“Not to mention,” Molon added, “doesn’t the book of Jude say that not even the Arch Angelicum Michael dared to bring so much as an abusive condemnation against the leader of the Daemi? If Michael wasn’t even willing to use harsh language, what makes you think the Creator would endorse you making a genocidal mutavirus? If God wanted them gone, it seems to me the Lion could remove them without your help.”
This drew shocked stares from John and both the monks. A genuine, surprised laugh came from Brother Zebedee as he emulated Captain Smythe’s earlier table slap, albeit with much less vigor.
“Well, Lion be praised,” Zebedee said, still grinning. “You know your Scriptures, Molon. Are you one of the Faithful as well?”
“I’m not sure what I am,” Molon answered, with a shake of his head. “But I was raised by humans. Both my adoptive parents were devout Faithful, so yes, I know the stories.”
“Ah,” Zebedee replied with a sagely nod. “Knowledge is one thing, but faith is another matter altogether, eh?”
“Yeah,” Molon half-muttered. “Something like that.”
“Fair enough,” Zebedee answered. “No-one comes to faith who isn’t led. Perhaps it is just not your time yet, friend. Nevertheless, to answer your question, the Creator’s restrictions on angels have no bearing on the Lion’s instructions for us.”
“Is that so?” Molon answered, trying to hold back his skepticism.
“Why, yes,” Zebedee shifted in his seat.
Molon couldn’t tell if the elderly monk was ill at ease with the line of reasoning or just trying to find a comfortable position in gravity heavier than he was accustomed to.
“Molon,” Zebedee continued. “If you know the stories, then you are aware that God often uses men as instruments for His will. He could have given Noah a boat, but He instead gave him instructions to build one. He could have created the tabernacle for Moses, but in lieu of that, He permitted a situation where they had the materials, and gave them the instructions on how to make it. He could have sent angels to spread the gospel to all of Earth, but He instead chose human apostles to do it. Is it beyond reason for Him to give men the means to destroy our ancient enemy?”
“So, just a minute” Voide interjected, raising an eyebrow in that way Molon knew she used when interrogating a prisoner and fishing for a confession. “You’re saying the Creator told you to eradicate the Daemi?”
Zebedee shook his head, spreading his hands open before him.
“Sadly, child, no. Man has not heard the clear, audible voice of the Creator for ages, at least as far as I am aware. The book of Hebrews tells us He spoke in many times and various ways in the past, but in the last days, He has spoken through His Son, the Lion. We have the words of the Lion in the Scriptures and the leading of the Holy Spirit in our hearts. They, and our faith, must guide us while we await His return.”
“God would not have us completely destroy another race!” John snapped, fervent conviction flooding his voice. “That is not His way. Whatever spirit is leading you to that conclusion, you can be sure it is not the Holy Spirit!”
Molon sat back in wonder. John was energized in a way that reminded him of the fiery preachers his adoptive father had taken him to hear as a youth. He had no idea what he himself might need to overcome his own hurdles to unwavering belief, but when he witnessed genuine Faithful speaking, filled with the passion of their convictions, Molon could not help but envy their faith.
“That is the way of the radicals who nearly destroyed Earth before we even reached the stars,” John continued, his voice rising in impassioned crescendo. “That is the sentiment that fueled the split of the Empire of Humaniti after the Shattering. It is why Dawnstar, the Provisional Imperium, GalSec, the Brothers of the Lion, and who knows who else, would destroy each other, and us, just to be the first to twist Elena’s attempts at finding a cure for malmorphsy into an instrument of destruction.”
“Is that what Dawnstar wanted with you?” Brother Martin asked, sliding to the edge of his seat.
“I have no idea what Dawnstar wanted with us,” John replied, sounding less sure of himself than he had just moments before. “All they asked us about was the location of the Brothers’ base on Tede. Yet, given they were funding Elena’s research before the Shattering, and then we get kidnapped and wind up in a Dawnstar detention facility, it stands to reason.”
“So you see,” Zebedee added, “Tubal and Dawnstar were persecutors of the Faithful long before the Shattering, and now even our enemies see the potential for this research.”
“Wrong there, Brother Zebedee,” Molon said, shaking his head. “Both the Daemi and Dawnstar are allies of the Provisional Imperium. If they are looking for Elena’s research, either they want it for use against someone other than the Daemi, or maybe Zarsus and the Imperium want a little insurance policy in case their Daemi allies decide to show their true colors.”
“All the more reason,” Zebedee replied, “to keep John out of the hands of the Imperium and quickly move toward destroying the demons forever.”
“That is not His way!” John insisted.
“Is it not?” Brother Zebedee replied. His soft expression sharpened a bit. “Surely you remember God repeatedly commanded his people to wipe out the inhabitants of Canaan. Certainly, if the situation calls for it, it can be within the realm of His way.”
John exploded to his feet. The move was so sudden and unexpected that both Molon and Voide half jumped up as well, expecting violence soon to follow. Even Smythe stopped smiling and reached for where his sidearm would be were he not in dress uniform.
“You call yourself a High Abbot?” John accused, wagging a finger at the high abbot. “How dare you pervert God’s word that way? As a teacher, you know those were specific commands at a specific time, situationally given as a preemptive strike against those who would threaten the Creator’s plan to bring the Lion into the world. Once the Lion arrived, His commands were to love our enemies, and to return good for evil. Unless you have personally heard God command it, which you have already admitted is not the case, then it is the ultimate in hubris to presume that destroying every man, woman, and child of our enemies is somehow His will.”
Zebedee shook his head and gestured for John to take a seat. His face offered no sign of matching John’s tension. However, Brother Martin and Captain Smythe did not look nearly as eager to resume civil discussion.
“Calm yourself, friend John,” Zebedee urged. “I was not advocating this line of reasoning as the definitive factor in our decision to pursue this course. I was merely reminding you that, under certain circumstances, it is not outside the breadth of God’s will. Knocking over tables and striking with a whip of cords was within the realm of possibilities, even for the Lion of Judah.”
John did not look mollified in the least. Molon laid a calming hand on John’s arm and silently urged him back into his seat.
“Scriptural interpretations aside,” Molon said, “there is a greater question.”
“That question being…?” Zebedee prompted.
“If we believe the history,” Molon explained, “the Daemi and Angelicum were one race before Lucifer led his rebellion, right?”
“That is correct,” Zebedee affirmed.
“In fact they were genetically similar enough so that the original malmorphsy bioweapon ignored Angelicum as well as Daemi.”
“Correct again, captain.”
“So then, what’s to say a weapon designed to destroy the Daemi could not also be turned against the Faithful and used to wipe out your Angelicum allies? If their version of the mutavirus couldn’t tell the difference, the one you are proposing might not be able to either. I daresay explaining that to the Creator on Judgment Day might prove problematic.”
Zebedee’s face saddened.
“That, friend Molon, is the greatest area of concern in pursuing this course. While we know from our angel ambassadors that the demons have changed much throughout the millennia, it would be difficult to say if suc
h a weapon could be designed with the ability to discern between demon and angel.”
“Then the responsible thing to do,” Molon replied, “would be to ask the Angelicum ambassadors. Are they, or Enoch, or the leadership of the Theocracy, even aware you are contemplating this?”
Smythe cleared his throat and broke his silence.
“Enoch is a good man, but he is weak.”
“The leader of the Theocracy is weak?” John asked, clearly still perturbed over this whole discussion.
“Yes, weak. Now before you clench up and get your skivvies in a bunch, understand that I’ve known Enoch since he was little enough to bounce on his daddy’s knee. I served as an Imperial Navy officer under his father in the Old Empire pushing the edges of our border into the Hinterlands, and I served for a while under Enoch and the Theocracy after the Shattering. Nonetheless, that jelly-legged lad just won’t do what it takes to win.”
“Like genocide,” snapped Voide.
Molon saw she was no more calm about this line of reasoning than John was. Likely she was stewing over how a genetically targeted mutavirus could be just as easily turned on the Prophane next. Bioweapons don’t give special treatment to friendlies.
“Yes, by Hades,” Smythe furrowed his brow and locked his gaze onto Voide. “If that is what’s necessary. Enoch’s unwillingness to make the hard calls is what drove me to set Hornet’s Nest to aiding the Brothers of the Lion. Zeb may appear a kindly old fart, but deep down he knows what needs to be done and has the steel to do it.”
“So in other words,” Molon said, his voice dropping dangerously close to a growl, “the Angelicum and the Theocracy have no idea that the Brothers of the Lion are contemplating walking in the footsteps of the Daemi by creating a bioweapon that could inadvertently wipe out the Angelicum Host as well. Is that right?”
“No!” John pounded his fist on the table before either Zebedee or Smythe could confirm Molon’s assessment. “Humaniti, the Lubanians, and the Angelicum worked together two centuries ago to destroy every bit of the Daemi bioweapon that created the malmorphsy mutations as well as the plans and facilities to reproduce it. Operation Purge cost hundreds of thousands of lives and incalculable funds to plan and execute. I’ll not hand over Elena’s research, meant for curing people, to misguided terrorists intent on undoing everything those brave sophonts died to accomplish.”
Like a used-starship dealer who just sold a junker to a group of tourists, a slimy smile crept onto Brother Martin’s face. Even Brother Zebedee folded his hands and sat back in his chair.
“So,” Brother Martin’s words oozed out of his sly grin, “you admit her research is still available to be handed over, or not, as you see fit?”
John’s jaw dropped, and Molon tensed his grip on the arms of his chair. Had that wily old abbot taken the conversation down this road in order to coax John into a slip? Molon suspected this was the case. That doddering grandfather routine was a smoke screen for the shrewd dealer resting within.
“Hot dog, he got you there, boy,” Smythe said, slapping the table again. Molon was starting to find that habit a bit grating. “I tell you, don’t ever play chess with old Zeb. Slicker than whale crap, that one is!”
Had it wind behind it, the look of genuine annoyance Zebedee shot at Smythe would have knocked him out of his chair. This was the first evident divide Molon had seen in the pair’s jocular partnership.
“Enough, Malachi!” Zebedee chastened the captain.
Then, as if flipping a switch, Zebedee turned on a gentle face once again as he addressed John.
“I assure you, despite Malachi’s exuberance, there was no intentional manipulation here. However, let us not look at this revelation as a reason for dismay. The Lion would have us be honest with each other, so perhaps the Spirit within you would not tolerate living in a temple of dishonesty. He helped you bring out the truth of the matter, so we might all decide together on the best course.”
“I think the best course,” Molon said, taking command and relieving John from having to trip over himself backpedaling, “is that we agree to disagree. We appreciate you rescuing us from the PI cruiser. We are grateful for your medical care for our wounded and for your help repairing Star Wolf. However, I think it is best that we be on our way. We wish you well, but John’s mind is clear; he won’t assist you in pursuing this course.”
“That is most unfortunate,” Zebedee answered, all semblance of cordiality dropping out of his voice. “We are already in mid-VS jump, so you couldn’t rightly leave anyway at the moment. Aside from that, I am afraid you must remain our guests until you change your mind, or until the teams currently scouring Star Wolf locate where you have hidden Elena Salzmann’s research.”
Molon’s tactical mind began to buzz. The Brothers had erred in removing Voide’s restraints that kept her from phasing into voidspace. Apparently, either they did not guess at the true function of the restraints or they weren’t familiar with what fighting a Prophane entailed. This gave Molon’s side at least one advantage.
“So, we’ve gone from guests to prisoners then, have we?” Molon said, crouching slightly, ears forward, ready to spring into action if they had to fight their way out.
“Not at all, friend Molon,” Zebedee continued, maintaining his calm demeanor. The abbot nodded toward Smythe who began tapping commands into his wrist module. “But you know of our plans now, and we simply cannot be swayed from our course. We mean you no harm, unless you intend to forcibly resist.”
Voide leapt out of her seat, dropped into a fighting stance, and bared her fangs.
“Forcibly resisting is my favorite sport!”
“I’d stand down if I were you, missy,” Smythe snapped in a commanding tone only a man accustomed to unquestioned authority could manage. “Those nice marines who just joined us aren’t armed with party favors. Besides, my engineering teams have already rigged your ship to blow if you disengage without my authorization codes. Oh, and don’t worry none about Hornet’s Nest. They’re directional charges set to blow away from us. But you might like to remember that, besides the other two in CCB, the rest of your crew are still aboard Star Wolf. So you might want to think hard about your next move so this turns out best for all concerned.”
Smythe was a shrewd commander. Molon mentally bit himself for getting lulled into thinking this encounter was a friendly one. They were arguably better off than on Revenge, but a prison was still a prison no matter the gilding on the bars.
A small, armed squad of Smythe’s marines, accompanied by Brother Martin, escorted them back to sickbay. Marines stood post outside the sickbay and the outer doors of the adjoining CCB. Fortunately, the doors to the room holding Mel and Bobby Lee were left unlocked and unguarded. This gave John access to tend to their wounded crewmates.
“Make yourselves comfortable,” Brother Martin said with just a hint of condescension. “Marines will be stationed outside these doors and the outer doors to the CCB. You can use the call signals on your beds to alert Sister Agnes or one of the nurses if you need anything, but any aggressive action will carry severe repercussions.”
“You’re a real peach, Martin,” Molon snapped.
“Brother Martin,” the monk corrected as he turned and walked out the door, having the marines secure it behind him.
“You ain’t my brother,” Molon said to Martin’s back. The monk gave no indication he had heard the comment.
“Well I’ll give them one thing,” Voide said, her smile dripping distaste as she jostled Molon with her shoulder. “These are about the politest people who have ever locked us up.”
“There is that,” Molon answered, not overly in the mood for joking.
John flopped down on his bunk, face down, burying his head in his pillow. Molon reflected that the doctor had not looked this discouraged even when he pulled him out of that Dawnstar detention facility. He knew John’s faith was important to him, so for fellow Faithful to be their captors must be a devastating blow for him.
Part of him wanted to comfort and encourage John, to stoke the passionate fire he had seen this man exhibit during their discussion with Zebedee. However, if Molon understood anything about the Faithful, he knew that their true strength and capacity for resilience had to come from the Spirit within them.
Besides, he could not worry about John’s emotional well-being right now. Molon was Star Wolf’s captain. His responsibility was to bend his mind toward figuring a way to get them all safely off this suddenly-not-so-friendly vessel.
Seventeen – Breakout
Molon pondered all the possible angles of getting himself, John, and Voide, as well as their two injured crewmen in the CCB, out past the guards and back on board Star Wolf. It was a multi-faceted challenge.
First there was the fact that he had no idea how to find where the docking bay was that led to Star Wolf. Then there was the matter of finding and disarming the charges Smythe’s men had set, and all before their absence was noted. That accomplished, they would have to somehow disengage mid-VS jump, cold-start Star Wolf’s VS drive, hope to get their bearings, and find an exit from voidspace that didn’t land them somewhere the other side of the Stygian Rift. Child’s play, right?
Voide had been scanning the room, peeking through the glass in the door, and generally taking account of their current security situation. She could move through voidspace, but doing so blindly could be ugly, and dangerous. Normally she only moved within line of sight, and who knew if Star Wolf was close enough to reach, even if she knew the direction to jump.
Her curiosity apparently satisfied for the moment, she moved to the bed where John was still laying with his head engulfed in his pillow. Voide gave the bottom of the bunk a hard kick. While the bed’s legs were mag-locked to the deck, the force of the blow underneath his bunk, plus John’s own jolt at the unexpected disturbance, sent him flailing off the opposite side of the bed onto the floor.
“What is wrong with you?” he screamed at Voide.
“Get up, Nancy-boy. Crying time is over. We need to break out of this place, so you need to assess the operational mobility of Mel and Cowboy next door. While you’re at it, see if those medicos left anything useful in the CCB that we can use to knock out a marine or two. I mean, snapping necks works just fine for me, but Molon tends to get antsy about rising body counts, especially when our jailors have been so polite.”
Star Wolf (Shattered Galaxy) Page 27