by Eric Thomson
More cheering and applause followed his declaration, and Stearn opened his mind so he could drink up the energy of several hundred people united by a fiery orator. Arko must become the next president. There was no other choice. Only through him would the Order of the Void take its rightful place within the republic.
When the inevitable dreams struck Stearn that night, he tried once again to harness them instead of fighting back. He wanted their energy so he could fill his depleted reserves after expending so much on strengthening Arko’s appreciation of the Order. He knew he still faced plenty of work to make it a permanent fixture in the mind of a man with little empathy. Yet welcoming the nightmares as a source of strength proved difficult, and it left him disoriented for hours, unsure of what was real and what was a figment of his tortured soul.
**
“I find your trust in Jonas Morane’s integrity disturbing, Loxias. Power corrupts, and he’s been president for twelve years. Before that, he held sway over the Defense Force as chief of staff and Defense Secretary. This is a man who has bathed in barely constrained power for decades. He won’t let a crisis go to waste. Viktor Arko said as much last week.”
The chief administrator shook his head as he sighed in exasperation.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you suffer from monomania. Jonas Morane has never acted in anything other than an honorable manner in the years I’ve lived on Lyonesse. He will most certainly not impose martial law on account of a non-existent barbarian incursion so he can cancel the upcoming elections and make himself president for life. If he invokes emergency powers, it’ll be only for as long as necessary to preserve the lives of our fellow citizens from the ravages of the Barbarian Plague.”
Stearn stood and began pacing Loxias’ office, hands clasped behind his back. To the older friar’s eyes, he seemed unusually agitated.
“Something is about to go very wrong. I can feel it. If we don’t act, we might lose everything we worked for over the last year.”
“Sit, Stearn. Your behavior is unbecoming a trained friar, and it’s affecting my serenity.”
The younger man stopped and gave his elder an incredulous stare. “Serenity? You’ve not enjoyed a serene day during our entire acquaintanceship. Someone grasping for power instead of living in the present doesn’t even know the meaning of the word.”
“You forget yourself, Stearn.”
“No. I’m the only one who remembers what is right. What our goals are.” Defiance replaced incredulity. “Thankfully, you’ve become irrelevant to the cause. I hold the keys that will unlock our future, and I will not allow Jonas Morane to impose a tyranny quashing our legitimate aspirations.”
“What do you mean you won’t allow?”
At that moment, both their communicators lit up with an insistent buzz.
**
Gwenneth glanced at her office display, ignoring the chime coming from an inner pocket, and read the advisory from the Lyonesse government. The long-dreaded day was finally here. The Navy had spotted intruders at Lyonesse’s hyperlimit, intruders who came from interstellar space and not via the wormhole network. Government House was warning everyone the president might use his emergency powers and declare martial law within the next few hours.
Landry popped his head through the door.
“Shall I issue a notice that Brethren working outside should take shelter soonest?”
“There’s still a little time. Warn them that they must wrap up whatever they’re doing if it can be finished within the next three hours. If it can’t, then they must suspend work at the most appropriate point within the next three hours.” She checked the time. “Make sure the outlying priories acknowledge, especially the Windy Isles, in case they slept through the alert.”
“Yes, Abbess. Though I daresay, Prioress Mirjam will be on top of things.” Landry withdrew to carry out his orders.
The Brethren were as ready as they could be should the worst happen. A contingent of volunteers from among the medical sisters and friars stood by, ready to help the Defense Force if rigorous quarantining became necessary. Gwenneth had even visited the two offshore islands designated as quarantine and decontamination sites along with General Hamm and the Order’s designated team leads. Now all they could do was pray the Almighty would let this poisonous cup pass Lyonesse.
She returned to her work and was so deeply absorbed that Landry’s interruption caught her by surprise.
“Abbess, Sister Keleos just called. She found Loxias sitting in his office, catatonic. She cannot wake him or sense his presence.”
Gwenneth reared up. A worm of suspicion stirred. “Call Marta and ask her to join us in Loxias’ office.”
“Immediately.”
— 45 —
Gwenneth and Marta found Loxias sitting behind his desk on the ground floor of the administration building. His eyes were glazed over, and a string of drool hung from the corner of his mouth. Sister Keleos stayed by the door while Gwenneth entered to check his vitals.
“He still lives,” Marta said in a strange voice. “You needn’t take his pulse. But his essence has vanished.”
“What?” Gwenneth stopped in her tracks and stared back at Marta while a gasp of terror escaped Keleos’ throat.
“Something blasted his mind away. It looks a lot like Seled’s did, only I sense much greater damage. There’s nothing left.”
Stretcher-bearers from the abbey’s hospital pushed their way past Keleos, followed by the duty healer, a young sister doing her residency. Gwenneth, Marta, and Keleos withdrew into the hallway.
“He won’t see another sunrise,” Marta murmured.
“Why?” Keleos asked.
“Seled died of cardiac arrest despite the priory’s best efforts. Loxias’ body will also fail. The stress on his heart was just as extreme.”
Gwenneth turned a stare filled with both dread and resignation on Keleos.
“Who was his last visitor?”
Before the latter could reply, Marta said, “Stearn. He’s the only one able to do this.”
When she noticed the abbess’ stricken expression, Marta added, “But you already knew that.”
Keleos nodded. “She’s right. It was Stearn. How could he? Loxias treated him like a son.”
They fell silent as the stretcher-bearers came through the office door with Loxias. The duty healer briefly met Gwenneth’s eyes as she passed them and gave her an almost imperceptible head shake before hurrying off behind the orderlies.
“In hindsight, I suspect Stearn was a mental time bomb ticking away since the day I opened his third eye. A dark part of his soul has been struggling to come out ever since then. Something Loxias said or did set him off.”
Gwenneth turned to where Landry waited at the foot of the stairs. “Find out where Stearn is. No one should approach him under any circumstances, save for me.”
“And me,” Marta said in a tone that brooked no dissension. “I enabled him. Loxias’ condition is my fault, and I’m probably the only one who can stop him. If nothing else, after Seled, I know what to expect when evil lashes out in full fury.”
“Agreed.” Gwenneth gazed at Keleos. “Any idea of what they were discussing or doing?”
“No, but they were at loggerheads about something.” Keleos paused as if embarrassed. “Truth is, Stearn has been exhibiting more and more erratic behavior of late. Not so most people would notice, you understand, but those of us who are close saw him suffer from momentary, and I mean for a few seconds only, loss of self-control. But it meant arguments with Loxias over the direction we should take.”
“We meaning the Lindisfarne Brethren?”
Keleos stiffened. “With respect, Abbess, we meaning the Order. The Lindisfarne Brethren dissolved once we achieved our goal of having you declare Lyonesse the motherhouse.”
“Then what do you call the Brethren who are politically active and seek to increase our Order’s influence over the republic’s affairs?”
Keleos visibly swallowed
her reply and merely stared at Gwenneth with emotionless eyes.
“What did Loxias and Stearn disagree about the most?” Gwenneth asked in a testy voice. “Come now, it might tell us where he went. If he can erase what Loxias was, Stearn is a clear and present danger.”
Keleos bit her lower lip.
“President Morane’s warning he would declare martial law if plague ships reached Lyonesse orbit before the Navy could intercept them. Stearn held the belief Morane would either fake an incursion or use a real one to cancel the upcoming senate elections and stay president for life. That meant the Order would never get a chance of working with an administration more open to our taking on a greater role. Loxias, who believes Jonas Morane is an honorable man, wasn’t having any of it. Their relationship was becoming rather testy.” Keleos paused for a moment. “In truth, I and others are becoming a little scared of Stearn’s mood swings.”
A soft sigh escaped Marta’s lips as a grimace of dismay twisted her usually smooth features.
“Wonderful. Stearn is developing symptoms of paranoid schizophrenia. This truly is the year we discover our limitations in awakening the mind’s dormant abilities. My teachings unleashed an angry soul that should have remained behind his closed inner eye. If Stearn found a way of overcoming or skirting his conditioning, there’s no telling what he might do to others.”
Before Gwenneth could reply, three communicators, one per sister, chimed insistently. They retrieved them from inner pockets with eerily matching gestures and frowned at the small screens.
Keleos was the first to speak. “Good heavens. It’s finally happened.”
“And I know where Stearn is heading. Gwenneth, you and I must ignore the order to take shelter. The moment Stearn sees this message, he will head for Government House.”
“Sisters.” Landry reappeared in the corridor. “Stearn left the abbey alone in one of the ground cars an hour ago.”
Gwenneth nodded. “Not long after the first warning, then. Meaning it probably was the trigger.”
“There is no ‘probably’ about it.” A stricken expression crossed Marta’s face. “Because of his deluded state, he would interpret that notification as the first sign of Lyonesse’s descent into tyranny.”
“We need a car, Landry. I will drive. Then see if you can track the one Stearn is using.”
The friar bowed his head.
“At once.”
**
“We sent the message to every communicator on the planet, Mister President,” Brigid DeCarde’s hologram said, “and notices are going up in public spaces. The Republic of Lyonesse is now under martial law until the danger passes.”
“Excellent. Thank you.”
“Adrienne Barca has activated the emergency operations center. She and the senior command staff are on their way to Lannion Base. Will you join them?”
Morane shook his head.
“No. Lannion Base is the most secure place on the planet. Hiding there while the republic’s citizens must make do with their dwellings or places of work as shelters, would send the wrong message. Besides, Adrienne doesn’t want me breathing down her neck.”
“That’s what I thought you’d say. But by everything holy, if the Navy warns of debris headed for Government House, bug out, will you.”
“James has the armored staff car on standby, but the chances of anything landing here are infinitesimally small. Don’t worry, I’ll finish my term and carry out an orderly handover with my successor, whoever that’ll be. I’m sure the Navy will make a clean intercept well before that wolf pack crosses the outer moon’s orbit, especially with our two newest warships leading the task force. And if the odd one gets through, Myrtale is more than capable of dealing with it.” The elderly frigate now turned into a mobile orbiting battle station, carried the third heaviest broadside in the Lyonesse Navy, after Vanquish and Savage. “Fortunately, the Navy spotted them almost at once when they dropped out of FTL at the hyperlimit. It gave First and Second Squadrons the time they needed for an orderly deployment. Once this is over, I’d find out which sensor tech raised the alarm and see that his or her captain writes a citation.”
“Will do, but still, we should take no chances.”
Morane gave her a strange look. “You seem more worried than I am. What gives?”
“This is the largest wolf pack to date, boss. Twelve of the bastards. I know we outgun them on a one-to-one basis — except for the auxiliary sloops — but that’s still a target-rich environment for a small Navy with a third of her strength guarding the wormhole termini. It just takes one chunk of wreckage shedding plague viruses impacting in or near a settlement...” She let her words trail off, then sighed. “On the other hand, I’m just a Marine. What do I know about naval combat in space? Probably way less than you’ve forgotten.”
A crooked smile lit up Morane’s craggy face.
“That’s okay. I know little about ground combat, let alone Pathfinder operations. If ever you become president, make sure you hire a former naval officer as Defense Secretary. It’s the only way you can cover everything.”
“Me president? Perish the thought. Retirement and a casual gig as a Command and Staff College lecturer after the election sound surprisingly good right now.”
“If Charis succeeds me, she’ll keep you on.”
“Unlike a nominee for the job of Void abbess, I can decline the honor, and I will. After working for you all these years, I don’t think I’ll take to her. Nothing personal. I just prefer working for someone with a military mind. It makes life easier. By the way, where is our vice president?”
“Charis is at her residence, suffering from the effects of a more common virus.”
DeCarde nodded. The Sandino family owned an estate on the heights overlooking Lannion, close to Gerson Hecht’s property.
“I thought she looked a little peaky at the last cabinet meeting. But it’s good she’s not in the office. The boss and his second in command can’t ride out an attack at the same vulnerable location.”
“The Government House war room, from where I will watch Vanquish’s live feed once First Squadron engages the wolf pack, isn’t exactly a vulnerable location.”
“Nor is it wreckage-proof, but fair enough.”
“Unless you have better plans, join me so I can explain the finer points of naval tactics as the interception unfolds in real-time, say around fifteen hundred hours?”
— 46 —
“They’re not powering shields or weapons,” Lieutenant Stefan Norum said as he studied the bridge’s tactical projection from his perch on the command chair. Lieutenant Commander Lisiecki had taken his battle stations post in the corvette’s combat information center shortly after they broke out of orbit. “The bastards must see 1st Squadron in all its glory by now. We’re boosting hard.”
“Aye,” Lisiecki’s hologram, floating at Norum’s right elbow, replied. “And Vanquish on her own will light up their threat boards, never mind the rest of us. They can’t be that blind, not if they figured out we shoot intruders using the wormhole branch.”
“Could be they’re running on fumes after an extended FTL trip from Arietis through interstellar space.” Norum frowned as an idea struck him. “Captain, has anyone pinged them for life signs?”
“You think they might be ghost ships?”
“We don’t know how long infected people live before virus-induced mutations kill them. The plague could have reached the endgame in that wolf pack while they were in hyperspace.”
“Excellent point. Link me with Vanquish. I’ll suggest we and Prevail hammer the barbarians with our sensors on full power, seeing as how we’re closest.”
“Linking with Vanquish, aye.”
The cruiser’s captain, who doubled as 1st Squadron’s commander, issued the order for intensive scans of the intruding ships within moments, and they found their answer less than ten minutes later.
“I’m not picking up life signs in ten of the twelve bogies,” Standfast’s sensor chief re
ported, “and only faint ones in the remaining two.”
Norum nodded. “Ghost ships.”
A soft female voice sounded from the back of the CIC — Sister Hoshi, the corvette’s counselor and chief medical officer.
“The ones still alive are dying in agony, Captain. They will not survive for long.”
“Then our missiles will do them a favor. Signals, send our readings to Vanquish. Let’s see if the intercept plan changes now that we determined at least ten out of twelve are under autopilot control at best.”
**
“Ghost ships?”
Morane and DeCarde exchanged surprised looks at the announcement. They were ensconced in Government House’s subterranean war room, a reinforced storage space converted during Elenia Yakin’s first term at Morane’s urging for just such an occasion.
He touched a control screen embedded in the conference table’s wooden surface. A few seconds later, General Barca’s face appeared on a side display.
“Yes, Mister President. What can I do for you?”
“If First Squadron can capture a ship with tractor beams and tow it to one of Lyonesse’s Lagrangian points, it would give our researchers added study material. I think one and a half million kilometers from our atmosphere is a reasonable buffer, so long as we keep guns on it for the duration.”
“Agreed, sir. A ship with or without life signs?”
“Without. Those with life signs carry live viruses and are primary targets for destruction.”
“Understood, sir.”
“Thank you, General. That’s all I wanted. Morane, out.”
He grimaced at DeCarde. “This might sound callous, but let’s hope they died because of the virus and not because their environmental systems failed. It would give us a larger sample of victims to study and more importantly, victims not torn apart when their ships were destroyed, but killed by this thing.”