caught Amelia’s attention, and she gave him a brief, but searching stare, then a nod of understanding. For the first time since Roget started accompanying Amelia to her counseling sessions, he felt no fatigue when their hour with Hyson ended, let alone his usual migraine.
When the next prisoner entered for his turn with Amelia, Roget felt nothing, to his immense relief. Nor did he sense the emotions of the third, though he was tempted to open that mental airlock just a wee bit and see if he could close it at will. As they exited the Supermax compound at midday after a three-session morning that usually left Roget semi-catatonic, Amelia gave him a smile of encouragement.
“You finally did it, didn’t you?”
He nodded.
“Yes. But don’t ask me how. All I remember is getting pissed at Seled’s crudeness when she entered, and that was it. A mental shield sprang up from who knows where. I didn’t dare crack it even a bit in case I couldn’t raise it fully again. I cannot e
xpress my relief at no longer dealing with the madness consuming those deranged souls.”
“Excellent. Mirjam was hoping you’d experience a breakthrough of this sort.”
“Does that mean I no longer need to sit in on your counseling sessions?”
“You don’t enjoy my company?” Amelia asked in a playful tone.
“You’re delightful. The prisoners, not so much.”
“I’m afraid that until we know for sure you can raise and lower your mental shields intuitively in any given situation, you’re stuck with me, and you’ll be seeing more of dear Seled and her fellow sufferers.”
Roget let out a sad grunt. “Figures.”
“Did you give any more thought about taking vows and joining us? Rikkard mentioned you’ve been sitting in on classes with the postulants and going through the recommended reading list.”
“Yes,” he replied after a moment of hesitation. “Part of me enjoys the priory’s peaceful environment, and the abbey’s as well. I lived a turbulent existence until I landed on Lyonesse, and I now realize it was so even before I boarded Antelope. It might be possible I left Scotia to escape and not because of a desire for adventure.”
He tapped the side of his head with an extended index finger.
“That dratted sixth sense in there is probably to blame.”
“Quite likely. Most of those with a latent but strong talent don’t live tranquil lives before coming to us, and yours is stronger than any I’ve seen. You could do a lot worse than become a friar and live among people who understand. Now that Sister Gwenneth has declared us the Order’s motherhouse, we’ll see a lot of new opportunities for friars and those sisters who aren’t interested in the traditional monastic disciplines.”
Roget gave her a curious look.
“Why does it matter? An abbey is an abbey, and since we don’t know whether any others survive out there,” he jerked a thumb at the cerulean sky, “Lyonesse might not be mothering a damned thing.”
“The motherhouse may change our Rule, provided those changes don’t affect Canon Law. It means we can adapt to our new circumstances and take a more active part in the republic’s future. One day Lyonesse will venture out into the galaxy again and reunite humanity. The Order of the Void will go with those starships and plant fresh seeds on human worlds devastated by the empire’s collapse.”
“Sounds romantic, though I doubt either of us will live long enough to witness that.”
“Nor will the next few generations of Brethren. Yet our role is preparing the Order for that day by strengthening it and ensuring it has a say in the republic’s future. Since Gwenneth is now the Summus Abbatissa, the Order’s supreme abbess, she can do whatever is necessary.”
“Still seems a little strange to me. Nothing’s changed. There are no new abbeys, let alone Void houses on other worlds.”
“That’s because you don’t see this as one of us. Everything has changed from our point of view. By becoming the new Lindisfarne, we’re free of the past because we acknowledge we’re the last survivors. And that makes us the first of a reborn Order of the Void with everything it implies.”
A crooked smile softened Roget’s craggy face. “You certainly seem enthusiastic about it.”
“I’m one of the many who’ve been waiting for the day we became the Order’s motherhouse and charted a new future. If you take vows, you could be part of that future.” She gave him a sideways glance. “And you could put your talent to good use. There’s so much more than just shielding your mind from others. We teach advanced techniques to those who forsake the secular world.”
“What advanced techniques?”
She put on an air of mock exasperation. “I probably shouldn’t mention them. Vow to serve the Order for the rest of your life, and all shall be revealed.”
He snorted.
“Bull. You say nothing you don’t mean. You and every other member of the Order. I’ve never met more self-aware people in my life.”
“And that is one thing we teach postulants. One of many. Join us and become a man who makes a difference.”
“I don’t know.”
“Think about it, Stearn. Surely you know by now we’re an extended family. We take care of each other, and you’re almost one of us. The Almighty gave you this gift for a purpose. It would be a shame to waste it.”
— 27 —
One evening a few days later, after more counseling sessions in Supermax with Amelia during which Roget practiced raising and lowering his mental shields, he found himself hesitating at the foot of the staircase leading to Sister Mirjam’s office. He was considering an irrevocable step, one which would commit the rest of his life to a cause he didn’t quite understand yet. However, the idea he could do so much more with this strange sixth sense was irresistible, not least because Amelia continued to tease him with glimpses of unvoiced possibilities. Roget knew some of the sisters could do and see things beyond his imagination, such as Marta and her rumored gift of precognition. Why not find out?
“You might as well come up.” Mirjam’s amused voice wafted down from the upper landing, and Roget snapped out of his reverie.
“How did you know that was my intent?” He took the steps two at a time with uncharacteristic energy, as if he feared his newfound resolve might falter.
“Your mind isn’t quite leak proof yet, at least not to a prioress. Follow me.” She turned on her heels and walked back to her office.
“You can read thoughts?”
“Thoughts? No. Not even Marta can do that. But with our training, we sisters can infer many things from another’s emotions, which is why we make such good counselors and healers.” She sat and gestured at a chair in front of her desk. “Tell me why you’re here.”
“I want to enlist.”
A smile briefly lit up Mirjam’s face. “The nearest Defense Force recruiting office is half a world away.”
“Not in the military but the Order.”
“Ah. In that case, welcome to the nearest recruiting office. What finally convinced you?”
He shrugged.
“I can’t exactly pinpoint it. Now that I’m in control of my sixth sense and can shut myself in and others out, curiosity about what else is achievable overwhelms me. Besides, among the Brethren, I’m at peace for the first time in my life. I’d rather not give that up for a secular life. Especially one among people I don’t know on a world that is not my own.”
“You would certainly be an asset to the Order. Both Amelia and Rikkard speak well of your efforts to learn and your Brethren-like demeanor. But before we make you a postulant, I must speak with Gwenneth. She has the final say on recruits.” Mirjam glanced at the antique clock ticking away in solitary splendor on a sideboard. “In fact, why don’t I do that immediately. She should be in her office by now.”
Roget climbed to his feet. “I’ll leave you then.”
Mirjam stopped him with a hand gesture.
“No. Stay. Gwenneth will probably wish to speak with you.” She touched the controls embedded in the desktop, and the wall display lit up with the image of a Void Orb. It faded moments later, replaced by Friar Landry’s smiling face.
“Mirjam! How are the Windies these days?”
“Still as hot as Hades and filled with tortured souls.”
“I guess nothing’s changed. What can I do for you?”
“There’s a man in my office who wants to join the Order, and I need Gwenneth’s approval.”
“Let me guess — Stearn Roget.”
She nodded. “The very same.”
“One moment, please.”
Landry’s face vanished, and the Void Orb returned, but not for long. When Gwenneth replaced it, Mirjam and Roget bowed their heads.
“Abbess. Thank you for accepting my call.”
“I would never refuse it, Mirjam. Now, what’s this Landry tells me? Stearn is applying to join the Order?” Gwenneth speared Roget with her eyes.
“Yes, Abbess.” He inclined his head again.
“Are you sure? When you left the abbey for your stint with Mirjam, you didn’t seem interested.”
“The Brethren here opened my eyes while they taught me to shield my mind. I want to continue training so that I can unlock my full potential. Besides, I’m a stranger in a strange land, and the Brethren feel like family. I’d rather take vows and stay.”
Gwenneth nodded slowly. “I’ve heard worse reasons. Do you believe in the Almighty?”
“I suppose so, though, in truth, I’m not asking to join because of my faith, which isn’t particularly strong.”
“Many of the Brethren took vows for reasons other than their faith, so you’d be in good company. The Order was first created so those with the talent could withdraw from the mainstream population and live in a place where they could harness and control their abilities and, at the same time, preserve their sanity. Our founder determined monasticism was the most appropriate means of imposing discipline on restless minds and avoiding scrutiny by outsiders. Emphasis on the Almighty of the Infinite Void came later, though our Rule has always been a variation of the Rule of Saint Benedict, who most certainly believed in God.”
“So I understand. I’ve been studying with the priory’s postulants when I’m not sitting in on Sister Amelia’s counseling sessions.”
“Stearn is quite advanced,” Mirjam said. “Now that we tamed his talent, he could sit for the entrance examinations and skip the formal postulant period.”
Roget gave the prioress a look of surprise but remained silent.
“Marta figured that might be the case when she read your last progress report. Very well.” Gwenneth turned to him again. “Stearn, you will return to the abbey at the earliest opportunity where you will take the examinations for entry into the Order of the Void. If you pass them, and there’s no reason you shouldn’t at this point, I will allow you to take vows and become a friar. Then, you will undergo further training with Marta or any sister she might name while we decide what your specialization will be. As we unlock your abilities, we will discover what would suit you best. Since we’ve not seen a male with such a powerful sixth sense in living memory if ever, I’d say the possibilities could be endless.”