Chief Constable Lucas Fabien watched her without blinking, studying her with detached interest. Her clothes wouldn’t make much difference to him, Valine concluded as she lowered herself into the seat opposite the Constable. Between them was Prince Halstead, his features caught in heavy shadows.
‘You know Constable Fabien,’ Halstead began.
Valine nodded, smiling politely. ‘Of course. I presume you will be heading up the investigation into the bombing?’
‘Precisely,’ the man said. His voice was quiet and gentle, but there was something about the way he drew out his words that set Valine on edge.
‘What have you found so far?’ Valine asked, keen to push the focus onto the Constable.
Constable Fabien did not reply. His stare became unbearable, but Valine refused to waver.
‘You were late for the arrival of the Scribe,’ Halstead said, breaking the impasse. ‘Why?’
Valine turned to look at the prince, keeping hostility out of her expression. The Constable would expect her to be defensive.
‘I’m sorry, my prince,’ Valine said, her voice repentant. ‘I oversaw the preparations for the visit, as you know. I did not leave the flight deck until just a few hours before his arrival. I returned to my suite to get an hour’s rest and to freshen up before I came to meet him. I overslept.’
Fabien tapped on his pad, no doubt checking the flight deck surveillance records to corroborate her story.
Valine looked between the two men. ‘What do we know of the bomber?’
‘Very little,’ Halstead replied. ‘But Fabien is working on it.’
‘Send me your data so far, Constable, I’d like to see what I can find out about–’
‘That will not be necessary,’ Constable Fabien said in a whisper.
Valine felt her power slipping through her fingers. ‘Need I remind you I am Admiral-of-the-Fleet, Constable. My duties cover all aspects of fleet security.’
‘Not in this instance,’ he said, still tapping at his pad, hardly paying her any attention.
Valine felt her anger grow, reddening her cheeks.
Halstead leaned into the light. ‘I have given the Constable special dispensation to undertake his investigation. He will report to me directly, and you will give him every courtesy, Valine.’
‘Yes, my prince, but I can help to–’
‘Your help will be greatly appreciated,’ Fabien said, ‘and I will call upon it as and when I need it.’
Valine nodded, understanding she had been outmaneuvered.
The prince leaned back into the comfort of the shadows.
Fabien focused on the pad in his hand, his long fingers tapping at its surface.
Valine stood, nodding to Halstead. ‘If that is all?’
‘It is, thank you,’ Constable Fabien said.
She turned to leave, feeling humiliated. Halstead was suspicious of her, as he always had been, and she was still the outsider. As the doors closed behind her, Valine swore that things would change.
PURITY
The shuttle came to a gentle rest on the landing pad of the arkship Prophecy’s main hanger deck. Halstead peered out of the window, surprised to see that it was deserted. The hatch cracked open and he stepped out of the shuttle, ignoring the aches and pains that nagged him. His ears still throbbed, making everything seem dull and distant.
Halstead explored the empty hanger deck floor and waited for someone to appear. After a moment of silence, he walked along the gantry, uncertain if he was heading in the right direction. He noted the difference in design to his own fleet of arkships. Even the Evanine, which had been built by Church engineers, did not have the Prophecy’s graceful architecture. Every surface seemed to flow into the next, seamless and functional, sterile yet also beautiful in its simplicity.
There was no activity as far as he could see, just a lonely vastness that amplified the noise of his footsteps. A grid of light in the floor seemed to pulse, suggesting a route for Halsted to follow, guiding him towards the only open exit. He stepped through the doorway, into a circular chamber. Almost immediately the doors closed, sealing him in, and he had the odd sense that the room was rising upwards. After a moment, the doors opened again, and he saw that he was somewhere else entirely.
Cautiously, Halstead stepped out of the elevator and found himself in a chamber full of trees. He had seen these things before, long ago on Bara’s home ship of Melchior. He’d also seen individual plants on Icarus, but nothing on this scale. He had never hoped to see such beauty again. The smell of these giant structures, the moistness in the air, it was all too much for him and he found tears forming in his eyes. Every leaf reminded him of Bara, of the terrible void she had left in his life.
He took a moment to compose himself before he followed the pulsing lights in the floor along a winding avenue through the vegetation. Jets of moisture fell from above, feeding the trees, forming a mist in the air that obscured the route ahead. The vegetation became dense, coating him in moisture as the leaves brushed against him. Then, the lines of trees widened, and the mist seemed to fade away, giving the air a brittle clarity. Ahead, the path ended. Waiting for him there was the Scribe, sitting alone on a wooden bench.
‘Beautiful, aren’t they?’ Scribe Mori said.
‘They’re real?’
‘Yes, of course. We have them on Icarus as well. You must have seen them there?’
‘Some plants and flowers,’ Halstead replied, recalling his time living on the Church’s station. ‘But nothing on this scale.’
The Scribe chuckled to himself. ‘You did not see all of Icarus.’ He waved to the empty space on the bench beside him.
Halstead sat down, feeling his limbs complaining.
‘Nothing too serious, I hope?’ Scribe Mori asked, seeing the prince’s discomfort.
Halstead shook his head, smiling politely.
‘We all suffer together,’ the Scribe said. ‘What have you uncovered?’
‘I have our Chief Constable investigating.’
‘You can trust him?’
The question surprised Halstead, and he suddenly realized that the Scribe saw enemies everywhere. He wondered if this was the first attempt on his life.
‘Yes, I trust him completely,’ Halstead reassured the Scribe. ‘He’s made some initial findings: the bomber was a man called Hinden. He was one of our most loyal men, until today. No history of mental illness, no evidence of extreme views. A clean record.’
‘A believer?’
‘Reader Aditsan says he wasn’t known to him.’
The Scribe leaned back, obviously in some discomfort. ‘Yes, that is the heart of the matter. He did not believe in the Church of the Infinite. His head was full of heresy. He did not love the Infinite Gods as you and I do.’
Halstead nodded, trying to hide his own doubts. ‘There are many who do not follow religion. It doesn’t make them killers.’
‘Times are changing, Halstead. You of all people should know this. After all, you are chosen by the Infinite Gods. You alone have spoken to them.’
‘Not only me . . .’
The Scribe frowned, his voice raised in anger. ‘The machine does not count. Gofal lies. The Infinite Gods would never choose an automaton over a living creature. No, there is only you, my friend. You are blessed. You are the conduit between the Gods and their people.’
‘I’m just a man.’
‘One man can do much. Look at your loyal guard . . . Hinden, wasn’t it? What if he had succeeded in killing me? Or you? Or both of us? Imagine the turmoil that would produce. It could have been the trigger for a much wider conflict, even the end of our way of life. This is why you must be vigilant. You must rid yourself of these non-believers. There is no place for them anymore. They are a dangerous cancer that must be cut out. We must be pure! Only those who are loyal to the Infinite Gods and their Scribe have a place in the House of Kenric. Don’t you agree?’
Halstead hesitated, his thoughts unclear.
‘You woul
d allow enemies of the Church to live freely under your roof?’ the Scribe asked firmly.
‘No . . . no, of course not, but–’
‘Then your duty is clear!’ the Scribe insisted. ‘You must hunt them down, cleanse your arkships of those who would do us harm. It is the will of the Infinite Gods.’
‘But this conflict will only escalate further. Already the Church makes war across the Cluster and–’
‘War?’ the Scribe said, disgusted. ‘We do not make war. We merely defend the rights of those who follow the teachings of the Infinite Gods. It is those who stand against us who escalate this sad conflict. They attack us! They use the weapons of the coward to strike fear into the hearts of our good people. All I want is peace, I pray every day that we will have it soon. But that day will not come until the Cluster is of one mind. We cannot allow those who do not believe to prevail.’
The Scribe studied Halstead’s face, waiting for his response.
‘Yes, I understand,’ he said at last.
‘I knew you would,’ the Scribe replied in a conspiratorial whisper. ‘We can no longer tolerate non-believers. We have given them sanctuary, we have fed and cared for them, but they have repaid us in anger and hatred. We cannot continue like this. Those who do not follow the Church have no place in our society. You must cleanse your House of this sickness, Halstead. Either your people follow the teachings of the Infinite Gods or they must be cast out. I have already instructed my Readers to begin registration of all citizens who follow the Church.’
‘The Act of Devotion?’ Halstead asked, fearing the Scribe’s response. He had already read the Church’s requirements: If they were to support the House of Kenric, in return the Church would ask for all citizens to confirm their allegiance to the Infinite Gods.
‘It’s just a precaution, Halstead . . . A first step. If the violence continues it will be a helpful tool. We can use it to identify heretics and deny them the benefits of the congregation.’
‘The benefits?’
The Scribe stared at him as if he was a child. ‘Halstead, you do not travel as I do. You are provincial and naive, it is one of your most charming qualities.’ He tapped him on the knee, smiling jovially. ‘Those who do not follow our teachings will be denied the benefits of our friendship: jobs, education, healthcare, food, water, shelter . . . life.’
Halstead said nothing, reeling from the Scribe’s candid revelation.
‘These decisions are never easy, Halstead, and these are difficult times, after all. Heretics cannot erode our way of life. That is why I asked to see you today,’ the Scribe said, turning to look at the trees again. ‘The machine . . . Gofal.’
‘Gofal?’ Halstead asked. ‘He was destroyed, long ago.’
‘You do not believe the rumors of his survival then? That he has a secret cult who worship him.’
Halstead laughed. ‘No.’
‘I thought him dead,’ the Scribe admitted. ‘I was there, I saw it happen.’ His voice became distant, his eyes elsewhere. ‘But I was mistaken. I know he is still alive.’
‘Gofal? Alive?’ Halstead asked, picturing his old friend. He had heard the same rumors but had not dared to hope they might be true.
The Scribe nodded, a look of distain on his gaunt features. ‘Some call him The Prophet. Did you not know this?’
Halstead shook his head, not making eye contact.
‘The bot is clever, manipulative. He has deceived me, eluded me. He openly questions the very nature of the Infinite Gods! Only the Church can truly know them, yet this machine says he has intimate knowledge of their plans. We wish to find him, I have hunter bots looking for him across the Cluster. Halstead, do you know where he is?’
‘No. I have not thought of him in years.’ Halstead wished he could speak to Gofal now. He wished he was here, to confide in. Perhaps he could help to clear Halstead’s gray thoughts.
The Scribe nodded, satisfied. ‘Now I must also ask you about Bara.’
‘What about her?’ Halstead asked, repressing his growing emotions.
‘Have you spoken to her recently?’
‘No.’
‘She was your wife . . . your lover. You have a child.’
‘Yes.’
‘And yet you have not contacted to her?’ the Scribe asked, smiling.
‘Not for a long time.’
‘What sort of person is she?’
Halstead frowned, uncertain what the Scribe wanted. ‘She’s . . . driven, a brilliant engineer. She’s focused, intelligent, kind . . . one of the best people I know.’
‘You obviously care for her still. Do you think she cares for you?’
‘I . . . I don’t know.’
The Scribe took Halstead’s hand, gripping it tightly. ‘Halstead, I want you to go to Bara.’
Stunned, Halstead stared at the Scribe.
‘You will go to see her,’ the Scribe insisted. ‘You will speak to her, and you will bring her to me.’
‘Bring her?’ Halstead asked, aghast.
‘She is a heretic and a terrorist, Halstead. She is linked to a growing network of non-believers, she may even be the leader of this network. She resists the Church, she plots against us. She must be brought to me so that I can help her. I can protect her.’
‘No, that can’t be true,’ Halstead replied, his thoughts overlapping. ‘Bara’s a good person.’
‘She is responsible for attacks on Church arkships, Halstead. You must bring her to us.’
‘I . . . I can’t do that.’
The Scribe let go of Halstead, stood up and walked to the nearest tree, running his palm over the bark. ‘That is a pity. My Inquisitors have already tried to reason with her, but she resists their help. She has hidden from us, deceived us . . . If you cannot help me, I will have to use greater force to stop her. Deadly force, without mercy, without negotiation. You are her last hope of avoiding that, Halstead. Her actions bring danger to herself and those around her, including your son. I would hate to think anything might happen to him . . .’
Halstead stood, understanding. He had no choice. ‘I’ll find her,’ he promised.
The Scribe smiled and offered his hand to the prince.
Halstead kissed it, bowed, then walked back towards the hanger deck, a sick feeling of dread weighting him down.
HIDING
The flight deck of the arkship Benwick was hidden in shadows. The delicate light of the Infinite cut through the windows, conspiring with the few active console screens to pick out the hard edges of the space. Out of the windows, Bara could see a cloud of disturbed particles finding new resting places amongst the umber rocks, as the arkship nestled in the deepest valley of Tharsis, hiding from its hunters. The curved spiral of the Infinite caught her eye for a moment. It was hard to believe that it had once been a star. All that was left now was this curved loop of light, a scar torn in space by the destruction of the Fracture. As she watched, it seemed to brighten, throwing off a cascade of plasma that formed a cloud of color. Slowly, it expanded, becoming faint until she could no longer see it. Bara turned away, letting her eyes adjust to the reduced light of the flight deck. Galen was at her side, his young face pensive. On the opposite side of the holograph map was Captain Beric, checking their position.
‘No sign of Church arkships yet,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘They’re making a systemic sweep of the region, looking for wreckage.’
‘Do we just wait here?’ Galen asked impatiently.
‘I wouldn’t recommend it,’ Beric said, his face illuminated by the holograph. ‘It won’t take them long to realize we didn’t explode. They’ll come looking.’
‘Once we’re ready to power up the Cube drive again we’ll make a run for it,’ Bara said.
Galen sighed. ‘Where to now?’
Bara looked from her son to Captain Beric. They’d been hunted for weeks now, keeping one step ahead of the Church. But they were running out of options. Their list of allies had dwindled to zero since Bara had denied the Church access to the Du
lac population. Refusing the Act of Devotion had been the catalyst to this hunt. If she would not submit to their registration the Church would do it by force.
‘They almost had us this time,’ Beric said, giving voice to her concerns.
Bara nodded. ‘We can’t keep hiding. The Church are getting bolder . . .’
‘The Harvest Union?’
‘We’re not strong enough,’ Bara said, feeling tired. ‘They’ve picked off the House of Addington already. We need new allies, someone strong enough to make the Church think twice about attacking us. That’ll buy us some time.’
‘No one wants to go against the Church,’ Captain Beric said. ‘We’re running out of friends. Hiding is still our best bet.’
‘We can’t hide forever.’ Bara said.
‘Or we could stop opposing the Church,’ Beric suggested.
Bara glared at him, feeling her anger rage. ‘Sol! You’re not serious? They started this! They’re the ones who’ve picked on innocent arkships, forcing them to join them, creaming off their resources, all in the name of peace and security. They’re the mighty Church of the Infinite. We’re just dirty heretics! This is a holy crusade to them, a holy war! Do you think they’ll just forgive us and let us go? The Church never forgives. They never forget.’
‘Sorry,’ Beric muttered. ‘I’m . . . I’m just tired, that’s all.’
‘I’m tired. We’re all tired. But we can’t give up now,’ Bara said, wishing she believed her own words.
Captain Beric said nothing, mulling over the holograph data.
‘What about the Merred family?’ Galen asked, breaking the strained silence.
Bara and the captain stared at the boy.
‘The Merred family keep to themselves,’ Beric said, sounding irritated. ‘They’re bad news. You don’t mess with them.’
‘But they have power,’ Galen responded.
‘It’s not that simple,’ Bara said with a kindly smile.
Galen frowned. ‘It doesn’t have to be complicated. I’ve been studying them. They keep to themselves, but they have a lot of arkships, a lot of mining stations. And the Church leaves them alone, for now. But they have a lot to lose. The Church is growing stronger. Eventually, even families like the Merred’s will have to choose a side. It’s worth contacting them, surely.’
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