ă€ŠA Theft Of Starsă€‹


 Gregory St. Croix

    The problem with people following their dreams is that one man''s dream is another man''s nightmare, and there are so many, many dreams....

    "So, International Chemicals won''t sell me the Oxygen, at any price, your company''s final word?" Gregory St. Croix stood, apparently unconcerned, coldly watching the agent''s wristwatch flash in the light streaming through the tenth story window. He suppressed a rising desire to reach out and throttle the dullard. Instead, he stood relaxed, left hand held behind his fashionable suit coat.

    The agent looked up, with a half-apologetic smile. "I am sorry, Mr. Croix. The company policy is not to sell to direct competitors. I understand that the product is to be processed, and won''t be resold as a gas. I had thought it might make a difference to my director, but in the end, the decision was to uphold the corporate policy. Believe me, I wish I could. The amount you specified would have made my commission quota for the quarter."This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

    Having delivered the glib policy of his masters, the lackey occupied himself with rearranging the paper litter on his desk.

    It was not that Gregory''s corporation couldn''t obtain its own gas. In the end, it was all about timing. His client had a deadline. St. Croix Mining and Refining Corp needed to make that deadline, would make that deadline. Gregory balled the hand at his back into a tight fist.

    Forcing out a few terse polite noises, he held in his rising anger and stiffly stalked from the office. He had made his gesture. Riding down the ultra modern elevator, Gregory mused. I tried to work with them, to do things properly. They''ve had their chance.

    Stepping into the street,Gregory took a deep breath of old Earth''s air, and reentered the waiting limo. There will be less of that around, after today, he thought.

    "Entermo Spaceport. Notify Captain Havilland we will be lifting off as soon as I arrive. We''ve work to do."

 The Call

    The morning rain spattered down, funneling a small river across the back of Joshua''s best formal cloak. Irritated, the Grand Prelate shivered. The sodden garment slapped at the back of his trousers as he walked, drowning his legs and doing nothing to improve an already poor humor. Joshua wiped drizzle out of his gray eyes, and squinted across the slick white-rock pavers of the sweeping plaza. Obscured by the downpour, the courtyard sheened and jittered in the early rain and uncertain light.

    Having oriented on the Hall of State, Joshua splashed his way toward it, his thoughts deepening, like the water pooling underfoot. Joshua sloshed through each puddle in stoic resignation, toward the flying buttresses fronting the Papal office.

    Joshua''s stomach growled for a breakfast.

    His Eminence, thought Joshua, should stick to the standard schedule prescribed for his office. (Splash!) His Eminence could thereby set an example for the recreant Board of Aldermen, who also treat my personal time ¨C (Splash!)¨C as if it were their own.

    The damp wind pushed him along, sending an icy chill up his spine. Shivering, he hoisted himself onto the flooded plaza stairs of the Hall of State, and stiffly crossed the comparatively dry forecourt of His Eminence''s Audience Chamber. Once inside, beneath the barrel-vaulted anteroom, he stripped himself of the dripping cloak.

    This caught the attention of the balding chief attendant. The portly Friar bustled up and took charge of the cloak, offering Joshua, as was the custom, a fresh pair of dry cloth shoes.

    Joshua''s eyes roved over the small group milling about the cupola, recognizing several officials in the clot. The principle agents of the Holy Treasury, Hall of Cartography, and startlingly, the military arm of the Holy See were present.

    Joshua frowned. "Do you have any idea what his Holiness has on his mind, Thaddeus?"

    The cleric blew a small breath and shook his head. "Not really, your Grace. Very odd business I can tell you. His Eminence received Cardinal Philip Reswell - you know Philip, the Temporal Radiographic Elder, late last evening, after the rains. Very agitated he was, too. Been incommunicado with his Eminence ever since. Had me summon your Grace, and these others, only this morning. Very inconvenient, it was. Missed first Vespers." A sound like a balloon being tortured issued from the Cleric''s substantial middle. "Oh! Pardon me, Your Grace."

    Joshua''s eyes twinkled at the sound. "Missed your breakfast too, sounds like." The Prelate''s earlier mood returned, in considering the Cardinal. "Cardinal Reswell; he''s the cause of this?"

    The Temporal Radio Astronomic, or T.R.A. was a minor post in the Ministry of Education.  The post conferred to Reswell a voting seat on the board of Aldermen, which gave the Cardinal a vote in the civic affairs of New Vatica, in addition to his ecumenical authority as a Cardinal. This dual clout was likely responsible for the unusually well endowed Astronomy department at the University.

    It was inconceivable to Joshua that the military and all these other Cardinals had been shaken out of bed, just to consider a voucher for Reswell''s pet department.

    It will go poorly with the Cardinal, thought Joshua, if he convinced the Pope to pull me from my bed to sign off on the purchase of a telescope.

    The Cleric''s left hand fluttered out from the folded cloak, indicating the assembled dignitaries. "Would you like introductions?"

    Joshua shook his head. "No, I am familiar with everyone here, I believe."

    "Then," Thaddeus continued, "I will inform the Holy See that all are present. The audience will begin promptly, I am sure. With your permission?"

    Joshua waved Thaddeus on with a smile. It wasn''t after all, the cleric''s fault.

    Thaddeus hung the cloak in a nearby closet, then scurried to the opposite end of the reception area to disappear through a small service hatch built into the towering portal doors of the inner hall. The impressive twenty-foot tall public doors themselves would not, per custom, be opened until after the daily morning rains ended.

    Glancing back outside, a thick roil of cloud still darkened the morning sky. His temperament would lighten as they cleared off, he knew. Joshua, like all of Alcomer''s residents, suffered the young globe''s weather in the same fashion, namely avoidance. Business was not usually conducted during the morning rains, and it rained here every morning.

    I am hungry, soaked and tired. I am left waiting in the outer hall, and have no idea why I am here.

    Joshua returned his attention to the pacing group of high-ranking church officials.

    Michael Diocullis, the Vatican''s tall, gaunt military tactician, stood calmly at the cupola''s rear, oversized hands twinned comfortably together, thumbs hooked deeply in the red sash of his black long-coat. The jet-haired General radiated a sense of quiet alertness, a trademark among those who knew him. It was a contagious attitude that had come to be associated generally with the military of the Holy See. He looked, in fact, like a soldier dressed in a severely cut priest''s habbit. Joshua privately doubted Dio could pass for anything but a soldier, no matter what he wore.  Would Michael know what this was about?  Joshua began working his way towards the General.

    Thaddeus reappeared before Joshua could make the distance, surprising given the Cleric''s short legs and generous girth. The puffing Cleric motioned the impatient officials inside.

    Joshua managed to fall into step beside Diocullis, and the dignitaries advanced up the polished marble of the long central corridor. Enormous pink and brown marble columns cast shadows on the group. Imported all the way from Earth, these serpentine giants were installed here as reminder of an earlier Vatican, to provide a sense of continuity and tradition. It was dark, because the room remained unlit but for the early gloom that seeped between the morning rain, filtering through high rosette windows flanking the hallway. As they approached the terminal nave, Joshua sent a questioning glance toward Diocullis, who shrugged lightly.

    "Beyond me, I wasn''t told a thing. The Sol system problem, maybe."

    "What about Sol?"

    "It''s in the report."

    "In the report!" Joshua reminded himself of where he was, controlled his irritation, and continued quietly, "The report I haven''t received yet?" Joshua shook his head incredulously.

    Diocullis glanced about, distractedly. "Think John will throw us a breakfast? You eat yet?"

    "No. So, is that what this is about?"

    "Breakfast?"

    "SOL!"

    "Oh, I hardly think it could be; has to be something to do with Reswell. He''s been here most of the night."

    Vexed, Joshua shifted his attention to the fast approaching end of the hall, where Pope John MVXXII sat behind the deep brown mahogany desk of the terminal cupola. A fringe of only slightly graying hair surrounded the Papal countenance like a halo. His heavy-set frame, evident beneath the robes of church and state, seemed out of place, however well tailored, when hung on this vigorous man.

    The Dim glow of a desk-side data terminal limned the stark white Papal habit in a flickering blue nimbus.

    From behind Joshua the Director of Missions, a portly redhead, took in the papal visage, adjusted his eyeglasses and murmured, "Make a good poster for the missions. Never get anything like that when he poses for official releases. What is this about Reswell? Are we going to be eating soon?"Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

    Thaddeus hastened ahead to announce the audience. As their names were called, each one mounted the two terraced steps onto the padded green carpeting of the cupola''s floor. The minor ocean of scarlet skull caps and white over-vestments quickly stilled as Pope John raised his hand.

    "Our apologies to all of you, but disconcerting news has come. We have three pressing problems before us this morning. The first concerns unusual communications received by the N.V.U. Astronomy department. If you will, Phillip?"

    Cardinal Reswell smiled wanly, looking somewhat rumpled. Flipping his left hand up, he waved vaguely in the direction of the University. "As one of our ongoing programs, we maintain an astronomical sweep of the sector between Alpha Draconis and Polaris. It is mostly a student training exercise. Good thing, as you will see, since even today only small portions of the firmament are regularly scanned. This one covers an area that is commonly viewed from the north circumpolar regions of Earth. We call it the Draco sector. Recently one of our students noticed that the area''s general mass is declining, becoming repeatedly lower on each scan. Follow-up studies determined the affected  area is ten light years wide."

    More confused than ever, Joshua raised his hand, and gained Cardinal Reswell''s attention. "What does this mean to us? I mean, is it important, except scientifically?"

    Cardinal Reswell puffed. "Well, I should say! Gentlemen, this is a rather large void!  Eh, matter disappearing by the megaton! Of course it''s important! Hold your questions until I am finished, please."

    The distraught Reswell rubbed one heavily ringed hand over his forehead. Multiple circles of flesh hung below his dark eyes, and a growth of noticeable stubble gave witness to long hours away from his bedchamber.

    The Pope''s eyes scanned the assembled church dignitaries, judging their reactions. Most just sat numbly, lining up the Cardinal''s words like boxcars in some cerebral rail yard. The train built slowly. To the council''s credit, there were no outright blank stares.

    "To continue, there was another emission," continued Reswell, "from a star adjoining the Draco constellation, very near the affected area, although we have no knowledge of a settlement in the Draco Sector. Computer analysis interprets it as decimal. The signal was repetitive; 8.7; 8.12; 8.7; 8.12; 8.7."

    Behind Joshua , someone whispered softly, "Revelations. -And the First sounded, and there came hail and fire mixed with blood, and they were thrown to the earth; and a third of the Earth was burnt up, and a third of the trees were burnt up and all the green grass was burnt up, Revelations 8.7"

    Hearing this, Joshua finished verse 8.12 to himself; "And the forth Angel sounded, and a third of the Sun and a third of the Moon and a third of the STARS were smitten, so that a third of them might be darkened..."

    Joshua lifted his head and asked, "What percent decrease in mass did the radio telescope data indicate?"

    "Sub-radio, a tunneling, string level scan," clipped Reswell. "For those who are not up on Astronomy, that''s a real-time scan, not some light-speed picture of things past. The amount of decrease was one third, to answer your question, Joshua. Missing mass, biblical transmissions of unknown source referring to it--do you see?"

    "And, you think this may be related to the Terran Problem?" added Diocullus.

    Interrupting, the Pope nodded. "Dio, that surmise is going to bypass almost everyone here, given the hour. As you brought it up, you will have to explain."

    Diocullus knotted his eyebrows and inspected the palms of his hands. He felt ill at ease addressing politicians and clerics. Directing a staff of military experts and ranking officers seemed different, somehow.

    "I was already up and busy this morning before being called to council. His Eminence is aware, though none of you," Dio nodded to the council, "would have been notified as  yet, due to the hour. Earth is experiencing a Global Crisis, possibly a natural event, and has solicited any aid we can give.

    "An unknown cause is depleting the atmosphere there. UV radiation, due to ozone loss, is climbing. They are looking for the source, but," Dio shrugged,"as yet, nothing. Then again, my bulletin on it is only three hours old." Diocullis lifted one hand in a spreading gesture. "Common news by afternoon today I imagine. I wondered if this might have been the primary reason for the meeting. To those who asked me earlier, I apologize, but I didn''t connect it with any agenda of Cardinal Reswell''s."

    This announcement galvanized an excited reaction among the council members, like a lightning strike on a tin roof. Here was something they could relate to. Flood, fire, disasters, specters all too common to the human condition. Gasps of horror, missing prior, filled the hall in a rising tide. The passing of generations had not lessened the colonies'' sympathy for Earth.

    Again, His Eminence waited for the impact of the news to sink in before continuing.

    "As I said...a situation.  Are these things unrelated? Even if they turn out to be, they affect Us or Our extended ministries, and in part seem tailored to involve the Church. Taken together, a triplet of events we cannot ignore."

    The See raised his eyes, focusing on Diocuilis.

    "You will need to mount an expedition to Earth, a military diplomatic mission, offering our aid and any support we can give."

    Turning, he laid a hand on the shoulder of Cardinal Reswell. "Philip will coordinate our agent resources and data gathering. Our Grand Inquisitor here," he said, nodding toward Joshua, "is directed by Us to investigate the Draco transmissions and any relation it may have to the mass loss, in conjunction with elements from stellar cartography. Again, your department will consolidate all this, Philip, and see to it that Our military is well advised. We will distribute assignments for relief and aid missions shortly. Please expect them."

    Finally, his Holiness concluded the convocation in prayer.

    A general background of conversation rose to fill the vaulted alabaster expanse of the papal chamber. Chairs creaked and feet shuffled, as the elect stood and began to mill, forming small groups. Pope John heaved up from his chair and dismissed the relieved and weary Reswell. The astronomer sagged in on himself, bowed to kiss the See''s ring, and shuffled across the marbled floor and out of the hall. The See caught Joshua''s attention and waved him to a linen draped side-table. Joshua threaded his way towards it, arriving at the same time as Pope John.

    His Holiness sighed, stiffly bracing his arms on the table to support his upper body, searching Joshua''s face. "Have you eaten anything this morning?"

    "Breakfast seems to be the topic of the day your Eminence, but no, I haven''t broken fast as yet."

    "Me neither...let''s rectify that problem, at least. Thaddeus!"

    The stout cleric appeared almost instantly at the papal call, perhaps the one outstanding skill that most assured his tenure. He bowed, looking expectantly at John.

    "Would you find us some coffee and rolls? If you could bring them yourself, and see that the audience doors remain closed, please? Catch Michael before he leaves if you can, and have him join us. I am sure both our Graces would appreciate being fed, given the hour?"

    The little Cleric bobbed his head in agreement. "Of course, Eminence."

    Pope John straightened and kicked under the draped side-board. A jumble of lumps appeared in the fabric, and lifting up the table skirt, he bent to pull out three adjustable stools from underneath. The See pointed to one and dropped onto the second, unceremoniously scooting close to the table. Joshua sat, though stiffly, as directed. John rested his elbows on linen covered top, interlacing his fingers, looking thoughtfully at the discomfited prelate.

    "You have someone you can delegate your duties to while you''re gone?"

    "Likely, that will be Recaro Frank, Holiness, if I threaten him enough. At least his judgment is dependable. He won''t care to sit before the Board of Aldermen though."

    Amused, Pope John mimicked Recaro''s wheedling falsetto. "Spare me from the civil counsel, anything but that!"

    Both chuckled.

    The Pope became somber, and laid a hand on Joshua''s forearm. "Comes with the badge of office, you know. Like the Pharaoh''s crook and flail. The crook to guide us through the morass of data and resolve Our options, the flail to swat at the constant issues of the New Vatica city council."

    Rapidly trotting down the central corridor, Thaddeus returned with a tray, followed by the striding form of Michael Diocullis.

    The Pope frowned down at the table for a moment. "I need you for convoluted problems like this, Joshua. My intuition tells me that these things, these losses, are indeed connected, but also, that the scientific aspects might only be the tip of this iceberg. There may well be a scientific underpinning to all this, but in the end, We suspect a problem with  political roots. I want you and Dio to go forward and seek the moral solution, if this is the case. Our mission, you know. In these times, we strive to lead mankind to a higher awareness of the ethical choice. Inter-world law is become an accounting device, in the vastness between the worlds. Men need the inner guidance ethics provides when law is sparse. Give Us an example for those who look to Us, if the opportunity presents itself."

    Thaddeus drew to the side, and began dispensing bounty from his tray. Dio took the stool to the Papal right, and the three made short work of the light morning fare, before discussing in overview, what might be needed for Joshua''s probe into the Draco transmissions.

    Dio left with the shortest list, a few military techs, it was decided, might be needed to support the prelate. Otherwise he was dispatched to Earth as envoy. Joshua, on the other hand, was left to recruit a full team of mission specialists and scientists. The prelate mournfully scanned the suggested list. A guilty appreciation dawned that John and the Cardinal had been busy considering such things throughout the night. Well, he thought, at least I get to start the day with a full stomach.

    Thaddeus returned Joshua''s still damp cloak and sodden footwear and saw him out of the audience hall. The rains had ceased, and the mid-morning sun was quickly drying the damp stone pavers of the plaza. More churchmen were about now. Red, white and black cassocks surged about the huge quadrangle of the government center. Beyond this, the peaked green roofs of the University of Alcomer, his next stop, beckoned.

 The Crew

    Joshua stopped first at the university administrative center to inquire where his candidates could be found. Most were affiliated with the campus, and lectured here, save for two. A scientist, Father Leslie Logan who taught at Trinity, and an eminent linguist, Bishop Benjamin Wile who''s duties currently centered on the diplomatic corps.

    As it happened, Father Logan was attending seminar at NVU today. Logan would likely be in the company of another listed candidate, Monsignor Ammens, a close friend of Father Logan. On these infrequent visits the two reportedly kept company.

    Joshua mused over the schedules provided.  If I am quick about it, I may be able to catch up to most everyone today. Judging from the class schedules, the research assistant he wanted, a Miss Denies, should be just ending class in a building near the administration center. The seminar let out for lunch just after that. Joshua knew Father Logan on sight, having ties to Trinity university himself. Bishop Wile, the linguist, would need to be contacted through the corps.

    He regretted that. One of his foibles was to personally contact the people he wanted to enlist. Besides resolving his roster faster, it was always better to sort out who was who, and get a feel for people early on.

    Joshua wasted no time in getting to the class building. The stark halls all looked the same, so he kept his eyes pinned to the student map, while striding towards the appropriate lecture hall. Rounding a corner, the two collided.

    Miss Arlyis Denis stepped briskly from her classroom, luminous brown eyes riveted to her lecture notes. Surprised, the tall cleric oofed, then caught at her to restore his balance.

    Arlyis flustered, apologizing profusely. "Oh! I am so sorry -- My fault. I''m just so rushed these days, it seems!"

    Joshua smiled, pulling his hand away. "No harm done, Miss...?"

    "Oh, Denies--sorry, Arlyis Denies."

    "Ah! Just the person I was hoping to...run into, so to speak. Call me Joshua." The Grand Prelate surveyed the flushed lecturer and offered his hand.

    Since she was not tenured, besides holding classes no one else wanted to teach, her time would be shamelessly abused as a research assistant. There likely would never seem, if he remembered his own days at university, to be enough time to prepare for anything.

    Arlyis smiled back and took his hand briefly. "You wanted to see me? What can I help you with, your worship?"

    "I have a position to offer you, from the papal office." Joshua tendered one of the sealed envelopes he had prepared with Pope John. "I know you are busy, but please read the offer and call my office before days end, if you can. I would like to discuss it, once you have had a chance to look at it."

    Arlyis'' face fell and she seemed disconcerted, but accepted the missive, then forced another smile.

    "You know I won''t say anything till I have read this, but I can tell you right now, your worship..."

    "Just Joshua will do, Miss."

    "Joshua then. I am currently at wits end! Whatever it is, it will certainly take me awhile to get to!"

    Joshua felt the woman''s frustration. She doubtless worries it is yet another service request to pile on top of her other assignments.

    Written offers were a matter of business protocol, not discussing them until a proposal had been tendered and read was a matter of church etiquette. With her arms full of books, this was not going to happen here in the hallway.

    Still, I managed to meet the woman, albeit briefly, and she seems,on first impression, energetic and forthright, which is something.

    Startled by the rattle of the overhead class-change bell, Arlyis smiled again, promised to look at it, and taking her leave, hurried on towards her small teaching office.

    Joshua watched her hustle off. thinking, that one will jump at the offer. I''m sure of it.

    Checking the time, Joshua hurried on towards the conference center, and the next two candidates on his list, making it to the steps of the conference hall just in time. The brown stained double doors had just opened, and a crowd of academics poured out heading toward the campus commissary. Joshua stood to one side scanning the press as it flowed by.

    Joshua managed to pick out both Father Leslie Logan and the Monsignor Ernst Ammens easily. Logan''s balding, thick-set form and splay footed gait matched the tall, liquid pacing and long haired Ammens not at all.

    "Father Logan, Monsignor; a moment? I have a papal request for the two of you." Logan turned and waived in recognition, putting a hand to Doctor Ammen''s shoulder.

    Their specialties didn''t overlap that much, if Joshua remembered his notes correctly, but the two had evidently been friends since their early college days. Logan''s specialty was spectral emissions, while Monsignor Ammens was one of New Vatica''s finest Theoretical Mathematicians. The Monsignior title was more a recognition of his seniority over the "House of Mathematics" than of a physical Abbey.

    Joshua caught up and pulled them aside. He handed them their envelopes, which they promptly opened and read. Logan seemed quite excited, while Monsignor Ammens wore quite the same expression he had seen on the face of Miss Denies. The sour look was not lost on Father Logan who winked at Joshua and immediately started urging his companion, who had stoically, and wordlessly, returned to moving on toward the cafeteria, leaving Joshua and Logan to trail after.

    "Come now, Ernst! Think how good It will be, back in the field, together again, braving the cosmos, all that guff." Logan caught up to stride next to his friend, animatedly punching the air, as if fighting off cinematic boarding parties, punctuating his remarks in odd syncopation with his gait.

    "No. I have my students to think..."

    "Bosh and double bosh! You haven''t actually taught a class in years!"

    "No!"

    "Think of the research opportunities here! Matter dissolving deep in space, leaving no detectable energy trace. Why, what would be the physics of that?"

    Monsignor Ammens stopped, a thoughtful expression on his thin features, and fingered his chin.

    "Certainly N.V.U. owes you a sabbatical, Ernst."

    The Monsignor looked at the expedition directive dubiously, pursing his lips, but with growing interest.

    "Well," interjected Joshua, catching on quickly, "Please call my office by days end, whatever you decide. I need not mention that the results of this mission will generate any number of publishable papers before it is over, and that you would be on full field compensation from the moment you agreed to go. My office will take care of any loose ends or duties you may have on your plates. The university is completely behind this; you need only agree to go, provide my office a list of the equipment you wish brought, and pack."

    The theoretician''s interest sharpened. "Any equipment I choose?"This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    "The choice is yours, but the research vessel will lift in a very short time. I will leave you to discuss it."

    Both agreed they would call, then legged on to lunch.

    As there was one more candidate available on campus, Joshua checked his map and gumshoed off towards the convent quarters. It was a long walk from here, but motored vehicles were not allowed on the campus grounds. He flicked his eyes enviously after the retreating Ammens and Logan. Breakfast had already passed into biological history, and there was no time to take a lunch yet. The last on the list here was a certain Sister Seika, a botanist, but also, he had been assured, one of the finest field observers and naturalists available on Alcomer. Unfortunately, her class schedule for the day had already ended, so there was no way of finding out where she might be now. The only courteous thing he could do, would be to see her envelope delivered and leave a message. Then it was back to his office to settle up his own loose ends.

    ***

    Sister Victoria Seika walked the usual route to her rooms by passing through the Rectory, ignoring the insulted stares of the male clerics. It was a shortcut, and her feet were giving her trouble again.

    Fat, she thought. I''m getting fat, wandering around these halls and grazing like a cow. I need to get out into the field, to work some of this off.

    The longer she stayed behind a lectern at NVU, the more reasons she found to press for reassignment. It was the life, that had attracted her to nature science in the first place. She had fallen in love with fieldwork as an undergraduate and it was the promise of more that drove her to continue to excel in Botany, Animal Behavior, in-situ observation, and nature studies generally. It was a cluster degree, currently typified as Life Systems Analysis, quite the growing area of study, as human space expanded. Thus the press to keep the very best out of the field, unfortunately, and behind the lectern.

    A mind is a terrible thing to nail down behind a desk, she groused.

    While cutting through the rectory saved steps, it also took her past the Mission billboard, which she checked religiously.

    It isn''t that my current duties aren''t satisfying. Lord knows, my poor mother would turn in her grave to hear me go on like this, but there is, she self-justified, especially at a certain level of attainment, a real difference between teaching and doing.

    There was no life native to Alcomer, a completely terraformed planet. Therefore, it offered no real first-hand research opportunities. Her skills as a naturalist in field observation went unused for the same reason.

    Nothing but cattle, cats and dogs. God! Let there be something! She squinted at the job posting board. The reflections of neon hall lights made some of them difficult to read through the glass casement. Catching at her mirrored image on the glass, her eyes focused first on that. The ghost of a gingerbread brown, unlined countenance squinted back at her below a wavering, but visible, fringe of jet black hair.

    Frowning, she refocused on the billboard. There was nothing posted that looked to get her back into the field, so she continued on. Outside the rectory, Seika turned and made her way up the red tiled path to the convent quarters, and lumbered up the stairs to her rooms there. A note was posted on the door, and beneath the threshold, the corner of a white envelope protruded. She snatched at the message, and as she read it, a smile spread across her face. She bent and and retrieved the envelope. After reading it, Sister Seika tripped lightly back down the stairs to the mission desk, aching feet forgotten, and quickly made an appointment with Joshua''s secretary.

    ***

    On arriving at her small office, Arlyis piled the books and lecture notes on a chair, and sat to read Joshua''s missive, pulling at her long brown hair. It was worded as an invitation, an offer. She crinkled her brow, frowning. Technically, it could be turned down. It was written on official church letterhead, from the papal office, and hand signed by the Pope. Probably, she thought, I should save this, I''ll bet it''s worth money.

    The supreme civil and religious authority on the planet requested her participation in an off-world expedition, a research mission. The position would come with the job title of "Research Data Administrator" and upon completion, elevation to full, tenured status at NVU.

    Arlyis bit her lip, and looked to the pile on her desk, where her doctoral thesis sat, half completed, and completely buried. A full professorship would provide funds to pay off her student loans. Her eyes settled on the pile of other professor''s data transcriptions now occupying both her time and most of the desk.

    I can dump all this, lockup my house, come back to a pensioned position with my own agenda and finish my thesis. Or, she thought, tell the Pope no, and spend another two years doing academic research for everyone else.

    Arlyis snorted and picked up the desk phone. It only took a few moments to book an appointment with the Inquisitor''s office.

    ***

    Bishop Benn Wile stood from the conference table and shook hands with the five planetary delegates. His were enveloping hands, that tended to enfold rather than grasp the one shook. Hands calloused in the manner of a scholar''s, along the sides and the tips of the fingers, from much writing, rather than from physical labor. There was a soft excitement about his brown eyes, as if he were always on the brink of some revelation. As the only person at table who spoke every language represented by the delegates here, his presence had been welcome.

    Although Wile''s attachment to the diplomatic core was important, he still missed the pulpit-pounding days of his early years with the church, shepherding his own flock.

    Save for teaching an occasional class on philosophy at the University, these kinds of opportunities came rarely these days. He had applied to the Mission board several times for a field position, hoping for a chance to recapture the zest of his earlier life. His earned rank in the new era church hierarchy aside, the bishop''s knowledge and experience in linguistics inevitably condemned him to important if droll, political assignments. In the ancient past, he would have been desk bound, tied to overseeing some diocese of congregations. Such tasks were now handled by other means, so the position''s duties could, in Benn''s view, be worse. Besides, thought Benn, I am doing God''s work, necessary work, after all.

    The fidgeting presence of the messenger was almost intrusive, coming as it did at the terminus of the conference, but his face lit when he read the offered communique. Finally! He had been attached to an exploratory venture by the Papal office! At last!  He thought. Perhaps even an opportunity to do a bit of missionary work!

    ***

    Diocullis raised his head from the reports scattered across his desk. Sir Fredric Colmer, just returning from leave, stood stiffly at attention before him. The officer''s formerly sandy hair was, in his late forties, turning prematurely white but he was still a vigorous man who kept a tight leash on the troops under his command. Diocullus watched with a slight amusement as the man''s eyes flickered around the small office. Even standing at attention, he gave the appearance of someone in motion. If kept at attention a bit longer, Dio knew, Colmer would start to fidget. Colmer was a good all around officer, but best suited to field duty. The only way I could ever give him a permanent desk job, thought Dio, would be to tie him to it with a rope.

    "Colonel! You have been reassigned." Michael slapped a closed manila packet on the desk edge closest to the fiercely erect Colonel. "Ship''s military complement to a diplomatic and exploratory survey." Dio rapped his knuckles on the littered desktop, causing Colmer''s eyes to rivet back on him. "Make yourself useful aboard, and keep your ears open. Take Tech-Privates Street, Elden and Rossiter with you. It''s not a large command, but your duty will be varied, and I need someone who can keep me busy reading mission posts. Especially reading the posts. Am I clear?"

    "Yessr! Clear as crystal, sir!"

    Dio lowered his head and scooped up another sheaf of requisitions from the remaining pile. "Dismissed."

    Colmer executed a snappy turn, and swung off to pick up the new orders. Good, he thought, something to do except parade recruits around!

    Taking a cue from the institution''s reorganization that occurred during the Great Expansion, his military title reflected the upper limits of responsibility he could be assigned, rather than defining his function. In this man''s army, as in the church itself, no one idled. When able officers were employed at minor tasks, it reflected that things were as they should be, peaceable, in the main. Brisk and ram-backed, Colmer made his way across the rough turfed quad toward the garrison chief''s office. The Colonel''s mind raced ahead of him, ordering a list of things that would need doing quickly to prepare for reassignment.

    A short lived relationship with Carol, a pretty post secretary, had left him fidgety and irritated. Colmer handled such things poorly, on a strictly personal level. His personality wouldn''t leave him the easy out, of blaming Carol. His usual reaction, as now, was to pour himself into his work. The current mission would occupy him with other thoughts, away from Carol, and their failed affair.

    The plain red brick of the chief''s office was achieved in good time, and Sergeant Ecker looked up, startled at the colonel''s entrance.

    "Sir?"

    "Where are those three tech privates of yours, Brian Street, Ronald Elden, and Mr.Rossiter?"

    The Sergeant''s face took on an aspect of distaste. "Oh, those three. What have they done now?"

    "It''s not what they''ve done, it''s what they are going to be doing. Reassignment orders, direct from General Diocullis."

    "Fine by me."

    The packet swiftly changed hands. The Sergeant handled the envelope with the kind of ginger touch usually reserved for unwashed shorts.

    "I put ''em on base assignment...radio room maintenance, which means they are probably dicing behind the mess. I''d have them on permanent K.P., if they weren''t so skilled. Too damn handy to shoot outright...pity."

    "Just get them. Have them report to me as soon as you can. Give them the brief, and have them kit up. I have loose ends to nail down, or I''d do it myself. Make sure the individual orders are cut."

    "Yessr."

 Chapter 3: Voyage to Draco

    Joshua finished Vespers, looking forward to his first meal aboard the CHRISTOS.

    Brunch always followed the mid-morning ritual, by shipboard precedent. So it was no surprise to hear a light tinny rapping on the cubicle door announcing the call to Mess.

    Joshua brushed Miss Denis in exiting the small cabin. She stopped and waited in the confined corridor for the Cardinal to close the cabin door.

    Joshua shook down his Cassock and straightened as much as the low ceiling would allow. "Well Arlyis, ready for lunch?"

    "Mmm. I may still be adjusting to shipboard time, but my stomach isn''t. Feed me."

    Joshua grunted in agreement.

    "Are your arrangements all completed and satisfactory? Brother Paulis mentioned there might be some problems with your data link. He complained to me that your requirements might slow the navigation systems."

    Arlyis laughed. "That''s just the sound of Mendel''s knee jerking. A load analysis of the ship systems was done before anything was installed."

    "Paulis did voice the same concern."

    "Why am I not surprised? The chief engineer and his mate both singing the same song. Gosh! Believe me, this is all coming from Mendel. He just hasn''t come to terms with the refit yet."

    A particular Monkish order crewed church starships. Mendel and Paulis were two of the five that ran this one.

    Joshua recalled what he knew of Miss Denis. A lay worker for the church, Arlyis was a highly motivated and independent woman who put her career first. A small home on Alcomer, supported by the modest earnings from the church-sponsored university, was the only outside interest she allowed herself.

    Joshua knew from her dossier that any earnings spared from paying student loans were poured into it. Only the carrot of tenure at the college could have pulled her from Alcomer.

    She smiled at Joshua. "We''d better hurry or Brother Luke will be clearing off the table before we get seated!"

    Joshua returned a thin-lipped smile in response, motioning Arlyis ahead.

    The Shipboard dining area was comprised of two trencher tables bolted against the opposing walls of the ship''s narrow mess, leaving an adequate, but tight, passage between. An un-decorated cross hung from the bulkhead, providing the only break in the gray, utilitarian space.

    Joshua spotted a gap in the seating and  ushered Arlyis towards it. Colonel Colmer and his men sat somewhat apart from the non-military crew. This left two chairs unoccupied between them and the all-but-bald Father Leslie Logan. Properly, Joshua seated Miss Denis first, taking an adjoining seat next to Sir Fredric Colmer.

    Friar Luke brought them plates of a light, white compote garnished with sprigs of green rosemary, apricot slices, and biscuits. Everything hand prepared by the monks on board ship.

    Colonel Colmer, already well into the meal, stopped and stood as Arlys was seated. He smiled broadly.

    "I think this is the first time I have had  the privilege to be at table with you, Miss Denies. I''m Honored."

    Arlyis flushed a little at the attention, but waved it off. "Oh sit down, Colonel, I''m just a working girl. No need to stand up for me!"

    "Not so, Miss. I read your biography, as a matter of course. It''s rare to work with such talent as you and the rest aboard. My courtesy is not just owed, it is respect earned."

    Arlys looked at Colmer with a bit more intensity. The statement seemed an attempt to impress, but the man''s manner and undertone spoke loudly of honest appreciation.

    "Well, you are very gallant, Sir Colmer. Now sit!"

    Colmer''s smile widened even further into a full, and suddenly boyish one.

    "A pleasure. I hope you''ve brought an adequate appetite with you Miss Denies, the monks out did themselves today."

    Private Brian Street leaned forward to agree.

    "Tastes better than it looks, Miss. Sister Seika was say''in earlier that the Monks use bio-engineered cultures and legumes to make this here white stuff. Says it''s only grown on board this ship. They could open up a restaurant. Any idea how long this tour will be? I could grow attached ta'' the chow."

    Brother Luke beamed at the complement and interjected, "I developed it myself, almost six thousand bells ago, it was. Cultured it on Metrome, off Beltiguise."

    Joshua shook his head, directing his response to the Private. "I have no idea, Brian. Hopefully your Colonel, or one of the others, will be in a position to give me an estimate after we have had a chance to look at the site."This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Not being his first tour on a monkish ship, Joshua had ended his vespers with table-grace, so he tucked in to the meal without further fuss as soon as Colmer had reseated.

    Joshua chewed thoughtfully. "This is good, Brother Luke. You will have to make this again."

    Luke nodded. "Forty more bells, can do again. Cultures require some time to re-grow."

    Sir Colmer, with evident reluctance, returned to his conversation with Brian and Private Eldon, who were verbally field striping some piece of military gear now safely stored away below. Joshua finished the meal with the attention it deserved, relatively unmolested from interruption.

    Father Logan had engaged Arlyis, and with his usual passion, the topic turned to music. Besides being a spectral emissions specialist, Logan collected classical and cultural specialty music, no small thing considering the plethora of settled planetary cultures.

    Joshua found it almost impossible not to tune in on the skin-headed Father Logan, who loudly lectured Arlyis about his hobby.

    "But if you haven''t heard Volokowsky, well...I will make you a copy. You must hear for yourself."

    Noting Joshua''s attention, Father Logan said, "Oh, by the way, Brother Ferdinand, the ah, Captain mentioned we should be approaching our first stop in the Draco by ..." Logan stopped to do the calculation ... "eight bells, I believe, as the monks divide shipboard time. Odd, a twenty hour day, not like Alcomer, or a navel ship.   Arlyis and I really should start unpacking the radio emission apparatus as  soon as we can. I need to renew our recordings of the lost colony transmissions, and take new mass readings."

    Joshua waved a spoon at Father Logan, fighting a rising irritation.

    "Don''t be too caught up in the colony theory. We are to research mass loss phenomena, and strange signals, not hunt down hypothetical lost colonies. The digital signal may not be the only anomaly. In fact, I certainly hope not. By the way, anything you find, I want to review personally. Then everything gets sent to New Vatica." Joshua softened. "This is just the first stop. I think it best to start out by being as thorough as possible. In the short time I have been aboard, I have heard a raft of guesses, but seen no new data. I expect open minds about me, Father Logan, not preconceptions."

    Arlyis blinked at this, suggesting, "I''m certain that in the end, we all want to come away from this with a few new ideas, Cardinal Joshua. Father Logan just wants to be sure no data area is overlooked."

    "Of course!" blustered Father Logan. "I really have hopes of making a positive, and relevant, addition to science on this expedition, you see. What was it Thomas Edison said, a new discovery every month and a breakthrough innovation once a year? All for the greater glory of the Lord, of course!"

    Appeased, Joshua returned to his plate. Speculation bothered him. A bagful of rumors, revolving around lost colonies, splinter sects and such were circulating. It was wasted focus, as Joshua saw it, a chasing of ghosts and shadows that inevitably seemed to haunt men''s minds, when facts were sparse. Given the crew''s makeup, some of the ideas circulating were more dry and analytical, but Joshua disliked both sorts of "runaway imagination", as a matter of course, when evidence was lacking. He held his post because of an almost preternatural intuition, but it was based on the inflow of very accurate information. You did not lay a report on Joshua''s desk without having checked every assertion twice. Perhaps this was a flaw in his makeup, as some had suggested, but if so, not one that affected his success in piecing together the truth of things.

    Arlyis and Father Logan eventually finished eating and left, heading toward the hold to retrieve their gear. Since those early to lunch were already leaving, Brother Luke began busing some of the tables.

    Joshua noticed that Ferdinand and Tiel, respectively the ship''s Captain and Navigator, had both failed to appear at mess. That left Brother Mendel, the engineer, who would be still at station in the engine pod below, waiting to be relieved. The remaining crewman, Brother Paulis, rushed quietly through his meal.

    Keeping the monk''s names straight was a chore. The flight crew all dressed the same, were of about the same stature, cut their hair in tonsure, and seemed to do, in rotation, most of the same shipboard tasks.

    There was more to it than that, though. The lives of their passengers seemed to flow past all of them like water over pebbles in a stream. They seemed to have the same adaptable, yet disassociated attitude towards non-crew members. The researchers were just visitors, tolerated, accepted, but generally non-essential. The attitude left in its wake a mask of demeanor that made them difficult to know well, or individualize. The Order ran most of the churches'' non-military fleet, the sect''s members rarely leaving shipboard. The hermetic isolation, it seemed to Joshua, tended to leave them a bit...odd.

    Joshua murmured pardons to Sir Colmer and Arlyis, then rose, determined to visit the ship''s bridge.

    The CHRISTOS was a freight packet ship, about 230 meters long, moderate as such things went, capable of transporting 5000 cubic meters of cargo. Besides the bridge, the ship included 12 small cabin/work areas, a dedicated kitchen, dining room, and lounge area. All were ordered "floor outward" in a revolving central ring section whose rotation provided a comfortable gravity for the crew. An externally bayed shuttle was fitted for most landing transfers.

    Joshua walked through the tan ceramaloy passage, rhythmically dodging the overhead section breaks. On his first tour, he almost flattened his forehead before internalizing the need to duck regularly. Tall as he was, it was either that, or stay in his cabin when traveling.

    Fully decked out commercial liners were different, of course, but that kind of luxury travel wasn''t the norm for clergy. Sea-craft and spacecraft, he mused, had much in common in so far as passenger accommodation went. It always struck him that the primary concern on ships seemed to be frugality of space usage. Artistic design where attempted, seemed focused on allowing the spaces to be even more spare in execution than to beautify anything. No matter how well designed, no shipboard area had ever seemed to him more than adequate, at best.

    The CHRISTOS used the usual mix of technologies found in ships of its class, so it was not a sleek looking ship, Joshua reflected. Hydro-conversion fusion reactors, using heavy water for fuel, powered the engines employed for ascent and descent. Solar sail technology was used for interplanetary maneuvers (the CHRISTOS carried enough mono-molecular sail to cover a quarter of Texas). Berger pocket continua generators were fitted for FTL travel. This meant a lot of girded together modules, spiky protrusions, independently rotating sections and other knobby features.

    Since the Captain and navigator had not appeared at mess, it was a good excuse to approach the bridge, a rare enough opportunity for a non-pilot and, he admitted, still one he enjoyed. In passing, he wondered how Michael''s mission was faring...

 Chapter 4: Diocullis Investigates

    Commander Michael Diocullis efficiently finished with the affairs of his office, delegating any open issues with military expedience. He prepared contingencies to handle any changing priorities that might wash the political horizons of New Vatica in his absence. His personal ship, the WRATH OF JEHOVAH, left orbit before Joshua had even collected his specialists. It was a tedious, if efficient, flight.

    ****

    The WRATH OF JEHOVAH completed its voyage, ending in a parking orbit midway between the North and South polar axis of Earth. Diocullis viewed the planet with soft eyes. The cloud-glazed ball ran to a shocking blue against the total black of space. Alcomer, he mused, always appeared more of a muted gray from orbit. For all of Earth''s congestion and social problems, it still pulled at his heart. It seemed to say "Beautiful Home", and brought images of clear vaulted skies. Probably still true in some places there, despite the industrial pollution, Diocullis reflected.

    A military vessel, the WRATH was engineered for speed at any cost. There was no approach break where solar sails had to be reeled in before proximity to the Earth''s gravity well began to rip and claw at the sail mass. The WRATH had no sails at all. She could emerge from sub-space and spear directly down into a planet''s atmosphere, though this was rarely done.

    Earth generally used a space-bridge station. Personnel were efficiently lowered down a carbon mono-filiment elevator from the geo-synchronous orbital platform, Canton station.

    Michael turned away from the view to make final preparations for transfer Earth-side. He had spent most of the voyage reviewing mission information, a tedious and diverse data set. Nothing about it seemed to offered any answers. Reams of plots and projections detailed an oxygen loss, but offered no actual insights as to a cause.

    The long stint aboard the WRATH left Dio oily and itchy, He felt in need of a real bath and a night''s sleep. Instead, he groused, his portion would more likely be a series of formal introductions, exchanges of papers, orders, tours, and briefings. Dio sighed, and prepared to transfer to Canton station for the decent.

    Observing out the view-screens of the descending elevator, Michael saw snarling winds and bad weather, such as the reports had detailed. The view certainly showed none of the verdant liveliness he remembered of the Rocky Mountain tether base.

    The shuttle-pod tethered to the civic Ranchero spaceport, rather than to a military airfield. Ranchero served the well populated south-western quarter of the state. Despite the altitude, it was still a part of the urban sprawl of the Americas, one seamless belt of super-city that now ran from the eastern seaboard to the Pacific Ocean. The facility itself in the general area of the Telluride/Silverton district, perched high, at at about 3700 feet above sea level.

    Dio felt uncomfortable. In descent, one could still see the carefully cordoned-off tracts of mountain wilderness and grazing lands, quilted between the lacy city''s web. But as the shuttle landed, the stark, engineered steel metropolis rose up to engulf any hint of that.

    The over-built feel of it bore down on him. An engulfing sense of being closed in. The claustrophobia that had driven the Great Flight of the last century. Like crabs abandoning cramped shells lying on a beach, most of the tenants, or at least many of them, had moved on, but the giant shells of its metropolitan structures remained. There were, as Dio looked at things, still too many residents for one planet. No colonial world had ever reached the staggering population Earth had, before technology finally reached the point where colonization became probable in some rational sense. Like the Conestoga wagon, or the railroad, affordable space flight changed...everything.

    Ground crews muffled in Oxy-masks picked their way across the field. The car sent for Dio whisked smoothly along to the military center. It was was a quet ride, though Diocullis could hear the faint hiss of an oxygen cylinder leaking its precious cargo into the cab. Michael squinted at the sky before the fast approaching architecture closed away the view. There was something about the clouds. They seemed too close to the ground for the type, he had never seen horsetails that low, and it seemed to Dio, that they curved about ominously.

    The pedestrian crush of the streets featured a number of civilians with small breathing aids in place, thin transparent tubes running to oxygen supplementing cylinders carried at the waist. More than a small percentage of chronic asthmatics would account for. At one intersection, an older man grabbed to a street sign and sank to the pavement, as if drunk,or like a marathon runner collapsing after a race. At 3700 feet, the effects of pressure loss were probably more apparent here than other places. Diocullis saw no small children on the streets, very odd in such a press of humanity.

    The sandy haired Commander Baine of Earth''s Allied Forces met him at the compound''s entrance. Breathing heavily, but eschewing the use of a breathing aid, he grinned and saluted as Dio swung his long lank legs out of the transport. "Happy to meet you, Sir. Welcome to Earth, Commander."

    Michael returned the salute, and let himself be shepherded into the compound.

    Dio was pleasantly surprised. All of the formalities were brisk, and ended with a dinner. The meal was a solid,unpretentious one, featuring a well grilled T-bone steak, roasted potatoes and boiled vegetables, served with hot breads and a choice of beverages. It was a cut above commissary fare, but not quite a banquet. Dio tucked in with a will, listening with half an ear to the low murmur of conversation that permeated the dining hall. Commander Baine, seated to his left, did the same, not bothering Dio with chatter until both were well into the meal.

    "We were a little surprised with Alcomer''s fast response. Not that your services are not appreciated of course. The aid Alcomer agreed to, mostly emergency supplies and making available potential evacuation faciitities should things go completely bottoms up here, was awesome. The See''s roll-up-the-sleeves and pitch-in approach set more than a few politicos to reviseing their inter-world status charts."

    Dio stabbed at the last bit of steak, and grunted. "Pope John''s like that. Will we be looking at your newest data this evening?"

    Bane snorted, folding up his napkin. "I can tell you we have ruled out natural causes. We''re working on the problem round the clock, but your visit to the data center isn''t scheduled until tomorrow morning. Give you a chance to stretch out on clean sheets first. You got here on a Courier class, right? We all know what that means."

    "Appreciated, appreciated."

    Starched servers passed around the tables, collecting plates and replacing them with silver dessert bowls. Dio beamed. "Strawberry Shortcake! My favorite!"

    Bane nodded, watching as Dio dig in with renewed relish. "We used to have trouble getting hold of enough fresh fruit, but since the Great Flight, supplies have consistently gone up. Strawberries aren''t on the ration list anymore, not for years now."

    "My mother used to grow them," noted Dio. "Almost everyone new to the colony starts a garden as soon as they get settled. For her, it was strawberries. I used to pick over the patch so much, that there was rarely enough to harvest for shortcake. Drove her crazy."A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    Bane thought about that. "I suppose they would have, at that."

    "What, go crazy?"

    "No, I mean about starting gardens." Banes eyes drifted off for a second. "All that open land available for the taking. Compelling thought. We could do that here now too, if they knocked down a few buildings and upgraded the city planning, but You know how that goes. Someday, maybe. I almost immigrated once, but I have so much family here...Alcomer was settled mostly from here, right? From Earth, I mean."

    Michael paused, setting down his fork. "Largely, perhaps sixty-five percent or so. We weren''t a first wave colony."

    While the banter stayed light, it was easy to see a discomforting urgency about Bane. Dio cut his dinner short and excused himself, retiring to the quarters Bane assigned. He collapsed onto its stark bed and fell asleep instantly. His dreams were disturbing. Michael slept poorly, mind already working on the problem at hand even as he dreamed, sweating the starched white sheets.

    Images.

    A beach, a rock-encrusted shoreline, pounded by cold, gray breakers. Tossing on the waves, far from shore, hundreds of cradles, some oversize, some small, floundered in agitated waters. In the far distance, a whirling cyclone thrashed the sea.

    On the beach, a lone red crab carefully picked its way between the rocks, drawing close to where Michael stood.

    The crab crooked one eye stalk toward the twisting horror, and waved a claw at it. "Bad weather today, bound to cause a few deaths for the floaters," it said.

    Michael looked anxiously at the cradles. "Who are they?"

    "Oh, the very young, the old and infirm, the floaters on the Sea of Fate."

    As Michael watched, a few cradles upended in the stormy waters and sank. His agitation increased. "What happens to them?"

    The crab swiveled both eye stalks around to center on Diocullis. "They drown, of course. You know, asphyxiate."

    Michael started toward the breakers. "Someone should bring them in, get them out of the water."

    The crab chuckled. "Can''t. They are part of the thing, part of the gestalt of it - the environment, their age, condition, all of that. Besides, there''s too many of them to move, I mean, just look at em'' all." The crab scuttled sideways waving both claws in the general direction of the jostling cradles.

    "Then the storm should be quelled," said Michael. "There is only one storm."

    "Ah," said the crab, "a problem solver, are you? A good solution requires that the whole situation be available to the solver. Do you have the whole of the situation in hand?"

    "You don''t need the whole situation, just the operant variables, things that leverage change. Your view requires omniscience in order to achieve any solution. That''s nonsense. A man doesn''t need to be God to work his will and change things."

    The crab poked one claw at a small rock, overturning it to expose a wriggling resident, which it snatched and ate. "Just be another storm tomorrow," noted the crab.

    "Doesn''t excuse a man from cleaning up what''s on his plate today."

    "It doesn''t mean you can solve the problem, either. Do you know how to stop the storm, or not?"

    "I''m damn sure going to try." Michael strode into the battling surf, up to his waist, then his chest, finally submerging himself. In the dream, he began to drown. As he flailed in the dream''s waters, he tossed and moaned in his sleep, clutching at the linens.

    Early next morning he was met by Commander Baine, and admitted into the situation room. Satellite displays of an atmospheric vortex abounded, visualized in every band of the electromagnetic spectra. Updated maps, indicating ongoing ground operations, peppered the room, and a multitude of screens scrolled data reports. Large weather readouts dominated, displaying the current day''s charts, and the slow but perceptibe dropping air pressure in fractional millibars.

    "We discovered the vortex quickly enough. It''s the immediate cause of our weather problem. Also, we found some kinds of radiation propagating about it. but these emissions are caused by the disturbance, not responsible for it." The E.A.F. commander stabbed his finger at a small graphic printout. "The radiations only provide a foggy pattern, like this." Baine quickly sketched a cone, point placed adjacent to a circle representing the earth, fanning out toward the galactic east in a widening vector.

    "We aren''t really seeing anything useful, just secondary effects touched off by whatever the process is. We aren''t seeing the bear, just the bear''s footprints. The source seems diffuse. Somehow, the effect concentrates to a 100-mile diameter inside the stratosphere of Earth. Notice that the cone converges just to the side of the planet, so that as the earth rotates..."

    Diocullus finished Baine''s sentence tersely. "The effect eats a swath through the atmosphere like an apple peeler stripping the skin from a fruit. Yes, I see. It certainly is not a natural phenomena. Something from outside, then." Diocuilis studied the chart quietly for several minutes, and then both men went back over the contributing reports and figures. There seemed nothing helpful. Finally, they returned to the summary chart. Diocullis stared at it, drumming his long fingers on the desk.

    Perhaps you have been looking for the wrong things, Commander."

    "What?" Baine started.

    Diocullus looked directly at Baine and quoted:

    "As rains fall, I look to clouds.

    Gentle leaves waft, where winds play.

    Shadows deepen where trees bend low.

    Reminiscentia Pious X XV"

    Baine blinked.

    Michael sighed. "Do you know how a lens works?"

    "Of course!"

    Michael drew a line bisecting the inverted cone. "When you have a cone, you look to the vertex for a radiating source."

    "There''s nothing there but a tornado of exiting gas."

    "True enough. But if there isn''t anything at the vertex, you assume a concentrating lens somewhere opposite, like a magnifying lens focused on a bug. Assuming the distances involved, the size of such a lens would be absurd. Maybe a lot of small devices - an array of some kind sponsoring the effect."

    Bane nodded. "We speculated about that, but don''t know what the perimeter of such a lens might be, or its distance. At a certain height, true, the gas just vanishes, but there is nothing else there. No collector. As for a swarm, such units could be posted along a diameter of any size. We don''t know what causative forces would be involved if so, what energy drives it, what it emits, whether they might be stationary or not, nor can we duplicate the effect, or even begin to understand the physics of it. Another words, nothing to provide data clues as to where to look. Ships for example, have to have a known destination. I can''t tell my people, drive along the axis until you bump into something. If the elements were peripheral, that wouldn''t help anyway. If we knew what to for, a signal type or such, we could send testing probes out, listen for magnitude changes and compute ... something useful, but, what kind of energy or signal are we looking for?"

    Baine shook his head then continued. "The whole idea of this being some sort of lens is insane, on the face of it. The area covered, the energy required at the distances that model brings to mind - flatly impossible. We need a target, not a direction. This gas loss has been plaguing us for twenty-six hours now, Goddamn it, we just don''t have time to puzzle things out!"

    Diocullis frowned at the expletive, but this was lost on Baine. "The pressure at sea level is dropping. At the highest elevations, we are losing the elderly. The radiation count is increasing to levels not seen since the ozone depletion of ancient times. Every newborn in the higher elevations is being handled like a premature birth. We need to find an answer now, right now, and turn this damnable thing off!"

    "You are looking to the wrong end of things. I don''t want to find out more about the condensing mechanism. If it is an array of some kind, it is targeting from very far away indeed. A very good trick, regardless of the technology used. If we can''t identify the source, maybe we can find some kind of spotter mechanism."

    Baine looked thoughtful. "You mean, like spotting for a mortar bombardment? Given the problem, we hadn''t bothered to look for a spotter. Its a planet, after all. not a brigade of tanks."

    Dio asked, "Have you tried looking for some sort of near Earth guide device? If we are lucky, there might be one. It''s easier to concentrate fire on a target if you have one. Much less calculation, less of a logistical nightmare. It is a possibility you shouldn''t have overlooked," Dio rumbled. "I would look, if not for the signal itself, the spotter for the strike, some nearby physical construct."

    Commander Baines'' eyes clouded in thought. "We have been looking for a signal to fix on, or a fleet of ships with some sort of super-weapon. You''re thinking something small, some kind of tight beam beacon? We can mount more ships to comb the near planet orbits right enough, although that''s still looking for a needle in a haystack. All right, let''s give that a bigger push." Facing the communications panel, Baine snapped; "Get me the Kit Peak unit!"

 Chapter 5: Faulty Equipment

    Just outside the CHRISTO''S bridge room, Joshua paused to peer at a flat display bolted to the left wall. Some ship designer evidently thought it might cut down passenger intrusions onto the bridge, if they could see the forward view from here.

    It is, noted Joshua, an impressive aspect. The ship was now skimming the very outside of the distorted local arm, the heavens crowded with stars. The Andromeda Galaxy, millennium ahead of prediction, spiraled through the vast dark to start its billion year long collision with the Milky Way. Like two buzz saws at angles, the view showed them twisting and distorting each other, as slowly, the universe changed. There was no vantage point from which the text book side-view of the M-51 disk cold be clearly seen. The spiraling minions of Andromeda rose up before him, countless and bright. Trying to predict the changes this cosmic crash was bringing to the individual settled systems preoccupied the age. Not all the predictions were innocuous; many were dire. Joshua pushed open the door and invaded the control bridge.

    "Ah, there you are, hard at work, I see," said Joshua, feeling a bit uncomfortable in announcing himself. "You were missed in the commissary."

    The backside of Ferdinand''s bald head rose somewhat at this. "Twelfth bell, Cardinal. Sail deployment, make we now. God''s fishnet spreads as we prepare to leave slip space. Safe changeover envelope, we maintain. Must be no debris to clutter sail''s path, must have hydrogen stream behind us, so to navigate when we emerge, and turn off slip field. Abasement make, for lack of courtesy, but necessary. Missed Vespers also."The back of Ferdinand''s head then declined, and the Monk murmured, "Do penance later."

    Luminescent panels covered every surface of the room. The Captain and Navigator seats were fixed affairs, set at a twenty degree angle to each other, facing front, so as to conveniently cover the sweeping control bank. The console itself looked to Joshua like the product of an amorous interlude between a theater organ and a giant computer keyboard.

    Overall, the only things that truly looked out of place were the two monks, whose brown cassocks differed from their 12th-century counterparts only by the Velcro that held their robe sashes to the gowns, presumably to keep them secure in the low gravity of the bridge, one of the few core area compartments. Most cabins faced floor outwards, built into the rotating ring sections that surrounded the core.

    Joshua watched the colorful displays flash across the monitor banks as Ferdinand and Tiel''s fingers danced over the consoles. The most interesting of the bridge displays were the bank of external view screens. Joshua''s eye was pulled to the activity in the ship''s side viewers. Against the blurred background of the slip field, thin nano-fiber sheets of the ship''s Solar sail spooled away from the ship''s core.

    Compact, almost weightless, the graphene based network would fan out mile after mile, supported by thin bucky-tube masts.

    Like spokes of a bicycle wheel, thought Joshua. The sails were controlled by clutched digital motors sensitive to the pressure of solar winds. Flares and surface eruptions created streams and solar currents that needed to be navigated, just as sailing ships had always contended with.

    None of this knowledge detracted from the awe-inspiring view of the deployment. The naturally high albedo of the sail material shimmered with an ethereal beauty in the weak light of the approaching Arrakis system.

    Even in the views of the small monitors a vertiginous sense of distance and grandeur flowered. Normally, the viewers showed nothing that hinted at the endless vastness of open space. For one thing, once out of orbit, there was nothing to provide a real sense of perspective. A ship with sails deployed really did that. On a commercial liner with an observation lounge, the sight of acre upon acre of gossamer sail running off into the distant void, shook you to the very depths of your soul. Many a convert to the church traced their moment of conversion back to standing before the observation port of a solar sailor.

    Joshua tore his eyes from the displays, saying, "Father Logan mentioned that we would be at the first survey position within ten hours. Ah, bells," he corrected himself. "This will still stand true?"

    Tiel tilted his tonsured head somewhat away from the forward monitor bank to flick brown eyes at Joshua. "Nine bells now, to first station. Yes. Slip field will be off next bell. They can start anytime after, if they wish. Will announce, also changeover alert will sound."

    "I''ll leave you to your duties, then. Sorry to interrupt. I look forward to your company in the lounge after your shift finishes." With this, Joshua exited the bridge to make his way to the main lounge.

    ***

    At work in their cabin, Father Logan, with Arlyis acting as the spectral physicist''s assistant, completed final adjustments, and compared the oscilloscope input and output screens. The Priest straightened, eying the flickering patterns.

    "The waves match, connectors seem tight; I guess that''s that. How is the data graph coming? You know how much I like hard copy."

    Arlyis pressed the test button and watched as the sixty wavering lines registered across the output paper. "Looks right, Father. Soon as Brother Tiel gives us the OK, I''ll connect the hull web adapter in, and we''ll be ready to go."

    Father Logan wiped his forehead with a piece of packing tissue. "Well, some hours yet; nothing to do but wait." Logan''s features brightened. "I still have my new recordings to listen too. I left the best for last, you see. I barely managed to scoop up the latest addition to my Celestial Wave subscription before we left New Vatica. Lifetime subscriber, you know - been waiting for the chance. ''Fraid my bunk-mate, Dr. Ammens, does not share my love of music. Strange for a mathematician, most of them are avid music lovers, you see." With that Logan swayed out into the corridor, whistling a motif from Beethoven''s fifth, the Andante Con Moto, in an off key C minor.

    Arlyis frowned at one of the system test panels.

    Shit, she thought.The first stop coming up, and already problems with the equipment! It''s that old logic box I rigged up. It''s dead as a doornail. I''ll have to get Sir Colmer to send someone to drag it back inside.

    She picked up the ship''s com set, and paged Colonel Colmer, who responded quickly, and in person.

    "Fredric, I hate to ask, but I am going to need someone to go out and dismount some of our detection gear."

    Sir Colmer instantly agreed. "What is it you need removed?"

    "Oh, it''s a dark gray box, about four inches square. There''s a legend on it, Module C."

    "Can I ask what it does?"

    "It''s supposed to be digitizing the antenna flows, and relaying them to me, but it appears not to be working."

    "I live to serve. Just let me suit up. Do you have a replacement to refit? I can stop by and pick it up, if you like."

    Arlyis sighed. "No and that''s an issue. If you can bring it in, I''ll try to repair it and then it will have to be remounted. I''m sorry, that means two trips, doesn''t it? I am so sorry, Fredric."

    "Repair it yourself? I am further impressed, Miss Denies. Two trips it is."

    "Arlyis. Just Arlyis, OK?"This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

    "Arlyis. If you can call me Fred, my day will be complete."

    Arlyis smiled. "Is that what your sweethearts call you?"

    A fleeting mask of introspection crossed Colmer''s features. "Absent. I have no Sweetheart, but in the end, the girls in my life have always ended calling me absent."

    "Strange nickname."

    "Not a nick name, a condition. A military life is hard on relationships. It''s something I''ve become resigned to, I suppose." A note of regret crept into his voice. "Can''t blame a girl for wanting her man around."

    Arlyis in turn fell silent, biting her lip. What am I doing? Why am I getting so curious about this man''s personal life? She hunted through her mind, looking for a graceful way to redirect the conversation. "I guess it''s something that rears up in all professions, at some point. Dedication seems to have it''s down side. Well, Fred it is, then."

    She put forward her hand with a sunny smile. Colmer looked at it briefly, then reached out and took it. "Ill be back with the dastardly device in no time, worry not."

    Rare, that direct and honest outlook, she thought. He carries no grudges, and automatically considers everyone else''s point of view. Damn! Sure makes it hard to ignore his interest.

    The free-space equipment room of the CHRISTOS was also its ready room. It contained not only deep space gear, but the external maintenance locks. Sir Colmer extended one of the equipment racks, and began pulling the parts of a Near Vehicle Vacuum suit out, laying them on the assembly table. Privates Street and Eldon were still there, testing their own suits. Both looked up when the Colonel entered. Now they watched with increasing curiosity as he began decanting equipment.

    "Spot inspection, Sir?" Eldon piped. We''ll have these other two NVVMR''s done pretty soon, just finishing up the seal inspections, Sir."

    Colmer grunted, and continued assembling the suit he was working on. "No inspection. A new repair order. Have to go out again."

    Street looked worried."Something we missed, Sir? Should we re-kit?"

    "No. At least, I don''t know that''s the case." He looked up from the table. "Go on with post testing. I''ll do the E.V.A."

    Still wary, Eldon pressed, "Might I ask what unit is in question, Sir?"

    Colmer stopped his prep, and stared at the two. There''s no getting out of this, he thought. He had hoped they''d finished re-prep and been gone by now. The two would be on pins for the rest of the day, as long as they felt their work was in question. Normally, he would have booted one of them back outside, unless incompetence was suspected. Also, all these questions were breaking his concentration on the prep, an invitation to a quick internment in the morgue.

    "Look you two. Arlyis reported an equipment malfunction. Something internal to her C module on the down-linking array. Maybe a micro-meteor impact, I don''t know. I told her I would handle it myself. Tell you what. I''ll give you two hours R&R in the lounge. You can watch it all from there, so in case there''s some problem, I''ll know you two heroes have my back. I trust you can get those suits finished before I''m prepped, if you put your mind to it?

    "Two hours extra R&R? Hell yes," Blurted Street, "I mean, we''ll be done in a jiff, Sir."

    "Good Lads."

    Both were done well before the Colonel stood, fully kitted, before the lock. He did the final power, leak and lights check, then stepped into the lock. They watched Colmer cycle through, then burst into a fit of snickering.

    "Man, the old boy must really have the hots for Arlyis. Come on Brian, the cards are getting cold, buddy."

    Later, in the Lounge, the tall Monsignor Ammens and Bishop Wile also watched Colonel Colmer''s space walk, as he struggled to free the impaired assembly. Through the view port, all they saw of the Colonel, save for his shadowed outline before the star field, was whatever his shoulder light touched on, a bit of his stark white helmet, and some research equipment, clamped to one of the ship''s struts.

    Ammens made a sour face when he turned to see Privates Street and Eldon taking their ease at a nearby table.

    "It''s a terrible state of affairs," Ammens stated loudly, "when a Military Colonel can''t count on his own men to do such things for him!"

    "Jeez, yer honor," said Street, "the Colonel wanted to do it hisself. Think he''s taken a shine to Miss Denies."

    Monsignor Ammens raised his eyebrows at this, and looked down to swap amused glances with Bishop Wile.

    "What do you think, Benn? Does Colmer have a chance?"

    "Eh? Why not? Nice enough chap, is Sir Colmer. We should invite him to our cabin for tea tonight. I can break out the Sousa marches and let him regale us with his military stories. Perhaps hear a bit more about this romance of his, eh? Arlyis, eh? What are the odds of that, I wonder."

    Ammens pursed his lips in thought. "About 14 to one against, with a standard deviation of two point three, actually, for shipboard romances."

    "Pah! You can''t put a number to a thing like that!"

    "Indeed I can."

    "Nonsense. No statistic can predict a singular case, and Fredric is a most singular fellow!"

    Meantime, the Colonel continued his examination of the defective logic box, and found the temporary clamps that held it to the equipment pod brace. As he worked to remove the assembly, his shoulder lamp flared and dimmed. Cursing, he reached to tap the lamp, but all that achieved was to slowly revolve his suit away from the brace, and wrap the safety line around his calves. Colmer tried to free himself, reaching down to grab the umbilicus. This caused him to start revolving forward, so he quickly tried countering the inertial dynamics of the move by straightening his legs.

    This worked to some extent, at least it kept him from going into a two-axis spin. The freed slack in the line now kinked up, threatening to loop around his head. This was truly dangerous, for further difficulties could then get him garroted if the line coiled there and tightened. Grabbing the line, he freed it, but this activity began a sideways revolution. With the addition of this, the line momentarily grew taut, exerting a pull that started him floating back and away from the ship, into the pitch black of space, and out of sight of the startled cabin audience.

    Brian stood, looking worried. "Mebbe we better get back to the dock lock."

    Private Street nodded and joined him. Both walked briskly out of the commons towards the ready room.

    The slight drag of Colmer''s line slowly ended the gentle side spin, though he now receded from the ship upside down. Taking advantage of the hiatus in his rotation, Colonel Colmer risked a few small puffs from the suit''s attitude jets, pushing off toward the ship again. The suit had monitors, the bridge knew his position, oxygen balance, temp, heart-rate and position, but such tell-tails didn''t equate to an assurance of safety. The view ports of the lounge were starkly visible, and he had a fair estimation of where the brace was from that. Rotating in space, with no external gravity, sense of up and down, or light, often meant a rescue was called for, line or no line. Sweat was beading up inside his helmet. I wish I could see where that line is now, he thought. Damn this scow, no external running lights.

    He slowed his breathing and focused on the view port. His aim had been good. The bright square enlarged as he approached . He was moving just to the right of it, as he had hoped.

    The black outline of the strut became visible, and another couple puffs lined him up with it. The beam grew in size uncomfortably quickly, and Colmer cursed again, applying a forward counter jet. Suddenly he was on top of it, and the suit pressed forward onto the strut, dissipating his forward momentum by pressing him crushingly into it. There was a hiss of air from his wrist seal where some hundred and sixty pounds of moving mass, traveling at an unknown velocity, focused its attention on a quarter inch area of the gland, caught between his torso and the strut. Colmer felt the seal kink. A chill pain ran around his wrist. At the same time, the escaping gas tried to propel him away from the brace. He grabbed on to it, with his freezing hand, and reached for the E-seal pack at his waist with the other. The emergency external seal-pack came free, and began to heat. He quickly pressed it against the seal rupture, squeezing the activator and pressing down against the escaping suit air. His ears popped. Foam bubbled forth, hardening around the E-seal, and the hiss stopped. On the bridge, Mendel noted the pressure drop, but also the immediate stabilization.

    "Colonel Colmer, is mission status OK?"

    "I''m Fine. Small suit leak, fixed it."

    Inanely he thought, Well,I''m back where I started, at least. Serves me right -- teach me to try and grandstand for a woman!

    Unperturbed, but without benefit of any illumination save starlight, he managed to finish removing the offending unit, and pulled himself to the service lock.

    Back aboard, aided by a fretting Street and Eldon, Colonel Colmer de-suited, and after allowing some time for the hard-frozen box to warm up, returned it to Arlyis.

    "I heard about your adventure getting this back," said Arlyis. "I wish you hadn''t needed to go out there, probably my fault too. I feel terrible having had to ask. Thanks." She shyly smiled and reached out to touch Colmer''s wrist briefly. Colmer kept his face relaxed, refusing to wince at this, despite the soreness in the wrist. There was a good deal of swelling there, but beneath the ace wrap, no fracture.

    "Think nothing of it, Arlyis. Wouldn''t have been a problem, had the light not died on me. Odd that. All part of the job; besides, I''m out of practice. Good thing I went. It reminded me to step up my training exercises. All that desk work has taken my edge off." Sir Colmer grinned, and immediately lost five years off his age. "Let me know what the problem was. You will have to take lunch with me now, you know. So you see, a benefit for me all around!"

    Arlyis laughed. "I suppose that''s only fair. Thanks again." She turned the module around on the desk and squinted at it. Looks OK on the outside, she thought. Better call Brother Mendel, and get this benched. Arlyis lifted her gaze, and watched the retreating back of Sir Colmer.

    Another time and in another place, I could let myself feel differently about that man...

 Chapter 6: Song Weaverâ€™s Voyage

    Cardinal Reswell sighed. What a mess. IˇŻm a university administrator, not an information specialist. It serves me right for stirring up this hornetˇŻs nest in the first place.

    Field Interview, North Spaceport corridor- Transcribed as recorded:

    She pulled back her long red hair, rose and came over to me.

    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    Well, thought Reswell, it is unusual, and it did occur in the Draco region.

 Chapter 7: Arlyis Investigates

    Arlyis sat with Friar Mendel before the benched circuit board, frowning. A stink of hot solder resin infused the small repair room despite the laboring exhaust fan. While Mendel looked on, she carefully pried six chips from their mounts, and placed each in the IC tester. Every one pegged the continuity needle when activated. Every chip read as shorted out. There were no logic states to verify. It was as if she were testing a handful of washers.

    "Something about the components, seems like..." she muttered. "The board traces were OK. Do you have replacements for any of these?"

    Friar Mendel took in the scattering of black ceramic shapes, and shook his head. "Too old they are. Most are custom, not standard items, the others, manufactured of antique materials are. Older they are than this ship, or its stores."

    Every Gallium-based microchip in the device had tested as being worthless.

    She imaged the board traces for breaks, and surface tested it for contaminants, but found nothing. In the end, Arlyis admitted defeat. "All of these components are junk! I just don''t understand it. There is no possible circumstance that could account for this. Do you think it was the cold, or radiation damage?"A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    Friar Mendel shook his head dubiously. "Dry sealed the case was. Insulated and armored, too. No water frost to cause a short. If the case damaged was, then maybe, but the case was not damaged. And the IC''s un-cracked are. Also,they are not burnt. I will run a Mass Spec on them, and perform a construction check." He looked on glumly. "There is nothing else to do."

    Arlyis threw up her hands in exasperation. "Best we just mount an output repeater in its place, and I''ll write a software emulation program to run on the ship''s system instead."

    Mendel frowned. "Already taxed the system is, if to this I agree, you must only run the subroutine when at rest the ship is. Slower now will our responses to problems in other areas be."

    It was finally agreed, though Friar Mendel was not gracious about the further loss of cycle time this would require. Simmering, he finished fault analyzing the microchips from the box, and sent a complaining report to Joshua.

    This time, Colonel Colmer assigned Private Eldon to do the remount.

 Chapter 8: Arsenic & Old boots

    Joshua sat at the combination console and desk in his cabin. A small gray electronics chip sat in his hands. Idly, he turned it over and over, as here-read the report from Friar Mendel.

    "Gallium." He frowned. Punching up a definition on the console, he read:

    Gallium (n) A soft bluish white metal : element 31 on the periodic table. Mass 69.72. It has a low melting point, (29.75 C). See Gallium arsenide, Gallium arsenide-phosphide.

    He punched up the definitions of these common semi-conductor materials, and then put the chip back down on his desk amidst the small handful of its brethren, stirring them about with his fingers. Why would Arlyis bring aboard a device full of trashed chips? According to Mendel, the chips were completely non-functional, apparently missing the Ga/As compound that allowed them to work. All the equipment brought aboard should have been thoroughly tested as a matter of routine. Yet according to Mendel, the device containing these examples could never have worked, ever.

    There were other, so far minor, equipment failures too. Colmer''s suit had exhibited a minor malfunction during his walk, according to Ammens and Wile, giving them both a start when they had watched it. Just the kinds of minor things that pinched at Joshua, and gave his office staff heartburn. However, he justified, little things have an annoying habit of growing up and having litters. Joshua''s attention to detail often made a difference, and he tended to heed any premonitions about them.

    A sudden thump shook the cabin wall, disrupting his musings. Following that, came muted shouting and other noises. Startled, Joshua left his compartment to listen down the hallway. Street and Eldon occupied the adjoining cabin.The commotion, obviously a tussle of some sort. So Joshua banged heavily on their cabin door. The noise stopped and after a few seconds, the door opened. The sheepish, and concussed, face of Brian Street poked out from the room. Ronald Eldon, in no better condition, sat on one of the room''s cots.

    "What," asked Joshua, "is going on in here?"

    "Nothing Sir, eh, Your Worship. Just ah, an accident. All settled now. Sorry, yer worship."

    Joshua eyed the soldiers. Both wore apologetic, hang-dog expressions, and seemed to find more interest in scanning the floor, than returning his gaze. Obviously nothing more was going to be volunteered by the two, so Joshua nodded. "Very well then, as long as you are both alright; just let''s be more... careful in the future, or at least quieter."

    Eldon apologized again and closed the door. Joshua stared at the closed door for a few moments, then continued down the corridor to Colonel Colmer''s room, where he recounted the events between Street and Eldon. Colmer nodded, sighed, and sat, motioning Joshua to the sole other chair the small cabin afforded.

    "Aw, it''s the boots again," said Sir Colmer.

    "The boots?"

    "Yes," continued Sir Colmer, "the damn boots. Sorry your Grace, but this will be the second time today I''ve had to deal with ''em. Both of ''em own pairs of military issue boots, the same type."

    Joshua considered this.

    "Yes, that follows. Military issue boots would be identical. Very sturdy. Own a similar pair myself. Completely self-sanitizing insoles and virtually indestructible. Meant to outlast the soldier to whom they are issued. What of it?"

    "Well, they both have the same size foot. After they came back from setting out the equipment array, one of the boys grabbed up the wrong pair, and this is what happens. Evidently my earlier talk with them didn''t take. Another mix-up, sounds like. They have both been off their strides since they finished the mounting detail. Don''t know what''s got into them -two peas in a pod, most times. I''ll talk with them again. It will take this time, I can promise you that."

    Joshua thought for a moment. "They fought over their boots? But they are the same utilitarian boots, exactly the same. What possible difference could it make if they did pick up the wrong pair? Can''t they mark their names in them or something?"

    Sir Colmer looked shocked."Absolutely not! Military personnel may not mark, deform, modify, or customize any issued item of military equipment or dress. Both men will be disciplined, of course. A soldier''s boots are to be stored on the left side of his pallet sixteen centimeters from the wall and 8 centimeters apart, laces wrapped and tucked neatly to the right inside of each boot tongue. There should be no doubt as to whose boots are whose. Those two are getting sloppy, and this is the kind of thing that comes of it, apparently." Colmer unconsciously rubbed at his healing wrist, momentarily distracted.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Joshua started to comment further, then thought better of it. Instead he noted, "I don''t mean to intrude in military matters, Colonel. However, it would be best if this sort of thing not be repeated. We may all be rubbing elbows aboard this vessel for quite a while. I leave it to you."

    Something about the incident between the two privates seemed out of focus. Joshua did not know them well, but they had seemed reasonably laid back types, and he considered himself a fair judge of character. They just didn''t seem to be the sort to start such a ruckus.

    "Oh, yes, while I am here, you retrieved the malfunctioning communications box from one of Ms. Denis'' signal collectors a few hours ago, correct?"

    Colmer nodded. "Yes about eight bells ship time. Arlyis needed it replaced, evidently, before she could run her scans. Is there a problem?"

    "Just curious Colonel, did you notice any damage when removing the module? Did you find anything abnormal at all?"

    Sir Colmer lowered his eyes to his wrist again, and slowly shook his head. "No...Arlyis just indicated it wasn''t working right and asked if I might retrieve it. I saw no external signs of damage, or shorting scores, if that''s what you want to know. There was that minor equipment failure I had with the suit light, and a damaged wrist seal, bit of a mystery about the light, those rare earth units almost never fail, but I can''t see how that could have anything to do with Miss Denies'' equipment."

    "Rare earth unit?"

    "The suit light power unit." Colmer raised his right hand cross chest, waving approximately over his left shoulder with a wince. "The lights are powered through a fail-safe shunt. A circuit that senses the current fed to the light. If it drops or is cut-off, it switches power to it through another line, or from a different power pack, as appropriate."

    "We thought it was just a battery failure. So it was some electronic fault?"

    Colmer nodded. "You could say that. A battery failure alone wouldn''t cause the suit light to fail-good lord man, it''s a space suit! What kind of equipment do you think we have?"

    "And the suit seal problem?"

    Colmer sighed. "Spacewalks are dangerous. Moving around in null-G is an art, and I was out of training too long. I should have let Eldon handle it. My fault. I let...other concerns...affect my judgment, I''m afraid. I have no excuse."

    Joshua filed away the information as Colmer continued.

    "I didn''t make a concerted effort to examine the site; working in a suit is cumbersome business, makes one concentrate on paying attention to one thing at a time, and I was distracted by suit problems as it was. Still, nothing smacked me in the face about the site or the box. It had just been mounted, by Private Rossiter, barely two bells before. Really all I can say about it."

    "I have to ask, would there be any Gallium derivative involved in the suit circuit,Colonel?

    Sir Colmer lifted his shoulders slightly. "Can''t say. I can have Rossiter report to you on the suit problem to you if you like. I assigned him to equipment maintenance duty after."

    "If you would, Colonel."

    Sir Colmer hesitated, raising his good hand, and said, "Wait, I, I have something to ask - nothing to do with what we were saying before. Something personal. Do you mind?"

    Joshua shifted in his chair. "Honored to be taken into your confidences, Colonel, how can I help?"

    Colmer straightened, took a breath, and with some obvious discomfort, managed to make a start. "There have been some...rumors aboard ship, about my relationship with Arlyis Denies. First, I want you to know that there have been no improprieties committed, that our conversations have been casual, or business oriented only, your worship."

    "I put little faith in rumor, Colonel."

    "Yes, well, I must admit to an interest in Miss Denies, though. She is a wonderful girl. I would be honored if she did take an interest in me, rumor aside."

    "Yes? Oh, I see. A bit outside my area of expertise, Colonel; what is your question?"

    "Well, I just wondered if she had mentioned anything untoward to you. She seems a bit more reserved, ah, quiet in my presence of late. I am a little worried it might have been something I said. I hope the rumors haven''t affected our relations."

    Joshua watched a flicker of concern pass over the Colonel, and realized the man was more than just interested in Arlyis.

    Oh dear, exactly the sort of problems I don''t want to deal with. Out loud, he replied, "I haven''t heard anything, Fredric. My advice would be just to ignore the rumors, or to bring them up to Arlyis directly, and get them out into the open between the two of you. As long as your public interactions are respectful, and don''t interfere with our work, your personal lives are your own, as well they should be."

    Joshua smiled. "I will keep my ears open, however. Good luck. Arlyis is one of the good ones; she would make a fine companion."

    "Good advice, your worship, best to meet the problem head on. I''ll do that."

    "Very good then; I am sorry to have intruded, Sir Colmer." Joshua retraced his steps back to his cabin.

    The defect in Colmer''s suit and the chips from the assembly were tied together somehow, bet credit on it, frowned Joshua.

    He almost passed his room to go forward and check to see if there were any messages from Dio, but checking the time, a quick calculation told him that on Earth, the commander would be sleeping. So he pulled himself up short and turned to reenter the cabin.

 Chapter 9: Sleepless nights

    Commander Diocullis awoke in his quarters. He stuffed his hands under the small pillow and stared up at the flat gray ceiling. Images of asphyxiating infants still crowded his mind. He started working over what Baine had shown him, but there wasn''t enough of the right information amid the welter he had been provided. No operant variable, no cause, just the results. Dio struggled to bring forward a sense of analytical dispassion; the better to sift through the mountain of factoids, but it was hard when his mind knew that lives were flickering out, with every tick of the clock.

    A sense of duty tugged at Michael''s soul. Even as a boy, he had taken it upon himself to shield others, to intercede. The thought stirred childhood memories.

    ***

    The fresh paint on the cinder block was not yet completely dry. Even though St. Helen''s Academy was brand new, the enrollment quota had already been reached. Only his pastor''s glowing recommendation had squeaked him in. Such thoughts did not enter Dio''s 11 year old mind. He was just happy to be off the Home-Education system, and out every day mixing with ''real'' kids in a ''real'' school.

    Arms pumping, Dio squinted at the ball, batting it forward as he ran. He flicked his eyes up, taking in the two boys playing forward defense. The opposing forwards were playing zone defense, so he wasn''t worried about the one cross-field, but on his right, Jon Bissak was trying to get in position to cut him off. Dio jogged right, trying to stay out of the other boy''s zone.

    Several kids shouted at him by name as he drove his way toward the hoop. Surprisingly, the other kid playing forward jumped his zone, and tore off after Dio, who backed up, spun and fired the ball to his team mate who paced him across the court. Denny, his teammate, almost missed the pass, not expecting one of the star players to give the ball up. Most would  have hogged it, even though better positioned players were around.

    Dio had watched Denny play in two other games. The boy was good on the catch. He could run a ball like crazy, but with an extreme forward dribble that made for an easy steal, so he wasn''t too successful in the game. Dio had seen him panic twice before, losing the ball to guards as he looked about for a better shooter to pass to. Needless to say, he wasn''t high in the picks.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

    Dio ran directly forward, passing the guards, and raced into the short zone just making it before Denny. The kid''s panic attack began, he saw Dio, and pulled his elbows in for a quick pass.

    Andy, a tall team-mate, pounded up center and tried to intercept Denny''s pass. Dio wasn''t certain whether Andy was just stupidly trying to grandstand, or if he felt Denny was going to ditch the ball, and was trying for a recovery. Either way, Andy botched the intercept, and the ball bounced off toward the back splash pylon. Andy, trying to turn away from the hit, spun and fell.

    The ball went out of bounds and whistles blew. The players started to take their places for the serve. Andy got up and pushed Denny, who fell.

    Nothing was said, possession passed, and the ball was pounded down court.

    Andy was just behind Denny. As both broke to follow, Andy leaped around the smaller boy and shouldered him, hard. Dio dodged his away cross court, up behind Andy and pushed him into the folding chairs along the court sides.

    "Just you don''t try that again, Andy! Leave Denny alone. So you screwed up a pass. Don''t take it out on Denny."

    Andy swung, and Dio swatted at the boy''s arm, slamming Andy back into the chairs.

    Later, in Sister Margarita''s office, Dio was sanctioned for a week, but Andy was out of sports for the rest of the season ... until his forearm knit.

    ***

    Dio had matured in his methods, but his ideals and hatred of might masquerading as right had never changed and it was those values that had driven him to the military arm of the church. Of course, his natural skill for tactics, not a lust for morality defined his role in the military.

    Dio pulled his hands out from under the pillow. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a shadow crept. Everywhere the shadow touched, things became shadows. Not covered by them, but became them. The image overwhelmed him.

    Help me to stop this, he prayed.

    Unable to rest, Dio rolled out, feet slamming hard on the unyielding tile.

    Cold, he thought.

    Stalking into the small receiving room adjoining the bedroom of the officer''s bivouac, he sat and glared at the phone. Six hours. Maybe the research group on Alcomer had some reports on file by now. At least it was something to do.

 Chapter 10: Shipwreck

    In the Draco, Friar Theomendus Raphael Carcciccio worked with shaking fingers in the gutted corpse of his ship to connect hand-made lead buss bars to the last of his small lighter''s energy cells. In the raving winds, jerry-built lines lapped viciously against the outside of the pitted ship, while shimmering distortions played along the cable lengths there. Not like before, not the ghost-like demons that crashed my ship.

    This was just ionization, a kind of St. Elmo''s fire caused by the thin gas, blowing sand, and a raw outpouring of radiation from the distant star the rock circled. A hollow groan vibrated through the canting hull. Friar Theomendus howled softly in sympathy with the wind. Evidence of extensive cannibalizing scarred the cabin, where pulled down panels spilled hanging cables and circuit boards into the confined, reeking interior. Outside, howling, high pitched methane gales pounded the small broken ship against the austere ice-scape of the primitive planetoid.

    Images of desperation stuttered behind sunken eyes.

    Mothers lifted sweat slicked infants before him, pleading. Small blurs drifted across primitive fields, like damned souls. Horror ridden farmers ran from their fields. Everywhere, plants and people were dying, sickening, helpless.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    "Everything is so thin!" he babbled. "So thin, thin, thin! Devil''s work. The Apocalypse, the end! I must sound the h-horn. Revelations, look to Revelations!"

    As his sight dimmed, his hands flicked weakly over the rigged connections. He sucked in the carbon dioxide heavy air through blue lips, and powered up the transmitter one last time.

    He engaged the signal pad with shaking hands  His vigorous work had worn through the suit''s liner, exposing flesh to the cold,worn-out wrist seals of the environment suit.

    "Eight-seven, eight-twelve." His blackened fingernails jabbed the numbers repeatedly on the rigged keypad. He hadn''t thought of eating durring these last two days. Was it two days? Just as well since there were no more rations left...

    A wracking spasm seized him, and the pad left his numbed fingers, falling to the littered floor. He followed the pad, rolling over, glazed eyes focused on the viewport, soiling himself as he died, watching sparkling blurs run up and down the slapping cable that connected the radio transmitter to the ship''s ice-crusted broadcast antenna.

    High above, something that could have been an orbiting ore freighter scanned the small wreck, but passed by, like an ocean liner picking its way past an iceberg. The nameplate riveted to the hull of the freighter winked slightly in the reflected albedo of the oversize moon. Corriander.

 Chapter 11: Space Signals

    It was two bells before lunch, and Sister Seika was at loose ends. The research was all focused on spectral data at this point, about which she knew nothing. So she decided to prowl the lounge. The CHRISTOS was not a large ship, and without meaningful work, cabin fever was quick to set in. She was pleased to see Arlyis taking tea at one of the small tables. The promise of some company lightened her mood. Arlyis stirred her tea, poking at the bag and frowning out the lounge view port as the nun entered.

    "It scares me sometimes, looking out at all of that," Seika noted, nodding at the endless vista of glitter-scattered blackness beyond the port.

    "Oh! Sister Seika, I''m sorry, just lost in my own inner space, I guess. Pull up a chair. We can contemplate the unfathomable together."

    Sister Seika pulled at her habit and sat. "Something must be chewing on you. You''re the last person I''d expect to see pulling a long face in this dour bunch."

    Arlyis waved her hand in dismissal. "No Victoria, not really. Well, yes, in a way."

    "Something with the work here?"

    "Oh, the work is bad enough, I suppose. I''ve had my share of problems." Arlyis sighed. "It''s Sir Colmer. He''s been such a gentleman around me. I, I feel pressed, you know?"

    "Has that man...he''s been forcing his attentions on you?"

    "No, that''s not it. It''s me. I kind of like Fredric. He''s been very proper. I really would like to get to know him better, but with my career and all, I''d just be wasting his time. I don''t want to lead him on. He is a really nice guy, and only ten years older than me, you know? Underneath that military attitude, he''s a very laid back, pleasant person to be with. But when all this is over, I''m going back to a full professorship at the university and my dissertation. I don''t want to start up a shipboard romance. Not now. But we run into each other every day, and I really do like the man. It makes me tighten up, nervous, you know?"

    Sister Seika sat back, poker faced. "Oh, nothing much then; I see...well," Sister Seika paused, looking out the view port. A few near bodies were visible enough to discern as disks, rather than just as bright points of light. A planet, possibly a gas giant, towing a moon with it, fronted the prickled curtain of stars. So many stars, she thought, so near they seem, and yet so far away.

    "Have you talked to him about this?"

    "Oh no, I mean, we talk together at meals and on and off about work, and things. I get a strong feeling from him, that''s all. It''s like he is waiting for me to, to decide something. Maybe it''s just my imagination."

    "Or maybe you need to work through those feelings of yours a bit more. If you have come to the point where this is occupying your time, you still may want to bring up some things with the man."

    "I don''t know. I would feel funny broaching a thing like that. What if it is just me?"

    Sister Seika shook her head. "Are you sure you haven''t encouraged this? Pah!" Victoria threw her hands up. "Would you listen to Me? Ask me something about herd behavior. Or migration patterns, now there, I can help you! I can''t claim any expertise dealin'' with the boys. This," she plucked at her habit, "pretty much puts me at a safe distance from all of that."

    Arlyis laughed. "Yes, I can see that it would."

    "The armor of Faith, honey."

    Both women tittered.

    "Now, my mama would have a two hour lecture all prepared for you. Always an answer for everything, she had!"Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

    Victoria composed herself, taking on a more serious expression. "It''s not good to leave this up in the air. Couldn''t be that hard to draw the man out, discover what his intentions really are. Like any other big dog, Colmer doesn''t impress me as being the shy type."

    Arlyis sighed. "I just don''t want to end up acting like I''m holding him off, but I don''t think I should be encouraging him right now, either. Oh, I don''t know what to think!"

    The nun''s eyes seemed to focus inward for a moment. "I haven''t been on an expedition vessel since my Master''s days, but I can tell you this much. This ship," Sister Seika gestured, taking in the surroundings, "is a small, small space, and you need to keep focused. Don''t go leaving issues trailing around behind you, girl. You have to maintain a working relationship with him, just like with everyone else aboard, preferably in ways you are comfortable about."

    "I know - you''re right, of course." Arlyis inspected the cooling contents of her cup.

    "Maybe," continued Sister Seika, "you could just tell him, oh, you might be open for an outing or two once the mission is over. That would at least let you put it out of mind till things finish up here, free of all this tension ."

    Arlyis wrinkled her brows and returned to staring into her cup.

    "On the other hand, If you like the man and he''s not pressing you, why don''t you just go ahead and get to know him better? He seems an upright kind of man. You could do worse, and he''s a full growed man. He can just put up with it."

    Arlyis nodded. "Well, I will have to think on it. You''re right of course; I have to come up with something, for the sake of work, if nothing else. This," Arlyis moved her head, seeming to take in the ship, "is too good to mess with."

    Victoria reached out fussily and brushed back Arlyis'' hair. "At least consider bringing it up to him."

    "I''ll consider it." Arlyis pulled the right side of her lips up in a wry half-smile. "Thanks Victoria".

    ***

    With the signal collector horn now remounted to the mast outside the CHRISTOS, Arlyis found herself busy once more assisting father Logan, who had began collecting and recording emissions patterns.

    Arlyis handed recorder tracings off to Father Logan as her equipment finished interpreting them. The priest scanned them without a break in his continuous and unconscious whistling. Arlyis winced. Many people whistled as they worked, but usually they picked a tune more interesting than a Gregorian chant. Probably, she thought, an accurate rendition, but sure loses one hell of a lot in the transposition to a whistle - Irritating habit.

    Blithely, Father Logan scrolled through the tape, blue marker dashing and circling away. "Well, well! Here''s our old friend again, eight seven, eight twelve, see?" Father Logan directed Arlyis'' attention to a sequence of frequencies he was scrutinizing. "I recognize the formation. I, ahem, I have a good location for Joshua on that one. He''ll be glad to know it, but these others I don''t recognize. What do you make of this?"

    Arlyis bent forward, searching out the blue highlighted sections of the tape "Bands forty two and forty seven? Not electromagnetic. Quantum level vibrations." She shrugged. "You''re the emissions specialist. If it wasn''t for the quanta frequency," she ran one hand through her hair, thinking, "I''d guess a commercial broadcast signal, demodulated, you know; with the carrier stripped out, maybe. But at that low a level, in the quantum bands? I don''t know - some sort of singularity turbulence?" Arlyis squinted, flicking back and forth between the circled areas.

    She reached around with her left hand to rub at her back and straightened up. "Not enough Pseudo-Doppler indicated, too near in astronomical terms for a broadcast, I think."

    Father Logan brightened. "Quite so my dear, quite so; no inhabited systems near enough...reminds me of something." Father Logan frowned. "I can''t place it though. This looks very familiar somehow. Let''s run a simulation of it through the oscilloscope. Leave the speaker output on. Very familiar."

    Arlyis reset the data recorder to the right segment, and patched signal bands forty-two and forty-eight through, to create a audible pattern analogy. They listened quietly for a few minutes. Ephemeral cadences filled the small room. Father Logan''s features evolved from puzzled through wonderment to grim concern. There was no mistaking the Song Weaver''s strange recordings for anything else. "Arlyis, please get Bishop Wile and Cardinal Joshua," Logan husked. "Get them now."

    ****

    A loud rapping at the door-frame brought Joshua to his feet. It was Brother Luke with a summons from Father Logan.

    "Your Grace! Pardon the intrusion. Father Logan says there is something to show you, right away. Something of Importance. Oh, also, a location he has determined for the transmissions."

    "The transmissions! Did he say where the origin was? Is it close?"

    Brother Luke frowned in thought. "No, he did mention something in passing, but anxious he was to tell you of his other discovery."

    Good Grief, what could be more important than pinning down the origin of the doomsday message?" Tell Father Lo...never mind, I''ll see Leslie myself, right now. Thank you, Brother Luke."

 Chapter 12: Friar Theomendus

    Joshua gripped the rope tightly, not trusting to the belt clamp alone as the party of five slowly dragged themselves from the Lander across the frozen, rocky ground, under the pitch skies of the small planetoid.

    Colonel Colmer and his men, Street and Eldon, took the lead, pounding dog bolts into the icy, shale-like ground every twelve feet. The heavy environment suits were a blessing, the weight an aid to keeping their feet in the frigid gale winds that tore around them. Rossiter came last, behind Joshua, untying the line from the last dog, then rappelling his way to the next eyelet, to repeat the performance.

    Slowly, the tilted, crashed remains of an old missionary lighter hove into sight.

    How, thought Joshua, in perdition, did a missionary scout end up out here? Why would a stranded Friar broadcast cryptic numbers rather than an S.O.S? Logan had been more excited about finding an abstract rhythm in a Quantum signal band than he had been about finding the origin of the Armageddon radio burst. The excited old Priest almost forgot to mention it.

    Joshua cursed again as a sudden gust almost blew away his dubious hold on the lifeline, stifling an automatic reflex to cross himself. Like Ferdinand, he would have to do his penance later. From his current position, Joshua could make out some of the Lander''s details. There was a cable leading down the side, stuffed into a rent filled with foaming vacuum putty, the standard do-all of space going emergency kits. The seal on the lighter door appeared puffed out, which did not bode well.

    Sir Colmer and company, having arrived, were already busy with the hatch, so Joshua increased his efforts to catch up.

    Suddenly, Joshua felt a hard crack against the back of his helmet, and his feet pulled out from under him. The back end of the lifeline jerked sideways and went lax. He fell with a whump onto the hard ground with a force felt even through the padded environment suit. Still tightly clasping the rope, he could see Street pulled to his knees ahead of him as Joshua''s drag on the line suddenly increased and angled down. Skittering sideways in the suit, Joshua managed a position where he could look back. Rossiter, in one of his tricky maneuvers, had let the line get away from him. Joshua could make out his tumbling form as it slid, bounced, and slid again away at an angle from the main party.

    Rossiter fetched up finally against a rounded protrusion far to Joshua''s left. Pawing and twisting, the private managed to bend his body half around the rocky bubble, but it was plain this hold would not last long.

    Wrestling his body around, back in line with the party''s original direction, Joshua could see Colonel Colmer and the now unbalanced Street clinging between the lighter and the forward-most piton, keeping tension on the line against what was now solely the weight of the floundering Cardinal.

    Sir Colmer risked a hand away from the piton to indicate the infrared transmitter affixed to the side of his headgear. Joshua stared for a moment in uncomprehending panic, whipping his head around inside the encasing suit, trying to get another view of Rossiter. Understanding dawned on him. He jabbed down on the chin switch inside the suit.

    "...the hell happened! Turn on the god damned receiver! The receiver! Can you hear yet?"

    "I...I can hear. Rossiter lost hold. Can you see him off to the left? No that''s wrong. Your right. My left."

    "I see him," said Colmer. "We will have to run new spikes back to his position. It will take some time. You will have to come on forward. Don''t try to get up. Pull yourself along on the ice pack. Cinch the rope around your waist rings like Private Rossiter was doing, and play yourself up the line. Can you do that?"

    "Yes, I suppose, get to Rossiter! I''ll take care of myself. He can''t hold on where he is for long!"

    Sir Colmer turned away starting to run out the new pitons and drag his way back towards the stony outcrop and the hopefully still sensate Rossiter. No longer inline with the infra red beam, Joshua was plunged back into his separate world. Rossiter couldn''t be heard, as his head still faced in the wrong direction for reception of the military line - of -sight com gear.

    The black Ops close combat suits were the only ones available that were armored sufficiently to stand against the vicissitudes of the fast revolving worldlet with its vicious, if thin, methane winds and jagged ice. They only had the five of them, and that only due to Dio''s foresight. The blessing was muted by the fact that such suits had absolutely no broadcast radio gear, just line of sight IR. Joshua contemplated the cold warrior code that lack evoked. Men sent out in these during a wartime maneuver were expected to return with shields high, or on them, without broadcasting to the enemy meantime.

    Struggling, he managed to collect enough free line from behind him to wrap around his waist. Clinging for dear life, he passed the now doubled line through the remaining loops on the alternate side of his suit. Grabbing desperately at the emerging loop, he began the feat of progressively pulling the line through, inching forward against the blistering wind, and taking up the slack cord by winding it around his arm.

    Intermittently the wind would roll him over, so that he ended up flat on his back, kicking down at the harsh icebound rock for traction. Joshua concentrated on reaching the ship, and kept himself from thinking about what was happening to Rossiter. Eventually the hands of Street and Eldon closed about him, dragging him to his feet and inside the now open outer lock of the decrepit lighter.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    Private Eldon brought his helmet up against Joshua''s, eschewing the infrared at such close quarters.

    "You O.K?" Joshua heard over the roaring wind that had picked up some, were it possible, during his trek. The almost pure methane gale was noisy, if not breathable.

    "Yes, yes I''m fine. Did you get to Rossiter yet?"

    "Naw, Colonel Colmer is making his way back to the ship along the old piton line. Rossiter lost his hold on that rock, and went off way outta sight. We don''t have that much line. Colmer''ll bounce the Lander up ''n over a bit an'' try to spot ''em. We gotta'' finish up here meanwhile. Only have an hour, then we gotta'' be getting back."

    Eldon thumped the tank on the back of Joshua''s environment suit "Oxy, you know. Don''t worry. If Rossiter didn''t crack up on somethin'' out there, Colmer will get em'' back. It''s a small world, after all. Rossiter''s got a couple a pitons himself. All he''s gotta'' do is spike hisself down and wait. He''ll think of it sooner or later. Look, we were trained for this kinda'' stuff. We was more worried about you."

    Joshua was struck with the truth of it. He hadn''t even remembered about the IR suit transmitter. The suits were virtually padded armor in construction. Breathing time was the main limitation here. You were more likely to die of oxygen deprivation than of bouncing about in a high wind.

    ***

    The whole thing was gruesome. The missionary''s cabin was littered and filthy. The Friar''s corpse shared the floor with uneaten food, stripped wire,discarded tools and disassembled sections of equipment. Given the circumstances, Joshua was again thankful for the cumbersome environment suit. The smell would have been intolerable without the barrier it provided. A frightened expression, frozen across the corpse''s features made a horrific impression on Joshua, one that would haunt him for days. He motioned to Street and Eldon, and patted the internal hatch that led to the cargo hold. A bright flare of cutters soon flashed to life, and the cabin became a stroboscopic nightmare that only worsened the horror. Street motioned Joshua back, turning off his torch, to grasp a pry bar.

    A few tugs later and the door swung silently free in the airless, but now particle filled ship. Eldon entered first, then motioned for Joshua to follow. Joshua bent forward, watching carefully as his encumbering suit leg cleared the lock threshold, then went completely through. Raising his gaze to take in the hold, he saw--nothing. He passed one hand along some scrape marks where paint had rubbed off on one bulkhead. The field mission kit should be in here, he thought. Something on the flooring caught his attention, and he bent again. Dirt and a little rock drizzled across the decking. He passed his gloved hand through the light layer. It shifted under the glove, smearing a pattern through it.

    The party finished their investigations with the lighter quickly and recovered the deceased Monk''s remains.

    Colonel Colmer recovered the distressed Rossiter without further trouble. He had indeed tied himself down to a few pitons about a quarter mile away, against another wind-sanded outcrop. Colmer lifted the Cristo''s Lander, and battled the ship across the windy landscape to private Rossiter''s new position. Landing upwind, he used a winch line, playing himself back to the soldier''s site, and used the winch to drag them both slowly back. Rossiter had been sheepishly embarrassed to admit he had let himself become too flustered to tie off at the first opportunity, and took a terrific ribbing from Street and Eldon on account of it.

    "I had just set a new dog inna'' ground. Tugged on it and it came loose. I went flyin''back, an'' the wind, she caught me good. That was all she wrote. Off I went. Thought I got ''er under control when I grabbed the first rock, but I couldn''t let a hand free ta'' reach my kit, an well, I slipped off''a it anyway."

    He winced as Eldon took off the suit top, revealing a nasty red welt just below Rossiter''s shoulder. It was a fine match for several other marks and contusions that peppered the stoic soldier''s frame. Somehow, the man had avoided any broken bones or permanent injury. It would be several days before he would walk again without pain though, suit or no suit.

    Later, back aboard the CHRISTOS, Joshua spread the pictures they had taken out on the desk of his small room. Old, bearded, wasted, the remains of the Friar were now encased on ice below decks. The trip recorder module, scavenged from the wreck, was being downloaded by Brother Mendel. Other artifacts included some personal effects: Bible, Rosary, a meager pile of dented ship''s ration containers. There was nothing with an immediate story to tell. No notes, no diary, not even the ship log that should have been there.

    Arlyis'' and Father Logan''s discovery of musical patterns in the quantum band, similar to sounds on a recording of Logan''s, had been complete serendipity. He compared Logan''s report with the SONG WEAVER file, and glanced again at the pile of IC chips still decorating the desk''s outer corner. Well, certainly there were a few observations about all this worth reporting on.

    There was the origin of the mystery broadcast to report - an absolute must tell, of course-and the college was looking into the source of the New Vatica recording. There was nothing from Diocullus yet. Joshua picked up a photo of the wasted, dead Friar, and sat back pecking the edge of the desk with it. At least they now knew where the cryptic broadcasts originated, if not why they were generated. The lighter''s solar sail array was still extended when it was found, torn, crushed of course, but extended. No ship would try a reentry without the sails furled first. Whatever originally happened to the lighter had occurred in flight, not in landing. Much like in the SONG WEAVER case, he realized. This too, meant something.

    "Where have you been off to my old friend?" whispered Joshua. There was no cache of church literature or paraphernalia inside the minimal hold of the lighter.

    That was something. In the early days of the church, before New Vatica was completed, a dominion of Friars had been established to crew these small ships. They searched for new colonies, targeting likely destinations, hoping to found the rock of the church on worlds to which small venture exoduses had been launched during the first expansion era.

    Eventually the sect''s function was terminated by the current Holy See. The attrition rate among the Friars had been unbelievably high. Many Friars, seeking dreams of being called "Founder", defeated by too many arrivals at barren destinations, did not return.

    The fanatic Friars would punch up just one more possible destination, just one more, until they were lost, dead of starvation, or worse.

    But our Friar found...something. Someplace that called on him to unload his precious cargo, set up his little mission. Or, thought Joshua, were these items just scattered somewhere, lost and abandoned? Joshua tried, but couldn''t imagine it. Not on your first try, though. Not at your registered destination. We checked that against the ships registry number. No, you gave it just one more try, in the Draco.

 Chapter 13: Earth Reprieved!

    Diocullis snatched up the receiver and punched for the base communication exchange. "This is Commander Michael Diocullis. I need to draw an informational download from the college library of New Vatica University on Alcomer. I am interested in the following file number- ."

    Michael read through the reports. Joshua had found the source of the strange biblical broadcasts, he saw. The papal council would be pleased that progress had been made on that front. There wasn''t much else of substance in the database as yet. Then one interview caught his eye. A small commercial enterprise vessel, the SONG WEAVER, had reported an encounter near the Draco. He recalled another file item, backed through the data, and examined a report filed by Father Logan and Arlyis, just prior to their retrieving the dead missionary, with some interesting annotations by Joshua. There it was; odd transmissions on quantum bands forty-two and forty-seven. Joshua theorized they may have been connected to the Song Weaver''s, encounter, and documented Logan''s excitement with the possible relationship. He picked up the receiver again and dialed the number Commander Baine had provided. After a short chat, he returned to his bed in a more relaxed mood.

    ****

    "We scanned bands forty-two and forty-seven with the filters you suggested. Discovered some real strange emissions," noted Commander Baine. Michael watched through the docking bay view-port as the Military transporter settled in and locked on.

    "I won''t even ask where the information came from, at least," said Baine with a sideways glance, "for now, but it saved our collective bacon. Got us a start." The cargo bay of the transporter opened, and a gray cast cylinder was lowered out onto a tractor gurney. The four foot long gray lozenge was unpainted, and bore no identifying markings.

    "Are you sure the thing is turned off? I''d hate to think it was still broadcasting," said Dio.

    "No chance of that. We have a long history of dealing with tricky toys here, Sir," said Baine. "I still don''t understand it exactly, but it seems to be an emitter of some sort. Somehow, we figure, it was acting as a pointer, just like you - predicted." Baine eyed Dio like a Crane spotting a frog, but a sense of resignation registered there as well.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    "Basically," Baine continued, "this told something else to ''do it here'', so to speak. Not that we have actually interpreted the signal, but the effect stopped when we disabled it. Not the answer to the how or why I''d hoped, or even who or where. Still, it stopped the atmosphere siphoning cold. That''s the thing."

    "The team that found it said it was put together weird. Some of the solid state stuff it used just wasn''t in our books. Mostly custom stuff, made off planet." Baine ran his hand across the metal casing.

    "Function was easy to figure out though. Self powered and running a completely self contained program. Not much chance it will lead us back to anything. It goes from here to the physics lab. One of the tech rats was babbling about quantum communications. Pretty on-the-edge stuff, not what you would expect in a guide device."

    "How is that?" said Diocullis, his eyebrows peaking as his eyes roved over the decanted transmitter.

    Baine shrugged. "I''m no scientist. I know the tech is great stuff. We use it to help punch messages across light years of distance in zero time, but worthless for real time guidance, or communication by itself. You can transmit, or set, information about something''s state in quantum, but not define it in space time. That is, you can''t locate its position, and looking at it changes it. It has to do with," Bane paused, concentrating to dredge up old training data, "Detecting high probabilities of change in energy spin states in the valence shells of custom made hydrogen atom twins. Whatever that means. Least that''s what they told me in tech class. Based, I guess, on the non-locality effect of paired electrons, though that particular quantum effect isnt useful for transmitting data.

    "Had a hell of a time finding this one," Baine said, slapping the side of the transmitter. "You want to track a quantum transmitter you''d better have luck on your side. We found it by comparing mass scans of the asteroid fields along the conical center line. Sent ships to areas that had picked up mass since the last scan, started checking out everything new - got lucky. Ah, you could care less, right? This one likely broadcast the strike site coordinate. What kind of a bastard would do something like that?"

    Diocullis grunted. "More things in heaven or hell than you have ever dreamed of."

    "What?"

    "Nothing important, just paraphrasing a quote. You really should read up more on your culture''s literature, Baine. I want copies of the signals, scans, all of that. Send it to the library of the radiography college on Alcomer. Speaking of reports, it''s time I made mine, with your permission?"

    "Ah, go ahead. I''ll see your people get the data fast as it comes in, Sir."

 Chapter 14: Singers of Space

    Joshua paced the lounge of the CHRISTOS, waiting for Bishop Wile to make his appearance. Wile had been cloistered with the new reports gleaned from the data banks on Alcomer along with Miss Denis, Monsignor Ammens, and Father Logan''s recordings for the last twelve bells. The three were even taking their meals in the room.

    Father Logan had been gently evicted, and Joshua had been temporarily required to share his quarters with the priest while the three crowded Logan''s cabin. The prelate found the spectral specialist''s constant whistling distracting, but they had gotten by. Joshua had managed to stay out of quarters and thus out of range, most of the time.

    The oscilloscope equipment had been transferred to Logan''s usurped quarters, as had the data terminal from Arlyis'' room. Except for occasional calls for ordering pencils and such, no word had been forthcoming from the three.

    The Monks were taking in the sails again and making ready to jump further inside the Draco constellation group, dangerously close this time to the limits of the 12- 27b phenomena periphery.

    Father Logan waddled into the lounge, red faced, to confront Joshua. He stabbed his left hand repeatedly toward the cabin area. "All my recordings and sensitive playback equipment are in there!" Logan moved about in agitation as he talked. "I am sure they are tampering with my things! Unpardonable! Besides, I am the one who discovered the similarities between the Song Weaver recordings and those signals- my discovery! How is it Wile, and my assumed friend, Ernst Ammens, can shut me out of this, using my own room, too!"

    Joshua squeezed his eyes shut, and rubbed his temple, reflecting that these people often seemed to need a babysitter more than they did a mission leader.

    "I think you are overly concerned Father. Your contribution was very important, and I am sure no one intends to deny you any credit. We have time and space issues aboard this ship. It is important that Wile and the Monsignor have a look at that data. With Arlyis at work on the equipment, and Ammens running calculations for Bishop Wile, it is simply all elbows and knees in there. Let them try to decode the transmissions in peace, Logan. You did your part, found the link to the Song Weaver''s encounter. Take this time as a well earned respite. Stay here in the lounge a bit, and cool down. There will be plenty for you to do soon enough."

    Joshua did feel compassion for Logan. A doer, Joshua controlled his own inner demons by constantly pressing on to solve away the irritations life threw at him. Waiting for answers interrupted that process. At times like these, he spent a good fraction of his day prowling the lounge and visiting the bridge, grinding back impatience. While the lounge provided library access, card games and other ways to suck up shipboard ennui, these held little interest for most aboard. Like many focused people, the researchers needed to feel in control of their time, and their attention was not easily diverted. Worse for Logan, his primary hobby revolved around his recording collection, access to which was now temporarily suspended.

    Father Logan harrumphed."Very well, Joshua. Relegated to lounge duty - Paugh!"

    Joshua decided to follow his own advice, and wandering over to the lounge''s small juice drink dispenser, scrolled through the available choices. The researchers would fare better left alone, but the waiting was inconvenient and...well, irritating. The situation was tantalizing, he admitted. The SONGWEAVER recordings made by living agents? What if these living agents were here, in the Draco Group? Something attracted to small ships, something damaging....the data comparisons to music seemed to indicate that.

    Father Logan sat down at a reader to stare out the lounge view port, one arm draped over the ignored viewer. Sister Victoria Seika, also at large with nothing to do, decided to engage the priest, and approached. The priest had settled, taking in the view, and had begun his unconscious whistling.

    "An interesting tune, Father, should I know it?

    "Eh? Oh, yes, it''s the Annen Polka Opus 117, by Strauss, an old favorite of mine. Sorry, I tend to whistle when irritated."

    Which must be all the time , thought Seika

    Logan groused on. "I stand evicted from my quarters, you see, as Wile and Ernst fiddle about with my recordings, looking for some sense of intelligence in them, doubtless. Trying to separate wheat from chaff, all that. Perhaps that is not the best analogy, plants not being very musical."

    "Not necessarily." Victoria smiled. "Plants and animals both create music, as it happens. Many plants have been found to use sound to attract insects for fertilization, and studies have been performed showing that some types of music affect the growth of plants."

    "Really? Now, that''s quite interesting." Logan found anything bordering on his hobby an appropriate topic, and became suddenly fascinated.

    "Oh yes," continued Victoria, "even the germination cycles of grasses and common garden weeds are often triggered by the presence of vibrations. In the field, I was trained to keep my ears open to all sources of sounds. They can supply quite important clues about plant and animal communities."

    Logan looked enthused, saying " I have always thought music to be a universal language. This kind of study, it forms an important part of your specialty?"

    "Well, whales for example, were discovered to use song for communication as early as the twentieth century. After all, sound is just a variety of pressure stimuli. Really, audio clues are one of the most basic resources of life in assessing its environment. We would like to think that all music is an expression of our higher cognitive functions, but actually, a lot of it has its basis in the imitation of the natural world."

    She tilted her glass, waving her free hand lightly in front of her. "The songs of birds, the pounding of the sea, the rumbling basso of a volcano, would be a few examples."Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    Sister Seika stabbed at the small glass of fruit juice with the end of her finger, pausing to lift it to her lips, removing the sweetness while making smacking noises. "See? Now you know how yummy this juice is!"

    Father Logan''s face reflected more annoyance than epiphany, but he nodded politely in response anyway.

    "Song," she continued, inspecting the end of her finger, "indicates a well developed sense of the environment, and perhaps an intense striving to cope with it. You shouldn''t be too astounded to find it popping up in all sorts of places, even in that dammed obnoxious whistling of yours."

    A look of brief astonishment flashed across Sister Seika''s face. "I am so sorry Father. I don''t know why I said that. I apologize."

    Father Logan waved off the apology. "Nothing I have not heard before, my dear. Still, I can''t tell you how eerie it was when I realized that the haunting melodies I received from my Celestial Wave music subscription were being played out on the data plotter of our radio telescope."

    A strange look spread across Father Logan''s face. "Thank you, Sister - you have just been responsible for my next thesis."

    Logan grabbed up a blue pen and began scratching at a data copy of the first Draco emission scan, which he had carried about like a Bible every waking moment since it was made. "Let''s see. Motif, yes, Ground; repetitive; fortissimo; a bridge. Ah. Here it is again. Yes, ah, a bridge. What if these structures substitute for verbs, or these for conditional operators? Language isn''t my forte, but..."

    Sister Seika, used to the abrupt swings in attention from the brilliant complement of the CHRISTOS, smiled and shook down her inky habit as she rose. "By your leave, Father?"

    Father Logan batted the air with his right hand. "Yes, Yes. Blessings child. We must speak again later. Ah! Another one, a variation on the first, I think. A modifier? Good God! I wonder if the Bishop noticed this? I must tell Bishop Wile immediately!"

    Joshua had been partially following the conversation with one ear. Sensing an imminent breakthrough, he followed the agitated priest out of the Lounge and back to his former cabin. Father Logan burst into it waving the copy, and cornered poor Bishop Wile. Joshua squeezed into the room on Logan''s heels. Wile bobbed his head, brown eyes brightly scanning Logan''s notes as Father Logan chattered, pointing and poking at the document. Joshua let his gaze wander about the room. It was a pigsty of raveled cable and yes, disassembled audio equipment. The quarter''s two sleeping pallets were littered with papers, printouts and tables. This, he noticed, no longer seemed to concern the animated Father Logan.

    "Arlyis," Bishop Wile asked, not removing his eyes from the copy, barely interrupting Father Logan who continued to run on excitedly, "Do up a program to scan for a template match based on Logan''s Ideas. He may be onto something here!"

    Dr. Ernst Ammens, hovering over the shoulder of Bishop Wile, scratched a few mathematical algorithms down which he quickly and calmly handed over to Arlyis.

    "Try these functions,"he suggested. "I think he is looking for a readout identifying wave clusters in the original transmission tapes. I would run all sixty bands through, and require a percentile of match for each spectra."

    "And the frequency of occurrence of each matching type per band, also," added Bishop Wile." Very important to the identity of language elements, you know."

    Arlyis, suddenly awash with the three men''s attentions, rolled her eyes high in her head and made a flat line of her lips. Referring to the mathematician''s notes, she began to modify the program code of the machine, as Wile and Ammens fidgeted further with the printouts, furtively glancing at Arlyis as she worked. Arlyis snorted, aware of their all too evident impatience. "Bathroom''s down the hall. Relax. This won''t take long; it''s just a patch to the stock Rosetta stone program."

    Language? The thought surprised Joshua. If the quantum signals they had found, and the New Vatica recordings of Logan''s, were not machine controller signals, background radiations, or random music like forms, then the similar transmissions of the machine Diocuilis had found may also have been...

    It was time for a meeting.

    ****

    Joshua stood before the lounges one large table, Counting heads. Arlyis and Colonel Colmer sat across from Ammens and Wile, with Logan and Sister Seika huddled together at the opposite end.

    "I think we should go over what we know. The cryptic messages out of Revelations came from a stranded missionary, who would have been better off broadcasting a standard distress call. Would anyone like to guess why the missionary was so cryptic?"

    Wile looked puzzled for a moment, and then said, "I know something about the missionaries'' contemporary to Theomendus. I know they had standard distress beacons on board, and that this man avoided using it. Perhaps he was afraid the message might be intercepted; he certainly rigged his transmitter specifically to avoid broadcasting on any frequency likely to be monitored by anything but a Radio Telescope. Odd that."

    "We now know," Arlyis pointed out, "that the sounds the Song Weaver recorded exist here, and are some form of linguistic communication. The elements of language were clearly there. So that''s another thing that''s different about this, but neither the missionary nor the signals we gathered point to anything that would cause a loss of mass. Both are just congruent events - happened in the same place. By the way, that was spectacular work, Father Logan. You really pulled the rabbit out of the hat with that one."

    Logan waved the complement off, but his eyes were smiling. "Tush! Victoria put me in mind of it. I am rather proud of catching on to it though. Watch for my, eh, our," He amended, nodding to Bishop Wile, " paper on it."

    Joshua slid a hand into his breast pocket, retrieving one of Arlyis''s defunct microchips. "I read your report on these things, and Mendel''s as well. As I understand it, the things aren''t even proper components; they don''t even contain the essentials to function. How can this be?"

    Miss Denies reddened. "The damn thing worked before we left! I have no idea why the chip''s Gallium Arsenide disappeared. But it did - must have happened on board is all I can say."

    Colmer rose immediately to her defense on this. "Here now, you''re not suggesting Arlyis ruined her own equipment, are you?"

    Joshua raised both hands in denial. "Oh, heavens no. I just don''t understand how their ability to function could ... just disappear."

    Colmer brightened. "But dear boy, isn''t disappearing matter exactly what we are all here to research?"

    Bishop Wile chimed in at this point. "Here-here! Quite so. Joshua, Colmer may have something there. You did say the chip malfunction had nothing to do with wear and tear, after all. Perhaps Colmer has uncovered something."

    "I will have to look into it. There is one other thing. Diocullis, if you haven''t read his report yet, did confirm that a mechanical transmitter operating on the same quantum band as those ah, songs, was apparently involved with Earth''s atmospheric losses. So we have a long string of congruent, as Arlyis would say, events. I would like you all to put your thoughts to that. I suppose that''s all for now."

    However, he realized, the discussion didn''t cover all they knew. They had not looked at somethings at all! Joshua rose quickly and raced to the Bridge. On the way he stopped to talk with Brother Mendel briefly, to order some further tests on the deceased Missionary, then hurried on. There was fear in Joshua''s eyes. The pieces were finally dropping into place-a horrible, terrible place.

 Chapter 15: Close Encounter

    The unpainted hull of the CORIANDER was possibly one of the ugliest things plying the void. The exterior was virtually covered with clamps, gantries, pods, reels and catwalks. Deep within, Captain Haviland and his Second stared at the sweeps display scanning the CHRISTOS.

    Haviland''s business was salvage. If he actually dug anything up he would have considered himself a mining operation, but this was not the case. The asteroid belts, long over-mined anyway, were not a source of big profit; Victor Haviland didn''t bother digging for his ores. His type scanned space for high grade, floating mountains of rare metals-asteroids containing more of it than the pedestrian ice and iron blobs that commonly peppered the belts then towed them to processing centers.

    Heavyset, thick-browed, the steel-gray eyed Captain was an example of a particular abnormal psychology. He was the kind of man who absolutely required a strong leader before him. Haviland was competent, capable, ruthless even, but needed a higher authority before him to be effective, and feel alive. His boss dictated his conscience, his truth, his purpose. Victor was the kind of man who, left leaderless, shut-down. Luckily for Victor, his boss, Gregory St. Croix, fit his needs perfectly.

    The ore he found was taken to the St. Croix refinery to be smelted and sold, but not today. Right now, and for some time, he had been interested in shadowing the CHRISTOS, for whatever interested Gregory, obsessed Haviland. This area of the Draco contained much that concerned his boss. The CHRISTOS put his nose up, like a guard dog scenting a thief in a junkyard.

    "What the hell is a New Vatican packet doing out here on the edge of everything?" Havilland groused to the Astrogator, who shrugged.

    "Prolly a rescue mission. We haven''t picked up a distress call, but they did make a bee line for that great lump of lava near Arrakis outside the Draco,where we saw that junked missionary ship. Really gutted it was, nothing to salvage, by the looks. Anyhow, that''s my guess."

    Haviland glared. "Then why are they still poking around? There are no registered colonies around these parts. They should be chasing back to New Vatica."

    The Astrogator shrugged again. "Dunno, maybe we should ask em''," he said with a snicker.

    Haviland leaned over the Astrogator and slapped the screen. "Maybe we should. Get Mr. St.Croix on the ''Caster first. Let''s see what Gregory wants to do."

    ****

    Brothers Paulis and Tiel were manning the bridge when Joshua entered. "I would like to know about local traffic through the section. Have you spotted any?"

    Tiel cocked his head and thought. "It is interesting question. Hard to see anything in space this far from a star, but I understand O.K. Is very light. Warn-off receiver locates very light, what did you say, traffic? We have only one Warn-off point seen lately." Tiel poked some keys and a display lit up.

    "Log shows one signal, class II ore carrier in area. It has been on screen for a while now.Is not unusual, is a type of space going ore tug- big one; scavenger class. It has been on screen, last 46 bells, ah," Tiel stopped to do a little math in his head, "two days standard, about."

    Joshua asked, "How long..."

    There was a repetitive beeping from the board, and Tiel held up his hand. "Your indulgence, Cardinal, Is phone."

    A voice emanated from a panel overhead.

    "Ore ship CORIANDER here, Captain Haviland of Pan-System Metals. New Vatica packet, we saw you parked over that dead rock back apiece, are you in any trouble?"

    Joshua asked Tiel, "Is there any formal reply format for these situations?"

    "No, is common band communication, like a chat line."

    "Do you mind if I answer this one?" asked Joshua.

    Tiel clicked a relay and said, "O.K. Just, talk when I nod."

    Joshua cleared his throat,sought a nod from Tiel, and began, "Ah, Captain Haviland, this is Cardinal Joshua of the packet CHRISTOS. We are fine, thanks. Just picked up the remains of one of our poor missionaries for burial...ah, how about yourself? Out here long?"

    There was a brief silence from the speaker, then, "Haviland here, your worship. I am just finishing up my tour. Not much so far. We will probably be heading back soon, to Callistro. You people finished up?"

    Joshua opened his mouth in reply, but was interrupted by the arrival of Brother Mendel who whispered quietly with Joshua for a second, then left.

    Joshua thought, then started again.

    "We were thinking of surveying the nearby systems to see if the missionary had found a lost colony, but perhaps you could save us the trouble. Have you mapped out this sector on your ore survey?"

    "Haviland here, no Cardinal, we haven''t any indication of a colony, the most recent survey isn''t even a week old either. We''ve combed the area pretty carefully, too. It''s all vacuum - slim pickings."

    "Well then," said Joshua, "I guess we''ll pack it in, so to speak."

    "Haviland Out."

    Joshua signaled to break the connection, then turned to Tiel.

    "Get me a packet link to Commander Diocullis through the university of New Vatica library, quickly, please. Also, turn this ship around and start up the FTL field. Set up our current location as the destination."

    "Waste power, why?" asked Tiel.

    "Just do it, please,something in the nature of an experiment. I will explain later. As for the call, let us just say I believe Captain Haviland is hiding something. Oh, and raise the solar sails."

    Both looked oddly at the grand inquisitor''s strained features, but began the process. Joshua watched the warn-off screen closely.

    For simplicity''s sake, as well as a safety precaution in congested orbital patterns when parked, every registered ship contained an emitter beacon that made finding its position easy for others by transmitting its location. Warn-Off was really a misnomer. The display system simply read off the positional data of other ships within a few hundred thousand miles of the receiver and generated a display that corrected for the distance and speed of the reporting objects. Anything further than about fifteen light minutes away was ignored.

    Since the signal contained timing as well as location data, it was easy to display a true local activity map, and was better for the purpose than radar, since it was not influenced by reflections or crippled by long return times at space faring distances. The signal was direct, you did not have to wait for a bounce back. You knew where everybody that counted was, who they were, and what their vector of travel was, because the signal told you. Military vessels could, of course, disable the pulse, but it was a mandatory sealed unit on all other ships. This meant the CORRIANDER had been within fifteen light minutes of the CHRISTOS in its travels for a good while, or at least as long as Tiel had been aware of it.

    As the CHRISTOS began the strange combination of movements, a change of vector for the CORIANDER registered.

    "Is phone again," noted Tiel.

    "Ignore it," said Joshua.

    ****

    Diocullus, Dr. Wile, and Joshua sat at a table arranged in the CHRISTOS Lounge. Through the viewer could be seen the slippery shapes of two large man o'' war crusader class gun ships, and a number of military lighters, ranging about the distant bulk of the ore scavenger CORIANDER.

    "It was a near thing, Commander. Haviland became suspicious, and began closing maneuvers. Luckily, he was to near too use his slip field drive, and was forced to close using mass reactors, standard fare for cargo type ships, since all they do anyway is carry, or tow, in this case, mass. His poking along at sub light speeds gave us time to prepare, which we put to good use,"

    Diocullis spoke briefly to an adjutant, who snapped to attention, saluted, then bowed to kiss Michael''s ring before departing.

    "Yes. Very close work, your worship. The Earth forces are already closing in on the refining station the Coriander is associated with. I will be leaving here to join it. Callistro wasn''t really their base of operations, of course. Few of these big mining ships actually operate out of their ports of registry, you realize."

    Diocuilis eyed Joshua with obvious curiosity. He had barely managed to avert the disaster on Earth with what he considered a band-aid fix. Even this was due to the information Joshua had uncovered and wired in summary, to the University. Michael had carefully examined all the documents downloaded to the New Vatican library, and couldn''t put together the picture Joshua had.

    The SONG WEAVER report had talked of strange space phenomena at a place that was along the axis of interest he had discussed with Commander Baine. It also detailed a couple of transmission frequencies. Getting Baine to try out scans on those frequencies hardly even counted as an intuition on his part. Diocullis felt Joshua had assembled his piece of the puzzle from a perspective he inherently lacked.

    Michael lifted and revolved his tumbler of fruit juice, then frowned and said, "I hate to turn this meeting into a classic Sherlock Holmes denouement, but my curiosity is insatiable. Brief me on how you discovered this."

    Joshua waved a hand."Nothing, really. I was confused as to how all the pieces fit, until I had Brother Mendel run an analysis of some tissue samples from our good, if disturbed and deceased, Friar. The call from the CORIANDER was almost not essential, at that point, just convenient. I was afraid we might find something like the CORIANDER out here. I had gone to the bridge just then to confirm that, or order a search."

    "You see, Friar, ah," Joshua scanned one of the reports scattered across the table, "yes, Theomendus it was, Friar Theomendus had a complete lack of certain substances in his tissues like oh, arsenic, which although a poison, is inevitably found in extremely small quantities. Also missing, some very minor but long-term important electrolytes, and minerals, whose absence is known to cause mental anxiety and increased irritation."

    If I had the wit to order an autopsy earlier, Joshua thought, I might have put all this together a lot sooner.

    "I won''t bore you with the list. In another case, we had experienced some strange elemental losses in certain elderly equipment on board the ship. Brother Mendel brought this rather forcefully to my attention in the form of some gallium arsenide based integrated chips that seemed to be missing the arsenide component of their makeup."

    Michael looked confused, pushing his head forward inquiringly. Joshua wove his hands in the air as if ordering the beads of an abacus.

    "At one time electronics manufacturers made common use of arsenide components in their solid state semi-conductors. In time, this practice was abolished for a number of reasons. Better materials, the environmental dangers and problems associated with recycling these potentially harmful substances, other things. Only a few examples exist anymore, usually in odd bits of experimental circuitry like Arlyis''s specialized research equipment."The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    Diocullis began, "Why would..."

    But Joshua cut him off with a shrug.

    "Researchers are inevitably short of funds. They tend to put to use whatever they can get their hands on cheaply. Don''t look so aghast, Michael. Arsenic itself is quite widely used in many chemical manufacturing processes,and is still quite a valuable substance.

    "Another thing, I''d noted some irregularities in the humor of the staff, possibly early signs of minor chemical imbalances like the corpse of Theomendus exhibited. Jury''s still out on that one, haven''t had a chance to follow up. The point is, they were largely things you couldn''t attribute to say, not eating your veggies regularly, or in the electronics case, decomposition due to age. Most of the substances missing from Father Theomendus were things you wouldn''t notice, or test for medically. After all, not finding enough arsenic in the tissues? Who would remark on something like that, even if it were routinely tested for?"

    "Beg pardon?" said Diocullis.

    "I was just trying to associate a lot of unconnected oddities. I gave up trying to make a logical connection and just built what I had into something consistent.

    "It occurred to me Theomendus may have been here, deep in the Draco Constellation area for some time and had been affected. His ship did not contain the mission apparatus all such ships carried to new colonies. Therefore, he had found one,and decanted his kit. He didn''t use the emergency beacon, and had disabled the standard spotting transmitter that all ships carry to avoid collisions in space."

    Joshua brushed his hands across the table. "But that bit isn''t even necessary to know. The important part was that he was afraid, half mad, and had bothered, in what must have been extremity unto death, to rig a radio emitter to broadcast on a band only monitored on New Vatica."

    "You will remember," Joshua continued, "the 12-27b report was based on unfiltered scans, picked up when calibrating a radio telescope. Our Friars flew solo, and were trained on Alcomer. He was hiding from something and wanted what he said to be picked up by our research center. Theomendus was educated at N.V.U. He must have known about the constant training scans performed by the university. We know, from examining the ship, that Theomendus was the source of those mad transmissions. The signal was the result of, I fear, a confused interpretation of events. We shall never know the exact details, of course."

    Joshua sighed and sat back, musing. "I imagine something like this. The good Friar, disappointed in his initial failure to find a colony world, resets his destination to some point in the Draco Sector indicated in a probability extrapolation worked out before he left New Vatica. One of the low likelihood destinations considered but discarded by the church at that time - a common enough event, one which eventually lead to the abandonment of the program.

    Dio looked sharply at the prelate. You certainly did not have this information from me, or the packet I delivered to you."

    Joshua waved this off. "I did say imagined, but hear me out. Low on everything but faith, wonder of wonders, he finds one of the lost colonies! He lands and debarks his mission. He is a hero. Everyone flocks to his church to hear not only the WORD, but centuries of news about the state of civilization.

    "Our Theomendus is young, in his twenties, idealistic, and decides to postpone announcing their existence until his flock is ready, as he accounts it. Days pass into years. Not today, thinks Theomendus, tomorrow perhaps. On the other hand, maybe he is content that his charges remain isolated, it really doesn''t matter. One day, thirty years later, trouble comes. Like on Earth, perhaps. I will take the best view of his state, and put it down to what we found out about his chemistry. His autopsy revealed a mental imbalance caused by the removal of certain elements from his metabolism. Before his eyes, people dying, terrible atmospheric phenomena. Perhaps his flock turns against him,. Again, we cannot know, save for the outcome. I must find help, he thinks, feeling the disaster to be an attack of some kind. Whether it affected his flock,or just himself, point is, he flees."

    Diocullis blew out his cheeks and noted, "Quite a story, even if fabricated from whole cloth."

    Joshua shrugged. "Oh, I like a good story. But this one''s not quite a bar-stool yarn. The Friar we found was lost to us forty years ago. He certainly didn''t spend all that time on board. His ship didn''t have the equipment, food or power for that. He spent it somewhere. If he had got to a civilized planet or station, he would have reported in, or been reported in, even if he landed insane or dead. At least, the ship''s landing would have been registered.

    Diocullis snorted. Well, "We know where and when he actually did contact us, and how."

    The prelate nodded. "The mass loss effects reported by Cardinal Reswell seem to be similar to conditions you noted on Earth. The odd message in the transmissions of Theomendus hinted at physical mass losses -- What sponsored our involvement in the first place. I knew from the autopsy that something similar happened with our Friar, and so by extension, possibly with his colony. I suppose we all envision some aspect of a recent disaster as affecting our own endeavors, perhaps unjustly, at one time or another. I am not immune- it''s not special that I followed up on this. I assume he was still a Friar since he still wore a habit when found. I can''t imagine much else from what little I know, though you are correct, Dio - the rest is of course literary license."

    Joshua ticked off points on his fingers. "Both the minstrel ship and the good Friar were disabled in space. The Friar''s vessel was badly damaged, the minstrel very lightly. However I needn''t tell you how incredibly rare collisions in space are. Even the Earth systems asteroid belt only contains some 300 main bodies, none of which are capable of damaging a ship in stream. Both ships were small, normally proceeding in slip field flight with solar sails extended, which on small craft, are frequently designed to do duty as energy collectors. The Song Weaver report even makes mention of that. Two such cases in the same time-frame, inconceivable! If the ships didn''t accidentally collide with something, then something purposely collided with them. Only that makes no sense either. Why would anyone ram a priest''s ship? Or crash into a flying recording studio? Only in the minstrel''s case, we know what it was. Indeed, they recorded the encounter, hmm?"

    "I felt, based on the evidence from our own scans, that the causative agents were about in the Draco. Evidence of bands forty-two and seven, here, on Earth, and at the Song Weaver''s location? It might as well have been handed to me on a plate."

    Privately, Dio considered that only Joshua would think such a leap conclusive, but simply waited for the rest with crossed arms.

    "My leap of faith, my thought was, that this new thing, the entities, might be the cause of the other new thing, the mass loss phenomena we found here, both in the Draco ten light year ''hole, and in our Friar, our microchips, and especially notable, on Earth. I have no idea of the mechanism, but if the Earth was similarly plagued, evidently through the use of a device, could it have been directing these...entities?"

    Joshua waved his hand."Again, my speculation is really not necessary.

    "Point is, my fear that someone might use such a thing to such nefarious purposes. My crew is working on that, with help from your most current reports."

    "You assumed the quantum communicator device was not made by the ... creatures then?" asked Diocullis .

    Joshua frowned. "No. At the time; the tech you reported was categorized as "off world" not "Alien." We now feel that instrumentation isn''t their strong point, in any case. Sister Seika made the observation that they don''t appear to be tool users. At least, we haven''t seen them use any. Remember, quantum emitters can''t be located, they just, babble at least as far as our ability is concerned. The tech you found was odd, but followed human technology in its construction. You mentioned it was manufactured. It wasn''t some relic or alien artifact, yes? Also, as you pointed out in your reports, it really couldn''t have been a beacon, in the usual sense of the term."

    Diocullis laughed. "That would be hardly possible, considering the technology used; point taken, and a fair assumption."

    Yes," admitted Joshua, "well then where was I? Oh. A tool does presuppose a tool-maker. I wondered if we might find some tool-using agent in the Draco directing all this pandemonium. That was my fear. The CORIANDER was the only thing in sight, and out here in space, that coincidence was hard to swallow. I called simply to protect myself, not any more a deduction than any old lady would make finding a dark stranger loitering in her yard, I''m afraid."

    Diocullis appeared to ponder this for a moment. "While there seem to be holes in that logic, I can''t fault the conclusions reached, Cardinal. Very intuitive despite your disclaimers. Still, this doesn''t directly implicate the ore carrier. How did you tie all this in with the CORIANDER?" Diocullis demanded. "I thought your navigator told you that miners often visited this area?"

    Joshua nodded. "It is true Tiel mentioned that ore gathering freelancers might reasonably be expected to make such ranging voyages way out here beyond the pale. But bumping into one, as if it were a tuna in a goldfish bowl? They were patrolling, not scavenging. Haviland as much as admitted this was the case. He told me he had scanned the entire area a week ago and had found nothing. Why else would he still be out here, in an ore-less void, following us about for two days?"

    "The last test was something I intended to try anyway - Repeating the conditions both of the small ships exhibited prior to their damage. But not at speed of course, no need to damage our own ship. Stop, put out sails and activate slip field in such manner as to simulate the Songweaver''s charged state when it encountered the entities. And of course,"Joshua waved at the shimmers running up and down the fanned out sails beyond the ship, "there they are."

    "Amazing, your Worship," said Michael.

    "It was just a lot of addition more than intuition, really. Could have been wrong, but I had to call you. If I was wrong, I would have apologized, when you arrived, and the ore ship would have been gone instead of closing in on us.

    "We still don''t know the mechanisms, so I still have to complete my primary mission. Dr. Wile and the rest have been making progress with our research the last few days; he can fill you in with much of that."

    Dr. Wile, content to listen quietly up to then, cleared his throat and took up the discussion.

    "The manifestations running about the sail web are indeed some form of life. We know they take in food in the form of matter which they convert to usable energy before, not after, absorption and excrete what very little they cannot use as radiant energy -- photons, muons, that sort of thing. They are almost supernaturally efficient creatures; composed of coherent energies hung like laundry on the threshold of our universe. Whatever forces bind them here exist rotated into other dimensions or extruded into the quantum world of threads and rings, where their communication bands exist. They may even turn out to be the cause of some Wormhole manifestations."

    Diocullis thought on this. "How do they manage, out here in free space?"

    "We have observed them in the process of moving about", said Dr. Wile, "and for any traveling distance of more than a score or so of feet, they seem to fold into space, disappear, then reappear elsewhere. They obviously love the thin ether and oddly, the anti-graviton emissions of our slip fields, plain enough.

    "They are indeed capable of moving mass, at the elemental level. Have no idea how yet. Takes place on some level of the cosmos we know little of, that much is clear. This is likely the origin of their interest to such as Haviland and his ilk. Imagine what wonderful gleaners you have here, could you get them to harvest metals and other elements selectively for you.

    "Why do they move matter about? We haven''t gotten anywhere near enough information to say. It drives Sister Seika crazy not to be able to do a long term habitat study. She is on the systems daily with the papacy trying to rally support for establishing a permanent research station. Sister Seika says the behaviors, the clustering and the group actions, look on the surface like nesting behaviors. They stay to one locale, seem to preen it, clearing out debris with their talents, so forth.

    "Arlyis has her Rosetta stone programs grinding away under Father Logan''s trembling hands. They are rapidly decoding their elements of speech and should be able to start codifying the language, if that is what it really is, quite soon. Sister Seika is doing her best to codify their physical responses."

    "So there you have it", interjected Joshua. "I''d wager that mining company you mentioned is using them to leach out specific metals and gases from planets, stars, and so forth, and without much concern for the consequences, other than as is rudimentary to not getting caught."

    Diocullis nodded. "Astounding, what next, then?"

    Cardinal Joshua sat for a moment. "Well, first my staff must finish their initial work. The Pope provided us a mandate for this mission. We are to see this issue through to its roots. He wants resolution, not just information."

    Joshua turned to take in the flitting phantom shapes as they coursed across the vast expanse of the CHRISTOS solar sail array. Much, he thought, was being made of this in a scientific sense, but really, bumbling out here and running into them was not the answer to his mission. He had uncovered the What, not the Why or a How.

    "As for the entities, I''m hoping for sentient negotiation, but if necessary I suppose a mechanical answer, as I assume was used on earth, could be employed. Something mechanical to ward off instead of attract the attention of these," Joshua waved in the direction of the solar sails ". . . things. They are a wild card in this equation. If they have been used to cause unnatural havoc, the problem is still unresolved.

    "I have discussed this with Father Logan, who is by the way, thrilled smug. We can see great good coming from what we have discovered, but a potential to cause great suffering exists as well.

    "It is now a race, do you see, to get a handle on this. We must learn to control, or defend ourselves against this new science. The Holy See and Cardinal Reswell have already been conferred with, and are working up a proposal to eventually present to the Federation, but you know how limited a help that will be. At the beginning of this mission, Cardinal Reswell was worried about changes to the shape of the universe, based on unknown physics."

    Joshua passed his hands over the back of his neck and drew breath. "This is worse. Life is a statistical aberration. As much as we talk about Nature, life fights to exist in spite of it. It is willful, not so predictable, and can''t just be corrected for, like some event this ship could be programmed to avoid. This discovery changes everything. Besides, things wait on your own mission completion, as it is."

    Diocullis sighed, hoisting himself up from the table. "Very canny, Joshua. I know you already have here every possible aid, but I wish there was something further I could do."

    "I appreciate that, Michael, but at least short term you have further eggs to fry. God forgive me, but I hope you discover every one of those pirates behind the weaponizing of these things. They certainly don''t seem to be aggressive on their own part. Anything you learn about the, the Wavies, I guess is the nickname my staff uses, please see I get soon as possible."

    "Of course. One further thought though. If you are correct, you now have a ship completely inundated with things potentially lethal to you and every member of your crew."

    Joshua froze, and then blanched. "You''re right, we are at risk. In our own defense, we didn''t know for certain that our guesses were correct. We could have been wrong. This was just the fastest avenue to find out! I will have to move us out of here immediately. Besides I need to have the crew completely tested, and the ship''s integrity examined. Thank you, Dio. Later, we may have to look about for the lost colony of Theomedus, after all."

    Joshua concluded his conference with Dio then abruptly spun on his heels and raced for the bridge.

    All of this, in synopsis, was sent to the University Library at New Vatica.

 Chapter 16: Gregory St Croix

    Gregory St. Croix slumped deeply into the overstuffed leather chair, facing the picture window of his 32nd floor office. The chair back pitched viciously against a black marble desktop, levered by his legs, which he held jammed against the window''s pewter sill. Big, calloused fingers roped together behind his neck, pulling his head down against a heavy, well tailored chest.

    His coal black eyes took in the low lying coke plants and tall furnace stacks of St. Croix Mining, stretching out almost to the limit of view. Gregory''s features pulled together into a hard slash-lipped set that, for him, passed as contentment.

    Two hundred and forty thousand tons of pure elemental Titanium had been processed through St. Croix today. Tomorrow, the first oh so carefully and quietly released shipment of jet black collapsed oxy solid, two metric tons of it, would be transshipped to Bremman''s Veldt Cryonics Institute for an enormous price; worth more, reflected Gregory, than today''s production of Titanium.

    His eyes fell to the desk''s cold surface, and the agent reports neatly ordered there. Clawing up the stack that dealt with the church, he scanned again the briefs dealing with the inquiries it had been making into his mining affairs in the Draco sector. His face reddened, and a guttural snarl escaped through clenched teeth. He shredded the papers, hurling them at the black serpentine wastebasket nearby. A few managed to enter it, most did not.

    Gregory swung back to face the marble desktop, dropping both feet to the floor and straightening his tall blocky form; an act which caused the chair to wheeze.

    On his desk lay the keys to the universe, in the form of a small control box no larger than a cigarette pack. Gregory slid one thick arm over the cold stone and grasped it; slowly pulling the controller to him. Plucking it up, he pointed it toward the left office wall some six meters distant, and mashed an inset green button on the controller.

    Silently a panel rose divulging the distorted sheen of a plasma cage field. Heavily baffled behind a full inch of polarized and leaded glass, it''s coruscated brilliance was still visible, in spite of the muting barrier. An ephemeral, pulsing light beat deep within the cage.

    "Well Princess,"said Gregory, "I guess it''s time to move you on to safer Quarters."

    Refining site six, as the corporation lovingly named it, was a good size piece of real estate to abandon, but not the most important piece of the vast holdings of St Croix Ltd.

    Gregory St. Croix was not the sole owner of St. Croix Ltd. Total ownership had ceased three generations ago when his great grandfather staked a claim so phenomenal that incorporating became necessary to raise development capital. A great wandering core of some exploded planet had drifted into a long capture orbit about a small Double star. It completed swinging through that system about once every thousand years or so. Heavy with pure elements, it provided a rich living for two generations of the St.Croix family and the leeching horde of co-investors, but the windfall had run spare.

    Gregory owned, through inheritance, over 31% of St. Croix - a controlling interest, enough to tramp steel-booted through the Board of Directors. But St. Croix was not the gold mine it was in his ancestor''s day. Now, the remains were mostly Iron. There was only the enormous personal wealth of the family estate.

    Oh yes, Gregory was wealthy enough to buy and sell nations. However, the glory and status as holder of the largest mining find of the age, was gone. No cultured rich man''s son for all of that, Gregory had pushed, clawed and parlayed to keep the mammoth St. Croix alive and in one piece. Hard as stone, brilliant, and unscrupulous, he raped his way across the stars looking, always seeking, for something big enough to assure the care and feeding of the giant, ever hungry, St. Croix Ltd.

    Gregory sat back and contemplated the result of that effort. A mining ship had discovered it while prospecting in the Draco constellation. The lazy captain had sent the ship''s expensive solar sail drone into a thin asteroid field to snoop out a few promising rocks, and got the snooper''s sails holed badly enough to strand it.

    The captain had engaged the snooper''s weak one shot jump generator, attempting to hop it out of the rock field where it could be retrieved. While the riddled sail collector built the necessary charge to go FTL, the probe had inadvertently recorded some footage of the life-form. The man didn''t report it, and was caught trying to alter the recordings from the probe, to cover up his costly mishandling.

    Quality control had reviewed the recordings and brought some curious data to his attention. While the flickering, transparent images appeared to sport about the ragged remains of the solar sails, the probe''s metal density scanners had recorded declining mass readings in the surrounding area. The quality people were worried that they had discovered some sort of blight-causing agent, some eater of metal, and therefore profits. Gregory saw a possible advantage. Perhaps, he had thought, it was something he could inflict on competitors to provide an edge. He fired the Captain, bonused the quality lab, and sent out his best geophysics people to investigate.

    Based on these reports, other specialists were sought out; some came for the money, others for different reasons. Gregory applied pressure where necessary to get what he wanted. The rest was history.

    The things were attracted to the graviton network often built into the currently popular sail/collector/antenna units common to many of the compound-technology spacecraft. It made the creatures somewhat more visible in space, and provided the low attractive mass environment they bred in. While they did consume small quantities of mass by converting it into radiations, which they absorbed, mostly they removed mass from around themselves, leaching it away, somehow translating it elsewhere by manipulations at the quantum level of the universe. Any kind of mass, located at any distance. Selectively.

    His quick mind realized that here in his hands lay the seeds for a new technology of transportation and other breakthroughs. Prominently and more importantly, in his view, here was the Magic Lamp, the cornucopia of mining. The Big One he had spent his life searching to replace. It was his and his alone to exploit. Unlimited access to all the pure, perfectly refined metal he could envision, for as long as he wanted. All he had to do was learn how to rub the lamp. So he did.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Half of all his immense personal wealth had been funneled into the project. Not to advance knowledge or explore the breadth of scientific opportunity exposed, but to get the whip hand on the beings, to control them. Direct them. Own them. He found that not only could they extract and transport elemental substances, but could be directed to concentrate them, reassemble them into masses as collapsed as the matter of a white dwarf, if desired.

    So now new products were rolling out the bays of St. Croix: solid gases, super collapsed liquids, compressed iron. But the strange new introductions were being made slowly, so as not to raise undue alarm in the marketplace. Meanwhile stockpiles of standard fare now grew. Unfortunately, some of the best products, like the solid collapsed oxy, were harder to obtain a source for. Most high concentrations were on planets already occupied or were expensive to retrieve and process.

    There was elemental oxygen everywhere, of course, locked up in compounds and scattered freely through out the universe. But leaching such sources was slow. Certain mineral salts and rare earths were also problematic, requiring star lifting and segregation, or creation in collider rings, since the direction of the entities in their collections was risky and crudely controlled.

    The space leaches mostly concentrated on heavy metals by nature. Moving them away from breeding sites to gain relief from the magnetic and gravitational fields they contributed to.

    That of course was one of the keys to their control. It wasn''t very hard to develop a gravity whip to torment them. Make fields to contain them. Create devices to emulate the creature''s natural communications to direct them.

    Gregory, had enough of trying to coax compliance out of the leaches. He had taken on hundreds of new clients, based on his now expanded means of "mining". Pressure to service and satisfy these orders had increased exponentially. The oxygen order, "extracted" from Earth, was just one of many ambitious new sales contracts he was pressured to fulfill. Possibly, he ruminated, I should have looked further to fill that deal, but I was so damn mad, and I had the beacon right there on the CORIANDER....

    Research was being completed on a device to replace his dependence on the leaches. Very soon,Gregory would sit at a keyboard of a machine that could extract any amount or type of matter a mass spectroscope could define and deposit it in any way he wished, anywhere he wanted. No more trying to explain what he needed in the broad strokes his hold over the leaches required. Or the parsimonious board, for that matter. The process would be computer driven and operate on exactly defined templates responsive only to Gregory. The military applications of the new technology were impressive, and he had plans in place to leverage that to his advantage, even market some of it. Safe enough to do, he felt, as long as the Giant St. Croix Corporation controlled the tech.

    His staff had watched, recorded, analyzed and emulated in the laboratory what the leaches did. His theoreticians and practical scientists had broken through to unveil the core processes. All he required now was time. Gregory mulled over the message sent by the CORIANDER this morning, turning his mind back over his agent''s hurried reports.

    So. The church is poking its nose into my business. Gregory took this as no small threat. The church could be a force to be reckoned with.

    They will make a connection between certain of my "mining" operations in the Draco, on Earth, and with the CORIANDER, and there will be customer difficulties, he mused.

    Haviland was a good man, and wouldn''t squeal, but eventually the church would trace the registry of the ship to the phony holding company and then to St. Croix. Gregory decided he wouldn''t be here when they did. Neither would any trace of the Leaches, or his project staff. By the time he was tracked down, he would hold a winning hand. This was his discovery, his game, and it would play out by his rules.

    The attention bothered him. The fact that the church had discovered his "pets" and was researching the species bothered him more. They were encroaching on his property and profits. That would have to stop.

    First, he had to get to the project facility on Vega with his staff and his key, the queen bee of the leaches. Later perhaps there should be a little "mining" done on New Vatica. Alcomer contained nothing really valuable. There was oxygen of course, carbon, perhaps. He could have the leaches concentrate it into industrial diamonds. Some value, he smiled to himself, might come of religion after all.

    Before he left, he made two calls. The first one was to the facility security chief. No one was to land without a fight. That should buy him some extra time, and he didn''t need much. The second was to his pet. The queen was made to understand she needed more room in the Draco for breeding. A lot more room... Heavy radioactive elements should be moved "away". The Vega research facility would be a good place to move them...

    Gregory punched up the number to one of his suites. Time, he thought, to check up on his"ward".

    Gold hair sprayed out from the girl''s turning head as the video cut in. Gregory eyed thetwenty three year old visage in the monitor.

    "Sienna, we will be leaving shortly for Vega III. Your father will be joining us there. I''m afraid he won''t be traveling with us but," he smiled, "you can''t have everything."

    Sienna''s lip twitched in the visor display.

    "I thought my debt would be paid up in three months. Why can''t you just leave us alone?"

    Gregory pressed his hands down firmly to the cold marble and widened his smile.

    "Your father''s work is on Vega now. Surely you want to be near him? It would be unkind to release him three months from now on the other side of the Universe from you. The two of you might never meet again. I hope you can learn a lesson from all this. You shouldn''t gamble, bad habit; especially when it affects your loved ones."

    Gregory evaluated the girl. She had fire in her, he''d give her that much. It had cost good money to hire the agents that had set up Sienna''s misadventure. Havilland had to buy off her dilettante, so called friends, bribe casino workers, her legal council, all just to gain leverage over her father. Even now, he was still paying; paying in patience with the man''s simpering, directionless daughter. Still, it was a cost he would endure for the future prosperity of his corporation, and his planned domination of the economic and political universe. He need only to continue doing what he was best at, using the laws men made to lever his own advantage, pander to the greed of others, and put his own interests first.

    He briefly wondered what that would sound like in Latin. It would make a good family motto; words to live by.

    "We have gone over this again and again, Sienna. Anyway, you have no complaint against me. The court made you my ward until your father pays off your debt. Three months. You could appeal, next time you get back to Aldera II."

    The girl''s eyes narrowed to slits. "I can''t go there when I''m with you, can I? My father would never work for you if you didn''t hold me over his head. I hate this place, and I hate you!"

    Gregory frowned. "I need your father''s talents, and you are not going to stay here. "Gregory''s smile returned. "You''ve got an hour."

    I will have to keep her out of the factory compound, he thought, too much of a chance she will see things she shouldn''t. As it is she knows nothing, and can say nothing.

    The screen switched off. Gregory completed the rest of his calls, stood and stretched. He jammed the controller in his pocket, crossed to the office door and left.

 Chapter 17: Diocullis Investigates

    Diocullis sat at the command console of the WRATH, pondering. The refinery traced from the Callistro registry of the CORIANDER had been a feint. The place was an abandoned station, still on the books as a business, but long out of use. The names on the board of directors turned out to be the names of deceased owners, whose'' registry fees were paid by agents of other dummy corporations.

    Tracing back finally unearthed a viable corporation, the mammoth St. Croix Ltd. The St.Croix Charter and chain of ownership was perfectly legal, showing the other front companies as management firms employed to maintain options on expansion properties.

    The ore scout berthed in a shipyard leased by St. Croix. No other connection with the giant could be found, and Havilland was screaming his innocence to the trade commission. The hard evidence of aggression in space was missing, save for crowding, a minor navigation violation.

    St. Croix had refused landing privileges to the military investigation mission. The corporation denied any knowledge of the attack, and stood firm on their right as an independent entity to control landing privileges. If I force a landing, we will have to deal with substantial St Croix security defenses.

    Diocullis had no assurance there would be any remaining evidence. He weighed the odds of the mission''s tactical success against the political repercussions should it fail. The church lodged on many worlds by invitation, and political incidents would not help the cause.

    The owner, Dio mused, one Gregory St. Croix, was undoubtably counting on indecision to buy time to cover his tracks. Still, the factory world revolving below, was the obvious source for the proofs needed. The Federated Earth Council, driven by angered citizenry, howled for retribution, and was unlikely to raise issues in the course of this particular investigation. Half the fleet idling at his command here were Earth League ships hastily assembled in support of the inspection. Politics, he thought wryly, is for once on my side. The Terran component was under his order as a condition for the release of Alcomer''s investigation results, and because it gave over political responsibility to Papal authority should everything go awry, Mea non culpa.

    Diocullis, as he had many times in the past, prayed for guidance. "Lord, guide my hands as I labor to save your vineyard. Open my mind to the truth, and my soul to your will!"

    In the quiet of his introspection, tactics and politics cleared from his vision like a lifting fog. This was where the answers were if they were anywhere. St. Croix, like any bully, had scraped a line in the dirt, daring him to cross it. He knew what he had to do.

    He snapped open the attack signal block and punched down on the relay button. Attack lights simultaneously activated on every ship in the fleet. Michael reviewed the battle scanner, and committed his forces.

    Ship bays opened, releasing thousands upon thousands of cheap globes of shield ceramic. Ejected with force enough to inhibit orbiting, they skipped out across the atmosphere of St Croix, rapidly heating as they sank. Burning white hot, but now well down into the stratosphere, the ceramic spheres cracked open. Each hatched hundreds of grapefruit sized balls of heavy solid reflective composite. The composite storm grayed the skies below as they fell, providing cover for the descending fleet.

    Cruisers screamed down, to follow the huge decending cloud of shielding material. Burning reaction mass wantonly, they scanned the ground and electronically monitored the clear zone above the descending wall of ceramic. Intruding from over the horizon, St. Croix orbital platforms unleashed stabbing beams of dark purple UV laser fire at the Cruisers. The Cruisers spun axially, trying to spread the hits over larger areas to prevent heat buildup and penetration while returning the fire. Diocullis watched his sister ship, the ALABAMA, take a full charge amidships. A silent spray of materials blossomed out of a melted gash in its side. Dio gritted his teeth. Even though emergency systems rapidly closed off damaged sections, he knew the remains of many ALABAMA crewmen composed the distantly visible plume.

    Laser fire also stabbed up from the ground, seeking the ships. Some bursts made target, to flare, then scorch at the armored cruisers. Most of that fire flashed against the ceramic balls that flocked between, splitting up and diffusing their potency. Worse for the defenders, some of the fire reflected back at the ground, scoring glassine trenches randomly across the planet surface. For now, Dio''s fleet ignored the laser ground attack. The cruisers quickly targeted the orbital platforms, and from above them, battle dreadnoughts unleashed flights of intercepting missiles, quickly clearing away the defensive satellites.

    Suddenly hundreds of high altitude enemy craft breached the horizon. They streamed into range, deploying protective ECM and belching cluster shells with A.I. guidance so advanced as to seem alive. These projectiles burst into clouds of smaller dart-like rockets that slipped like supersonic eels through the thin air and the cruiser''s curtain fire. Diocullis felt the low vibrating thrum of Gatling rail launchers as his own ship responded with a screening fire of hardened steel darts.

    The interceptors went high, coming down on top of the cruisers, safer from the orbiting dreadnoughts batteries because of the friendlies below. The thin stratosphere filled with the debris of exploded ships and vaporized interceptors. Responding, Dio''s own fighters were already deploying from the orbiting dreadnoughts, diving like arrows into the swarm of interceptors, interfering with their mission objectives. The fighters drove some interceptors down into the direct fire of the cruisers, or below it, into the fatal wall of dropping ceramic. The tactical light craft filled the layer between the cruisers and dreadnoughts, forced into life or death dogfights at astounding velocities.

    A group of three defending interceptors broke free of the melee, evading the fleet''s fire. Two of Dio''s fighters gave chase, strafing the group''s wing-men. One was destroyed in a white circular blossom of explosive hell, the other''s tight maneuvers ending in a vector which sent it back into the storm of conflict. The enemy point ship speared on, determined to complete its objective. At Dio''s console, the crackling voice of a group leader came to life.

    "You have an Incoming fighter; at eleven O Clock. On your fore-section, WRATH, we can''t catch em'', it''s up to you."

    Near field tracking scanners locked on the sub-orbital flier and four missiles left the forward bay, streaming in an upward curve toward the oncoming menace, while the fleet''s fighters disengaged, all too late. A brace of pierce-point torpedoes launched away from the interceptor, targeting the WRATH.

    The WRATH''s rail guns moaned out a cloud of darts towards the torps, shredding one, but the second rammed the ship cargo lock, detonating with a jarring impact that warped the cargo bay doors. Warning horns blared, and Michael frowned at a swarm of red tell-tales that lit-up across the command console. With the bay doors warped, his ship wouldn''t be able to field its ground units on touchdown.

    Diocullis ordered the ship to withdraw, and deployed damage control teams to the bay section. Signalling his staff, he ordered transport and immediately made arrangements to transfer command to another cruiser, since there was no purpose in landing the WRATH anymore, to hazard the ship''s crew without reason. It could land later, to repair and deploy once a beachead was secured.

    Violent as it was, the high atmosphere engagement was over in minutes, the ceramic shield reached the surface and dropped white hot, like a tsunami of bombs, smashing into the ground with explosive force and driving land-based defenses to deep cover. The cruisers instantly landed, belching out swarms of ground units before the planet ceased shaking from the fire fall.

    Fully automated tanks, guided by fast outrunning vehicles no larger than mailboxes, deployed at incredible speeds. Sporadic, now loud and violent explosions rippled across heaving landing fields. Next came anti-personnel attack vehicles and finally, units of armored troops.

    Remaining interceptors dove to strafe the cruisers and fast deploying troops, but were chased from above by fighters, forced to break off before decisive damage could be done.

    Up from cover, the ground defenses stormed the beachhead, but proved no match for the superior training and arms of the combined Earth and Papal troops. Nothing moved on a modern battlefield that was not pinpointed by the sophisticated communications and reconnaissance technology available, and on the ground, the tactician with superior equipment usually won. Still, the moan of machine gun fire and impacts of mortars made their timeless hell of the torn battle field. A soldier stood to aim a shoulder rocket, then collapsed headless, victim of a passing shell. Scenarios such as rarely make newsreels were legion.

    In the end, Diocullis easily out deployed and out maneuvered the beleaguered security forces.

    Modern battles rarely lasted more than a day. Everything that could be fielded moved much too fast, and everything brought along was deployed. You either won your important beachheads decisively in one lightning lance, or were driven off. After that, it was strictly a typical modern land war, and the League Forces now controlled the air.

    Victory had not been cheap. But it could have been worse. Even St. Croix, a world unto itself, was not defended as a home planet would have been. The refinery troops were entirely mercenary. There would be no rallies, no hit and run patriot fighters.

    The mining town, well away from the battle zone, beyond the St. Croix main gate was half deserted. The central business district servicing the community''s non-mining related needs was peppered with empty structures. Half the outlying suburbs, even further outside the area of the engagement, were abandoned.

    There were no slums of course. You came here to work for St. Croix. When you were done, or quit, you left. If you committed a crime, you were fired and deported. If you owned a business, it was at the license of St.Croix. Civil Services and conveniences were as described in the work contracts, and were maintained by the St Croix corporation. There was no government, no tax structure, but also, no welfare or social services of any kind either.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    The planet surface was mostly uninhabitable; a ball of accreted space dust, silicon and mica with no natural resources outside of heavily salted alkaloid seas that had been cultured with mutated algae and bacteria to raise the O2 levels and process out lethal gases. Residential accommodations, dappled around the large industrial center, seemed to be the only inhabited portion of the globe. It would never have been chosen as a premium colonial site, but offered cheap real estate and gravity, both needed by the ore processing center. Diocullis brought up the tactical ground IR scans and noted the half-vacant status of the community,indicating it had seen better days.

    Distantly, an occasional report would hang in the air sharp and clear, then vanish. Diocullis drew deeply at the tangy air. The tart sting of cordite and ionized gas blended almost seamlessly with the refinery effluence of St.Croix. The industrial stink was evidently beyond the ability of the terraforming biologicals to process out.

    He frowned. The scent of smelting was old, an aged, cured smell. Part of the land, not the acrid green fumes he had expected. The blotchy grit of the packed dirt road rolled up like dough before his scraping boot. The dirt was dustless and heavy, stained by the constant passage of hundreds of earth movers and ore carriers. It probably contained as much vulcanized rubber as native minerals. This road had seen constant, and recent, use.

    The lane went past the battered down gates of the fenced perimeter and between rows of large squat tin-sided warehouses. Rutted tracks led left and right, slowly curving toward high double opening cargo doors, some open, most not. Many of the blasted buildings left unlikely remains. One building front ran clean and straight along the left side of the track, large bay doors shut and padlocked, with a seal of some sort threaded through the lock eyes. Behind this front, the rest of the structure was entirely blown away. The sides and back swagged flat to the ground as if stepped on by a clumsy giant. Torn steel supports stuck out at random angles, and a few of the roof trusses were bent so that the fractured middles dug into the earth buttressing the front facade, keeping it straight and upright.

    There was lots of traffic, but no recent refining? Michael''s eyes lighted as the information added itself to the stream of impressions he was collecting both from his own senses, and from the reports, which continued to drone from the button settled inside his left ear. He was confident that he had made the right decision. Everything he saw fitted the mode Joshua had outlined. The evidence had to be here, somewhere. The ground advance troops continued forward, building by building, rounding up cut off pockets of defenders, entering and reporting on whatever they found. Diocullus focused on the reports as he walked.

    "Red four reporting, I am at warehouse at Grid 10-56. Some kind of tarry black stuff put up in oh, seventy rows of stacked pressure crates, No, make that thermal barrier crates. The crates are five high on average. One wall, eh,one is blown out, the ''crete is all shattered. There''s a big hole in the pavement. Funny, none of the crates seem to be jarred though. One end row rammed by a displaced girder - ah, split open a few. Stuff inside seems to be crawling up the beam somehow. The area is secured and free. I''m moving on."

    Diocullis slapped at the belt transceiver.

    "Red four this is One-Oh-One. Stop and Reply."

    "Red four on line, sir."

    "Collect a sample of that stuff. Have it moved back to hometown by courier. Poke about a bit more, Wayne, see if you can''t find a packing slip, Invoice or something there. Move it back with the sample."

    "Yes Sir!"

    "Red Seven, at grid50-80. Clear through most of the administrative section, here. I got me a whole basement full of steno types, and white shirts. Most don''t look like they have a clue. I''d say about forty victims of shock, the rest just stunned and confused. I see no weapons here. No siege supplies, bunks, anything. All dressed for work. Request medical and interrogation team. Will hold here till affirmed."

    Good and bad, thought Diocullis. If the lower levels of administration were unaware of anything, unprepared, it was a vote against his intuition. To the good, the way was clear to investigate the main offices now.

    "Red Ten Grid 4-8. Storage facility intact, breached. Pigs of bright metal, unmarked, about ten by ten decimeters square, says here (faint papers crackled) Titanium, .99999 there''s an inventory ledger, scanned it, but I can''t make it out."

    Diocullis hesitated then slapped the communicator again.

    "Red Ten this is One-Oh-One. How many are there?"

    "Red Ten here. Ah, how many units? There''s a whole shit-load of it, Sir. With respects, I wouldn''t like, care to estimate, the whole place is loaded up with it, looks like Fort Knox done up in silver gray. This shed must be ten acres inside, Sir."

    Where would St. Croix have mined thousands of metric tons of pure Titanium? How could they have refined it? How could there be product and no production? Black stuff? Was it oil? Oil was stored in drums, not thermal containment units.

    Diocullis switched off the automatic scanning of his transceiver, and dialed in the central field command center.

    "One-Oh-One here. I want a transport, and a squad of firsts, an interrogator probe unit, oh, and a bag of sandwiches."

    It is time, thought Diocullis, to approach the mystery a bit more directly. The top floor of St. Croix Interstellar Mining, Ltd. was vacated. All the lower floors they had swept were populated with shell shocked and hysterical administrators, accountants, secretarial clerks, and so forth. Diocullis spent considerable time in the mail room and packaging area, finally delegating some of his staff to run through the time-stamped warehouse receiving files, and to interrogate the mail room personnel.

    There had been some document shredding, file deletions, even some evidence of recent burning, but all had been done, according to the terrified staffers, by the mail room manager, who, of course, was absent, having disappeared some six hours before the attack. Hopefully the time stamped warehouse logs, when correlated with the remaining inventory record files, would indicate some malfeasance. Filling in those holes might reveal something.

    The electronic ledgers on the third floor showed tampering. However, as these only consolidated the record files, that wasn''t a major problem. Eventually the St Croix''s management books could be largely regenerated. Predictably, the list of destroyed files concerned the rare and unknown substance inventories being physically inventoried by the troops. The relationship wasn''t shaping up perfectly. Some 20% of the rematches so far were concerned with quite ordinary supplies, probably not of importance. Records pulled to be updated or representing nominal errors or not yet uploaded to the ledgers. These would be clarified as the general books were rebuilt. Without the aggressive ARS, or Account Restructuring System-ware available, this kind of record regeneration would have taken months, if not years to accomplish. But now, a mere handful of troopers with their scanners backed by a couple of technicians would have the essentials summarized and on his desk before the day''s end.

    The overall picture was quite clear to Diocullis, even without the final accountability reports.

    Scenario: five to seven hours before the attack, most of the key staffers had pulled or destroyed several documents concerning the source, amount and destination of a large portion of St. Croix recent business transactions. The removal had been swift, and therefore not overly thorough. Local warehouse records, for example had not been tampered with.

    Three to five hours before the attack, the key staffers had left the facility. The security forces had been put on full alert, ordered to prohibit the landing of any traffic, with extreme prejudice. The missing records were shaping up to be concerned mostly with unusual substances, or unlikely amounts of pure substance inventories, and unusual equipment. Items not usually associated with a mining and refining outfit, even one the size of St. Croix.

    Item:

    The black substance found in one warehouse turned out to be a form of oxygen, compressed beyond a liquid state, to a viscous semi-solid. Something long known to super compression labs, the substance lost its coldness, since the molecular structure collapsed to the point where the elements physical properties, color, and behavior radically altered. A research lab might manufacture a small quantity for experimental purposes. No one, to his staff''s knowledge, had ever manufactured several metric tons of it. There were no records indicating a final customer for the substance.

    The other missing exotic materials often had astonishing super-conductive, or alternately, insulating properties that went un-deployed due to rarity, cost, or handling difficulties. Often the real discovery wasn''t the substance itself, but a the absence of any viable process for their production. Dios crew had not stumbled over a breakthrough production lab here. Nor uncovered some proprietary processes. Although suspicious, this didn''t constitute criminal activity. The stocks abandonment were only an indication of the speed with which Gregory had departed.

    Diocullis strode to the large black desk, a central feature of the presidential office that dominated the top floor. Michael sat, thinking, It''s not enough. There''s not enough evidence to support this maneuver. Missing files,unusual stocks, it''s not enough

    While the huge quantity of oxygen product was by itself perhaps good enough to satisfy the Earth force contingent, It still didn''t link, to Dio''s mind, with Joshua''s belief that the mining company had employed Wavies, or any substantive link between St Croix, the Wavies,or some sort of Wavie control method. No means, no opportunity, had been established. Dio wished he had the intuitive prelate here now, where he needed his unique talent. The information was being passed to his ship, but no puzzles were being answered. It was the man himself he wished for.

    The Investigation team was hard at work, combing the outer office files, performing the rote job of scanning the walls, vacuuming the floors for forensic traces, but it didn''t look good. Diocullis tried to put himself in Gregory St. Croix''s shoes.

    I know something is afoot. I have warning of the approach of the Terran / Ecumenical task forces, he thought. I can''t stay here. (Why?) Because cleaning up the traces is not enough? I must remain mobile, in control of something only I can direct, cause, possess? Maybe, I''m not running from danger, but am moving on to a more defensible position. (Where?) In any case, I make arrangements. I conference with, no that''s wrong, none of the key people were reported missing or in conference before the files were purged. I call my key people (Known). Who else do I call? I call transportation!

    The sweep team began examining the far wall of the office. An alarm tripped and whistled. Evidently, a hidden alcove of some kind lay camouflaged within it. Most likely, mused Diocullis, just the office safe, certainly cleaned out hours before.

    Diocullis manipulated his transponder settings, calling up the operations center.

    "One-Oh-One Sir, reporting from grid 50-81."

    "Yes Sir!"

    "Look. I want every available Interrogation and investigation staffer put on the transportation section. Particularly, I want the space field covered. I want flight plans. I want crew lists. I want supplies, cargo,maintenance records, passenger lists, and destinations. I want witnesses of comings and goings from 5 hours prior our arrival here. I want forensic analysis of all radar sweep recordings of take offs and landings occurring about then, too. I want to see the air traffic manager, if you can find him.

    Check in town for the local weather mapping agency, and look at that as well, anybody or any source that might pinpoint ships leaving or arriving and their directions, size and type. I want the results collated, and compared to a list of all known holdings of St. Croix. I am especially interested in new holdings or holdings buried under layers of obfuscation, or inactive."

    "I can do that. Anything else sir?"

    "That''s enough work to kill an elephant. Just let me know when you have anything to report. Don''t wait until all the candles are lit. Ask staffers to find out whose bosses disappeared. It''ll be faster than checking records. Every worker instinctively knows when the boss isn''t around. Be quick. Thanks."

    Coruscating sparks spat down the wall as burning torches ate at the now exposed cache door buried there. Finally the shielding door sprang away from the wall, tortured with heat warp. Aided by lustily applied pry bars, it tore from the wall and banged to the floor. Diocullis rose slowly from the desk, walked over and began to examine the cage unveiled behind it.

 Chapter 18: Avon

    Avery Leone la Platt stood contemplating the outstanding view from the western battlement of his holding. It overlooked the estate''s grove of Chestnut and Walnut trees, surrounded by the square 15 acre cultivated fields of grape arbors. There were also fields of wheat and alfalfa that were grown in a two season rotation, a rote progression unchanged in the last ten years.

    Avery Leone wasn''t here for the scenery however. This was where he came to think, to ponder current events, and digest his supper. Today he was looking up. Outlined against the horizon was the chromalloy dome of the St. Croix development facility, a stadium-sized geodesic structure surrounded by eight or nine blocky concrete and steel single story buildings of little, if any, architectural interest. That part of the complex was completely obscured by the intervening landscape, but Sir Leone knew it to be there. Avery watched as descending columns of fire lit the sky over the cold modernity of the St Croix facility.

    "Uncle! Mama says you have a call from someone at the big Dome...a Gregor, Gregory St. Crow or something? Will you take the call?" Avery blinked, and then nodded.

    "Yes, thank your mother for me. Run! I will follow shortly." Avery spared one more glance at the St. Croix complex, and then turned to follow his young nephew. Leone''s grandparents had come into this landscape seventy-five years ago. His grandfather, then twenty-five, had come towing his new wife, land grant in one hand and a development capital grant in the other, directly from his native France. He had just completed his PhD in agriculture. Like many from the over crowded cities of earth, he had been eager to take advantage of the blossoming great expansion. His dream, which lay under Avery''s gaze, was an idyllic balance of life tied to the land, and a lack of what he considered modern inconvenience.

    The holding, Avery knew, was patterned after a place called Lorraine during a certain historical period. Avery himself had never been off the planet.

    Behind him, to what roughly was the southeast, lay acre after acre of grape vineyards. The grapes were used to make the wine which, sold exclusively to the development Grantor''s distributor, provided the export balance that supported the estate.

    Faintly from down below the oak staircase, the high pitched voice of his sister Lucille called out.

    "Avery! The phone!"

    "Yes, yes - phone, I know. Coming!"

    Vega III, renamed Avon by its colonists, was a virgin world with no sapient native population, a lush wilderness as his grandfather first saw it, with its own pyramid of life, including a few successful carnivores. While these were no overawing threat to armed and equipped colonists, most landholders developed their properties to include some form of protective stockade for the main work, storage and living quarters.

    Even today less than one-fifth of the useful landmass of Avon was developed. Most of the estate owners, unless of a mind to clear far more land then they actually used, also fenced or walled their fields. Avery''s fields were not fenced. His father had instead cleared away the native plant life, in some areas by as much as several hundred feet, from the working field and building perimeters. He had replanted the gaps with engineered ground moss from a catalog, along with occasional rooted cuttings from existing trees already established on the estate. The effect was very pretty, cost little if anything to maintain, and offered no cover for local animal life. It was the last major change ever made to the holding, perhaps the last major change that ever would be made.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    Gregory St. Croix was, as Avery viewed such things, a late addition to Avon. Agents had purchased the land grant from a deceased investor about 15 years ago, but had let the tract lay fallow for almost another five years.

    Then later, a swarm of off-world construction crews rushed in and erected the current complex in a flurry of activity in less than three months. Since then, he had seen the owner personally only three times, once at a Landholder''s meeting where Gregory had treated the assembly as if it were a welcome wagon held for his benefit, which was not the case. Gregory had also appeared twice as a guest at the Avery estate when his father was still alive

    His father had seemed impressed with the man and the extent of his off-planet life. Avery, three generations away from direct contact with the federated planetary community, was less impressed. Still, Gregory was a neighbor, albeit usually absent, and a friend of sorts to his deceased father. To Gregory''s credit, Avery could not remember an instance when Gregory had appeared on planet and failed to make a visit.

    Lucille, Avery''s brown-eyed and extremely petite sister, hovered about just outside the modest office where the radiophone was installed. The door was open, and the green light from the receiver was lit and blinking, awaiting his attention. Avery hugged her in passing and murmured his thanks again before attending to the phone.

    "Mr. St. Croix? This is Avery la Platt; how fine of you to call."

    "Avery, yes, this is Gregory. I am back again for a while. Your sister told me about your father''s passing, two years ago? Seems like I was just talking to him, sorry to hear about it. I had hoped to speak with him again. I trust I am still welcome at your estate?"

    "Of course, Mr. St.Croix, thank you for your sentiments. My father always welcomed you here. I could certainly do no less. How may I help you?"

    "Well, I have been thinking about the fine table you set, and hoping for an invitation to talk with you. I am here with my ward, Sienna."

    Avery''s brow wrinkled. "I don''t remember you mentioning you had a ward. Something new? Of course my invitation extends to your ward as well."

    "Quite right, she is a new addition, from your viewpoint. I am embarrassed to say so, but she is my ward by way of court mandate. I must tell you that she is not pleased with the arrangement, but she is a very bright and pretty girl nonetheless. I will tell you directly that she is held in bond while her father works out a debt. Such things happen. You know what I am talking about, yes?"

    Avery did indeed know, since Vega was one of a few systems where maintaining a human bond against performance was still an accepted practice. The independent Holdings often still used the tradition to guarantee contract arrangements associated with land issues such as property development, or land transfers where payment was to be made by exchanges of crops yet to be harvested. Such arrangements often resulted in marriages, and other socially beneficial outcomes. Being designated as a ward was not considered a form of punishment, although it was not an unusual outcome that a ward was personally ''displeased'' with a particular instance of the practice.

    "When would you be able to see us?"

    "Why not this evening, if that''s not inconvenient? If it is, I would leave it up to you."

    "No, no that would be no inconvenience. My table will not, I warn you, be of guest quality on such short notice."

    "It is settled then. If I remember correctly, I would be wise to be at your gates within the hour if I want to sit at table with you. Is that still true?"

    Avery smiled and nodded. "Yes, you remember us quite well. I look forward to your company."

    Lucille, still fidgeting at the office door, squeaked as Avery terminated the call, and ran off to the kitchen to see to the extra settings at table. Finally seating himself at the moderate desk, Avery pulled open his inventory ledger and reviewed the latest stock entries. Then he sat back, letting his eyes roam the far wall of the office, where an imported cherry wood rifle cabinet stood.

    On the floor, next to the cabinet, two hunting bags, always filled and ready, sagged against each other. One belonged to him, the other to his deceased father. He remembered the days when his Dad would just get up from the desk, look at him and grin, and they would both grab up their bags and be gone, days sometimes, into the forested wilderness that backed, indeed surrounded, the estate. Good days. He had never, somehow, gotten around to removing his father''s bag, and always checked it to be sure it was ready to go when he inspected his own. He had not hunted for a good while now, he reflected.

 Chapter 19: Dinner at Leones

    Sienna slowly unpacked her two small bags of personal possessions while gazing out the window of her room. She had been dragged halfway across the universe by a man she despised. She was held separate from her poor father, who now slaved endlessly for Gregory St. Croix, all to pay off her debt. It had begun simply enough, a fun junket with friends to a vacation spot on Pominia, a well known leisure spot.

    Her friends had cajoled her into it, with their "Oh, come on! It will be fun! Drevin has use of his dad''s lighter for a whole two weeks!"

    It was all a great time until Drevin''s drinking got him into trouble with the hotel staff at the casino. Then they had run off, two steps ahead of the authorities, stranding her at the hotel with an unpaid room and a four thousand-credit casino debt. The authorities had let her contact her father, who went ballistic. He didn''t have enough cash to cover the casino debt, let alone pay a commercial flight to get her off the planet and safe home. Her ''friends'' wouldn''t even talk to him about it. Then he had been contacted by St. Croix. The man had been after her father to work on some project or other, with which her Dad had definitely not wanted to be associated. With his daughter''s safety at stake, he had agreed to an arrangement with Gregory to gain her release and pay off the Casino. In turn, the court ordered a writ of indenture to guarantee repayment, making Gregory her warder.

    Voices drifted to her from down the hall outside her room. She recognized the rasping bass of Gregory ordering around one of his corporate lackeys.

    "I don''t care what he says. I want the generators mounted in the superstructure now. The engines and all the rest are already in place. See to it. I have a dinner engagement to make, or I''d tell him myself."

    Sienna''s door flew open, and she turned to see the compact bulk of a seething Gregory standing at the entrance.

    Composing his features, Gregory raked her with his eyes. "I''ve decided to see if I can''t have you stay with some people I know near the compound. I don''t want you wandering around here. Besides, there is nothing to keep you occupied. I don''t have the personal staff to tend to you that I had at the refinery. You need to leave all this, "he waved to her half unpacked bags, "until later. We have to jaunt over to see the people I mentioned - an Avery Leone and his family.Meet me downstairs in say, half an hour."

    His face cracked a half smile. "Try to be gracious with the Leones; it will be in your best interest, and make the time pass faster for you."

    With this, he abruptly turned and retreated down the hall. Sienna stiffened, and then returned to her bags. He was right though, she would be better off away from Gregory - anywhere away from Gregory.

    ****

    Avery personally answered the clanging gate bell, and was pleased to note that Gregory was on time. Dinner would not be delayed.

    "Welcome once again, Monsieur La Croix - And this is?" Avery smiled at the girl, a young woman actually, and with very pretty blue eyes, too, he noted.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

    "Ah. Good to see you, Avery." Gregory pumped Avery''s hand vigorously then released it to indicate Sienna. "Yes this is Sienna Mavens, my ward - as I mentioned earlier. Is your sister still here?"

    "Of course, she would not miss the opportunity for company. Her husband, Daniel, is away one state business, however. I welcome you also, Miss Mavens."

    Sienna returned a hesitant smile, but her blue eyes watched him attentively, and Avery felt pleased with this, too.

    Dinner was a bit more elaborate than usual - Lucille had seen to that with some rather abrasive and loud conversations earlier in the kitchen. They finished with yet more of the fine estate wine. Table talk had been light and general. Avery watched Sienna slowly become more relaxed, often returning his gaze, which had strayed more to him than to Gregory.

    Gregory sat back from the table palming his glass and raised his eyebrows, looking speculatively at Avery.

    "Perhaps I could talk with you privately for a bit. Would you mind?"

    Avery shrugged. "Lucille? Miss Mavens? Would you excuse us?"

    The two women acceded, so Avery rose, snagging an unopened bottle, and directed Gregory out onto an adjoining patio where Avery often lunched, especially if he had been supervising the unending grounds work of the estate. It was a pleasant enough place, trellised with hops and airy despite there being no view save that of the household retaining wall. Avery leaned against the patio''s oak railing and watched Gregory curiously. Gregory stood foursquare before him, brow furled.

    "I am thinking, "said Gregory, "of taking up permanent residence here. My research plant isn''t suitable for long-term occupancy yet, and I have questions about the security of Avon, an issue I need to address the council about shortly. Still, I am already starting more construction on the residential area, but it will be a few weeks before it''s comfortable. I was wondering if I might convince you to put Sienna up as your guest in the interim. I would gladly compensate you for your trouble, of course."

    A bit startled, the sudden announcement brought the image of Sienna forward in Avery''s mind. How curious...still, a new countenance around the house would not be unwelcome, and hosting was almost a custom between estates.

    "Well, I ah, I would be willing to discuss it with Lucille. We certainly have the room. This is a bit sudden, but if Lucille feels able, then I am sure something could be done. What concerns drive this interest in establishing yourself here, Monsieur La Croix?"

    Gregory''s eyes flicked side to side and dropped to inspect the patio flagstones. He frowned and shrugged. "New business interests, mainly, but I always intended to spend more time here anyway."

    Avery pulled the stopper from the new bottle, and refilled his guest''s glass, then his own, pursing his lips. "I will ask Lucille after you leave tonight. Come, it''s getting dark. Let us go back inside."

    He breached the topic after Gregory left. Lucille was predictably thrilled with the idea, and Avery was rather pleased with the thought as well. Lucille had gotten along well with Sienna, and it would give her some fresh company for a time, which in turn, should give him a bit more peace, so why not? He called Gregory to make the arrangements.

    Gregory hung up the phone, a small smile creasing his features. He had planned for this time, and it was always good to see a plan fall into place. Not wasted were the months he had spent currying favor on this planet. Almost every one of the 600 or so holdings on Vega had agents in place - usually second or third cousins of the owners. In exchange for one favor or another, he had graciously offered to fund their off world educations, or provided favored household members with temporary jobs at one of his facilities. He worked diligently to subvert these scions of the Landholders, succeeding more often than not

    He would own this world, and everyone on it.

    A steady stream of mercenaries had been making planet fall since the moment of his arrival, some even before. They came down dressed as workers, mixed in with his core staff, bivouacked in segregated perimeter buildings.

    The real charm of Vega was its lack of a significant civil government. It had been partitioned out in land grants by a development and distribution consortium only interested in a captive supplier base. Soon, they would be buying only from him.

 Chapter 20: Sams Key

    Samuel Mavens waited desolately for Gregory to show up. Through the window of his laboratory, he could watch as the enormous superstructure of Aladdin''s Lamp continued to be constructed. It looked like a huge grey Zeppelin. Though small maneuvering thrust pods broke the smooth lines of the thing here and there, notably absent were any otherwise normal appurtenances or design features of space-worthy craft.

    Sam viewed it with relative disinterest. He wiped one hand over his thinning grey scalp, wishing, not for the last time, that his wife was still with him. While she was alive, there had always been her patient ear to pour his worries into. If she were still with him, this would never have happened, and he would not be here now, struggling to free his daughter.

    Sam was a doting, if busy and distracted, parent. One man could only do so much, could only be there when he was needed, so often. So now he was in this place, touching up the final engineering details for a man he hated.

    Engineering wasn''t his specialty, although he was the closest thing to a practical application scientist the field of quantum physics had ever produced.

    He had left his post with the university only to salvage his daughter, and had ignored everything but his work and the calendar as the four-year indenture to St. Croix Ltd. worked itself to a close.

    At first, the work itself had been profoundly exciting. The beings Gregory put under his scrutiny opened up a whole new mathematics of quantum theory. Some of his co-workers even said they had a language. That wasn''t why he was here either.

    The job had been to define how they worked. He turned to a bench where the results of his research floated, a shimmering little pyramid of energy and stabilized Bose-Einstein Condensates about two inches square. Somewhere, rotated out past the fourth and other dimensions, a construct the size of a mountain, if it could be said to have size, which in three-dimensional terms it could not, existed. This glittering object on his bench was the tip of that mountain, the only visible part.

    It had not taken long to determine that the space-going entities Gregory found were cross-dimensional beings. Only a small aberration on the surface of the space/time continua marked their presence here. They existed mostly in an entirely other structure; between the Branes of Super Space, where the systems of dimension and natural law ruled.

    Here, E= MC2. There, the constant speed of light (2.9979250 X 10 10cm/sec), was almost superfluous, Speed, or Velocity, being a function of time over distance. Where this construct existed, time could be said not to exist, or even to exist as a negative quantity. It all depended on other aspects, variable aspects, of this other space. So C2 = 0, (or any other figure you wished to assign it) and the equation could be written E = M, or even C2 = 2, and 2E=M. So many other ramifications, so many practical problems both solved and created.

    His published interest had revolved around Quantum tunneling, the translation of matter from one place to another in zero time. This had been accomplished in labs as far back as the 21st century with muons, ions and such. However, in Super Space, where energy and matter had a more mutable relationship, and time was irrelevant, magic happened.

    He hadn''t duplicated the life forms themselves, of course, but recreating their matter transfer functions, that was possible.

    He had built a trans-dimensional machine. From the continua''s perspective, It froze time, locked matter into a non-moving picture of the vibrating strings that composed it, then superimposed the harmonic image on another point in the space-time continua and unfroze it. From a super dimensional view, it was more like lifting a Two dimensional paper dolly off a picture of a house and putting it back down in a different room on the picture.

    The keys to the process were just time and power, like most sub-space manipulations. Where his device ... Construct? ... Existed, there was no ''time'' function and energy wasn''t a dependent variable of that place. By its independent laws of physics, energy happened when objects of Super Space impinged upon this universe. The Big Bang itself was powered by another Brane, another Cosmos, moving through Super Space, ''bumping'' into ours. Anything, in moving between the Branes, created energy.

    Anything in this space-time could also be imaged instantly there, and held indefinitely, to be recalled immediately, or recombined to form other structures, safely, just as long as there was a fair exchange. Nothing as would change the actual amount of matter or energy within the bubble of our universe''s Brane. So the construct was, in a sense, a universe unto itself, an object of Super Space. This physical manifestation of pure mathematics was the proof of completion. It was the release from bondage he had been working for from the start. It was also the most seminal piece of physics to be realized in the last 1000 years.

    Sam wasn''t overly impressed with himself. He viewed it as reverse engineering. The processes already existed, as demonstrated by Gregory''s pets. All he did, to his mind, was to describe it.

    That monster ship out there was to be the test bed. All of that just to house this glittering smear of elsewhere, transmit sub-etheric vibrations to it and read them back out. Other people''s work, based on the mathematical equations he generated and translated for them.

    Lately though, he had come to think about the potential applications of his work. Such thoughts made him very, very, uneasy.

    Gregory''s arrival interrupted his chain of thought. St. Croix''s eyes locked on the wavering mote above the test bench as soon as he entered. He crossed the room briskly to stand before it and addressed Samuel without as much as a glance in his direction.

    "Is it ready?"

    Sam mutely picked up a hollow egg-shaped metallic shell from the bench and fitted it around the glowing pyramid, snapping on a relay affixed to its exterior. The egg now floated where the energy construct had been. Sam pointed to contact strips on either side of the egg.

    "It connects up at the sides. The shell generates a plasma cage, allows it to be moved about, and translates instructions into and out of the node."

    Sam took the egg and moved it to another part of the bench where a brace of thick cables terminated in a pair of connector strips. These he fitted to the sides of the egg. To the right of the egg was a platform on which rested a small shiny metallic cube, about an inch square. An empty twin of the stage was positioned just left of the device.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

    "This demonstration is of course relatively simplified. On the stage is a block of pure sodium that was previously scanned. The system defines the scan area in four dimensions and works out the functions that need to be fed into the node. All of that comprises the bulk of the equipment in the ship your engineers are constructing," noted Sam, nodding towards the looming form on the shipyard floor, "as are the transform computers, spatial translators, and so forth. Even the data cables installed in the full system are ten inches thick and super-cooled, because so much data is transferred, even just for the processes that occur outside the node.

    "The templates for this test sample of sodium have already been processed and stored. You will hear some noises during the test. Don''t let it bother you. They are caused by air displacement, since the templates for the test don''t include the gases, dust, whatever else is on the platforms. The ship''s systems are more ... complete."

    Sam threw a toggle, there was a stereo firecracker bang, and the cube disappeared from the left stage, to reappear on the right. "It is the same cube. If I analyzed it spectrographically, microscopically, chemically, or any other way, believe me it''s not a duplicate cube, it is the same cube."

    "Sodium is atomic number 11 on the element chart, has an ionization potential of 5.138 electron volts, an atomic radius of 1.86 Angstroms and a density of 0.97 grams per cubic centimeter. It is now time for the second demonstration."

    Sam reached above the test-bench and switched on a monitor. A star field view filled the screen."That is a view transmitted from a fixed probe about a quarter of a light-year from here. The transmitter is a quantum band radiator, so the image you see is real time."

    Sam flipped a second switch. There was a second, louder bang. The cube on the right hand stage disappeared, and a smaller silvery cube appeared on the left hand stage. Simultaneously, the view on the monitor turned white, then gradually returned to the planetarium-like scene shown earlier. A few thousand years ago, Sam mused, I would have been considered the ultimate Alchemist for demonstrating this, or hung for being a sorcerer.

    Sam nodded to the smaller cube.

    "That is a block of aluminum, atomic number 13, but with a density of 2.71 grams per centimeter, atomic radius of only 1.43 angstroms and an ion potential of 5.984 electron volts. It is smaller, because it is the result of the energy of the bulkier sodium sample. The flash on the monitor was where I released the remainder energies, since there is no exact match between any given mass of aluminum and sodium. The excess was used to create photons and other radiations to account for the difference. Any amount of vibratory energy translated through our continua has to be accounted for. Heat and light are the easiest, least troublesome ways of accounting for the remainders. End of demonstration."

    Gregory looked very pleased,then thoughtful. "How fine a control can I get over the transmutation functions?"

    Sam shrugged. "The stoichiometry of the process, how much of what makes how much of something else, is built into the system. If it wasn''t perfect, the transmutations couldn''t take place at all. You would not have enough, or rather propper information to feed into the node to initiate an operation. The rest depends upon how detailed the templates are. That''s what the sixty tons of plasma state computers aboard the Aladdin are for.

    "The ship has other experimental systems designed into it," continued Samuel."There''s a reader on the control console where you can scan in specially prepared CAD files, the object files for screws, springs,steel beams and such, modified to contain information on themo-molecular composition of each object in the database, so that an adequate mass source could be transmuted directly into a structure defined by the CAD drawing."

    Gregory''s attention seemed to wane, and he began checking his watch reflexively as Sam continued on.

    "One of your engineers came up with that idea. You are limited by storage and how detailed your files are, of course. You need a design for what you build, and must have an adequate source of existing mass. There''s probably enough computing power on board to hold information to construct a large shed, or a small complex device like a clock or a motor. Simple shapes of almost unlimited size. It would take a good deal of time to build an adequate bank of information to do anything really complex, unless you built it module by module. There is no theoretical limit on how detailed the structure can be."

    Once more a bitter thought intruded. This would guarantee me a Nobel prize and a permanent place in the history of science anywhere else, - and yet he stands here impatiently nodding his head, and glancing at his watch.

    "The process basically takes a holographic image of the vibratory energy of the super string and ring patterns in the object''s defined area of space time, as seen in fifth through eleventh dimensional terms, and institutes that vibration pattern, in Super Space, outside our continua, or in this case, the transform energy equivalent pattern. A sympathetic vibration of that pattern is then translated back through the Brane, at whatever four dimensional space/time you wish.

    "The structuring system is just for experimental purposes. The real strength of this assembly is as you requested. To extract, move, and modify existing matter in no-time."

    "But the armament and defensive capabilities...," blustered Gregory.

    Sam scowled. Was there nothing that impressed this man? "Yes, yes. They are there, integrated into the console. Real space opera stuff, since they amount to very primitive transformations. A very small amount of mass is grabbed up and transmuted into energy, 100 percent conversion. Your choices can include any form of weak or strong nuclear force, gravitation, or electromagnetic energy. Cosmic radiation, neutron streams, even lightning if you like. Pick a destination, and... Well,just like on the monitor. You can specify its shape, or at least the area of release, say a plane or globular area. A pea-sized piece of iron has an energy potential equivalent to that released by a 300-megaton nuclear device, since there is no loss or partial conversion. I only worked on the math routines. Your technical staff came up with all the nasty applications. I want nothing to do with it. Talk to them. I set up enough of a practical demonstration here to provide you with proof of my completion of contract, that''s all. Now release me and my daughter!"

    Gregory shook his head. "Not until all this is set up aboard Aladdin''s Lamp, and we can test it out completely. I could keep you for the full duration the court specified, you know. You will be released after her maiden voyage, not before. I will have engineering come collect you and this...thing," he said, pointing to the egg-shaped device, "to see to its proper installation." With that, Gregory turned and left. Samuel watched him leave, and then pulled open a drawer.

    Another egg rested in the drawer, slightly, but not noticeably, different. He also removed a small box upon which protruded a tiny red button. He walked to the egg floating inside the tangle of cables on the test bench, removed it and freed the scintillating energy structure it contained. Then he encased it in the other egg shape and stashed the original container back in the drawer. You won''t have this to play with one moment longer than it takes me to free my daughter, you bastard.

    He scribbled a note on a small square of paper and took both the note and box over to another platform on the test bench, placed them on it, and threw a small toggle. After a few minutes, both items vanished with a bang. Sam walked over to a small closed-circuit screen set like a shrine in the corner of the lab, Gregory''s only accommodation to Sam''s constant requests to see his daughter. The monitor showed the interior of her small room.

    I have to find a way to get in touch with her, he thought. Gregory will never let us go. He will kill us both first. He must think me dense, to believe he would trust me walking around with his proprietary technology lodged in my head. There must be someplace where Sienna would be sure to look. Then he saw the small puzzle box he had bought for her on her 15th birthday sitting on the dresser.

 Chapter 21: Father Abrams

    Father Abrams worked his way slowly through the cultured acres of landholder Mueller''s demesne. Bright golden grain bowed and swayed in chorus to light winds that swept the field. The ground was soft and uneven, forcing him to watch his footing. The cultivated expanse of grain distorted his sense of distance, and mirage-like, the stockades of the compound seemed to grow no closer as he trudged on.

    Over the course of many visitations such as this one, he had found it better to land outside the fields of the holdings. Each was unique, and some did not even have landing zones marked out. Crushing down part of a holder''s crop made a poor calling card, so he walked. He didn''t mind the effort. The wind felt good. The sun shone down on his brown tonsured head, and time passed easily. The pace of life here, and the clement weather, made the treks pleasant. Just to be here, doing the work of the church instead of pouring over manuscripts in the steel and stone of the church archives was vitalizing. His was considered an unenviable ministry but, he thought fiercely, It is my very own. My own mission to cultivate, and to serve.

    Vega had only six or seven hundred homesteads widely separated, and all were run like independent city-states, which in a way, they were. The ministry of New Vatica was very low profile here. His part was to visit each holding separately, and try to convince each landholder to build a small vestry. If some area could be set aside for worship and eventually visitation, then the word of God and the peace of the Eucharist could be regularly brought to the residents of this provincial world. More priests would then be sent to service the developing communities.

    The building of a central church structure was out of the question. The parishioners were too few as yet, and the individual estates were widely scattered. Colonists picked their sites to take advantage of the very choicest lands available for their purposes, proximity to neighbors was not the major consideration.

    If he succeeded beyond his wildest expectations, success would only provide him with a lifetime of unending travel, dependent on the charity of his charges for the daily and ever changing roof over his head. It would be a generation before the seeds he spread here grew enough to fruit self-supporting congregations.

    He had been on this world for several months now, and had only visited sixty of the holdings. Only eight of the landholders had agreed to start work on chapels, and at many estates, he had not even managed to see the landholder personally.

    Father Abrams spread his thick hands out to brush through the grain as he went. It was quite likely that he was given this ''opportunity'' because it was unattractive to the other workers in the faith. To labor without practical hope of establishing a supporting congregation in his own lifetime made it an unattractive prospect to most. A light buzzing from one of his hassock''s huge pockets alerted him that some transmissions had been received and waited in his lighter just outside the fields of this estate. It was, he remembered, nearing time for his monthly progress report to New Vatica. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    He decided to tend to both the mail and his reports after visiting Herr Mueller. His feet were beginning to hurt as the soft tilled soil pulled at them, and he was hungry. Whatever mail he had wasn''t going anywhere.

    ****

    Diocullis tossed the last of the reports onto the growing pile on his desk and stood.

    He clasped his hands behind his back and gazed out the window of the former office of Gregory St. Croix. No flight plans had been filed, and evidently, no one still available on this dust ball had any idea where the former owner had gone. Gregory owned interests in hundreds of properties scattered over dozens of systems. It was going to take a good deal of time to ferret him out. New Vatica had sent out a call to all the most likely missions or diocese to try to determine where he had gone to ground, but no responses had come back yet.

    The hidden containment cage in the office had been damning. The research already completed by Joshua''s group indicated the small fold in space it generated could indeed restrain a Wavie. It amounted to a small generator that formed a fold in space just big enough to pinch one in place, and selectively apply pressure to its resident. Suspecting the purpose, the device implied coercion, or torture, in its very design. A plasma barrier surrounded that to contain any stray radiation. It was empty now, of course. Gregory must have transferred his captive to a portable unit, killed it somehow, or released it.

    A list of recent clients had been assembled from the available paperwork, and that had been turned over to Major Baine''s forces. There was nothing left to do but pack up and dust off.

    Meanwhile, Haviland continued to protest his innocence. The crowding in on Joshua''s ship, he argued, was a simple error of judgment. He had seen the ship stop, and had taken the action as a sign that something was wrong, so maneuvered to approach and assess it. No, he hadn''t any ulterior motives, certainly he was no pirate, and his only relationship to Gregory was that of contractor to client.

    Alcomer would only be able to hold him for a short time, before Victor''s appeals to the commerce board forced Dio to let him go. Dio decided it would attract too much attention to grill him directly about the Wavies. Neither Dio in his inquisitions, nor Haviland in his responses, had mentioned anything about the entities that flickered across the Christos sail array.  Haviland wanted their existence to remain unnoticed just as much as the church did, at this point. So Dio''s prosecution ability was slipping away.

    Joshua had things in hand, research wise, and his premonitions, along with the cage and all else. He would just have to let Joshua find out what he could add first. Haviland certainly wasn''t volunteering anything.

 Chapter 22: Wavies!

    The reverberations of the bell announcing lunch were just quieting as Sir Colmer wheeled around the corner of the narrow hallway of the CHRISTOS and passed through the doorway to the mess hall. Prompt to the summons as he had been, he found himself queuing up behind Street and Eldon who were already loading their plates at the buffet Mendel had set out. A welcome new selection of cold meats and salad greens, noticeably diminished in quantity, graced the table. Arlyis, accompanied by Sister Seika appeared shortly after, both engaged in enthusiastic conversation. A week of research had yielded an amazing amount of information about the Wavies, and both were currently very happy in their work.

    "Just imagine. If Logan''s hobby had been Lepidoptera or stamp collecting instead of a fascination with musical forms. Why, we would never have made the progress we have."

    "It was you," noted Sister Seika, "that put the translator software together."

    "Oh, I may have done the modifications to the Rosetta program, but setting up to look for musical structures like codas and motifs, that''s what gave us our start. Wavies are so responsive!  All Wile and Logan do is present a color,  element, or a concept, and they fall all over themselves to try to define it with us.  Strangely, they have real problems with identifying compound structures and mechanical concepts. "

    Sister Seika frowned. "Why would that be? They seem like advanced organisms."

    They ''see'' vibrations and energies, not so much forms and contours. We are already finalizing a translator program. Mark my words, Sister, Bishop Wile will have us in meaningful communication by week''s end."

    Just then Monsignor Ammens strode in. The mathematician, catching the end of their conversation, snorted. "End of the week? Our fearless prelate, Joshua, will be initiating a conversation this evening, just as soon as Mr. Eldon...," at this point the volume of the Mathematician''s tenor bloomed to take in a larger audience, "finishes hooking up the translator!" He grabbed a plate and inspected the buffet offerings.

    "Ah! Something new, I see."

    He poked a fork at the sad remains of what had been a mound of sliced lean beef, and shot a cold stare at Street and Eldon, now seated and wolfing down cold cuts.

    "How is it that our military crew members always seem to be the first to know of any dietary changes aboard this ship? Are menus routed directly to their cabin?"

    Eldon looked up from his plate, swallowed and said, "Only if they include food, yer worship."

    After a week of the standard shipboard fare, as good as it was, any simple change of diet was widely appreciated. Logan soon joined his friend Ernst Ammens and a healthy buzz of general conversation filled the mess.

    Colmer, having arrived first, was at table with Street and Eldon, but glanced frequently toward where Arlyis and Sister Seika sat. Joshua, a little later than was his habit, ducked to enter the mess. A message from Alcomer,  had required his presence on the bridge.

    "Pope John," Joshua waved, "wanted a first hand update. Oh, and he wishes to commend you all on your work. He  reassures me that the team composition will not change. I know some here are under considerable pressure to return to their primary duties, but you may safely ignore any of that."

    At least, mused Joshua, one benefit of a benevolent Theocracy. Rank did not, in the modern church, pigeon-hole people. Which gave everyone more incentive to develop multiple talents, with the expectation that they would be used. Pope John could expect, even demand, that his flock use their abilities to the best advantage of the colony, or the churches mission, as he saw fit. So a Bishop might be drafted to duty here, as Wile had been, and the assignment respected. In the end, everyone contributed more that way, and drew meaningful satisfaction from their diverse interests, knowing they supported a greater, and unified purpose.Stolen story; please report.

    Mr. Eldon, having wolfed his fill, approached Joshua, a bit red faced. "Regardless of what Monsignor Ammens thinks, yer honor, we will have the rig all ready for ya this afternoon. See if we don''t"

    ****

    Joshua stood at the translator ordering his thoughts. The thing was just an audio pickup linked into the ship''s computer through an auxiliary terminal, which was in turn connected to a quantum caster / receiver tinkered up by Tech Private Eldon, Father Logan and Arlyis from the scientific instrumentation the researchers had brought aboard. It was tuned to the energy bands used by the Wavies and according to the display, was ''on''. He checked his list of prompts, provided by Bishop Wile, one last time and spoke.

    "I listen for one who speaks, are you hearing me?" There was a pause, and the translator recreated his words and cast them out toward the group of lights glittering along the separate set of rigged sails that now floated at some distance from the CHRISTOS. Then, a translated reply came from the speaker of the terminal.

    "I/We content to listen to the (singer/speaker) of (man/carbon)."

    "Do you live in this place?"

    "(I/We) (live/nest) this (space/moment.)"

    "Do you speak for your kind?"

    "I am speaker for the (Queen/Nest)."

    "You Speak For Your Queen?"

    "(Queen/Nest) another moment away."

    Joshua frowned at his notes,trying to gather in something from the translation. "I would be...content to speak to the Queen."

    "Queen another moment. Still/Hard point no move here."

    "Where is your Queen?"

    "Point/move *****moment/reference no."

    "You don''t know?"

    "Know."

    "You can''t tell me?"

    "Point (no reference) other."

    "Where?" Joshua felt the sense of dialog slipping away.

    "(No reference)"

    Joshua sighed. "Speaker pauses, will speak again."

    "Content."

    Joshua turned from the translator and spoke to Bishop Wile. "Amazing. Beyond belief, Benn. Under any other circumstances, this would call for a week of celebration. There are only a handful of sentient races in the universe, and no inter-dimensional ones I''ve ever heard of. Incredible, and an astonishing breakthrough. Did you make anything of that?"

    Bishop Wile colored under the praise and pulled at his ear. "I believe it was saying that the queen wasn''t around. They are a hive society, best Sister Seika can determine so far. The queen term is a rough approximation Logan and I settled on. ''Mother'' or ''leader'' was discussed as other possibilities. I think it was trying to say it didn''t have a frame of reference to describe where the queen was, and that the queen couldn''t come here. Their terms for time and place are blended. I think they struggle with the concept of a three-dimensional frame of reference, and the whole idea of time."

    Joshua thought for a moment."We really have to be able to break through that. Diocullis found a containment device on St. Croix. Do you think that hard still point business might refer to the queen being unable to move? To being trapped, caged?"

    Bishop Wile shrugged. "One guess is as good as another. It''s a big universe after all."

    "From what we know, the earth transceiver broadcast defined a point in space, yes? And we know what the coordinates of the transmitter information were. We have the recordings of the SONG WEAVER and the coordinate position where they were made. We know our current location, and we have the recordings we first took when entering the Draco. The time, date and coordinates, yes?"

    "All of that is on board, yes," agreed Wile.

    "So that''s three points and an origin. Can you run a program together using abstracts from these recordings and see if you can get them to understand that we are defining an area of space, give them a reference we can both interpret?."

    Bishop Wile looked startled for a second. "Why, yes that just might work. Ammens would be the man to work out the math for it, and I can get Arlyis to do the programming."

    "Why don''t you do that? Work with them to define a mapping system. Then see if we can determine where this queen is. I have a bad feeling that our Mr. St Croix and this queen/mother just might be at the same," - he referred to his notes, "point / moment. I think I would be ''content'' with that."

 Chapter 23: Warm Welcome

    Sienna watched as the company lighter lifted from the open yard of the Leone estate and headed back to the compound of St. Croix. Lucille''s son, Leslie, was lugging her two bags at a lunging stumble up the steps to the manor door. The fertile smells of the surrounding fields mixed with the odors of bread baking in the kitchen and hung meats curing in the small smokehouse set against the outer wall of the holding. It was mid-morning here and the extended family of the Leone''s was deep into the settled routines that maintained the homestead. Lucille had Sienna by both hands and welcomed her with a bright, warm smile.

    "So happy to have you here," she said. "We have so little company these days. Avery is busy preparing the vine cuttings for the new planting, then he is to attend a council meeting of the holders, but he wanted to welcome you also, and looks forward to talking with you later today. Come in, I will show you your room and help get you settled in."

    Sienna allowed herself to be drawn inside and up to the second floor.

    The upstairs of the estate house was divided into two sections, although both were just sleeping quarters. One area, more utilitarian, consisted of a long hallway with eight bedrooms accessed by four doors set into each side, where those family members who worked the estate slept. The other area off a branching corridor held two suites; each included a small parlor and bath. These were the guest rooms used to house visitors and the occasional business traveler. Sienna was settled into one of these.

    "Avery, my husband and I, have our personal rooms, and my son''s, on the first floor, and the others don''t use this corridor, so it is quiet here. Unpack and make yourself comfortable, come down when you are ready. I will be in the kitchen."

    Lucille waved her son out of the room and left Sienna at the door with a quick hug. Sienna finished unpacking. She felt so helpless, being shuttled here and there at Gregory''s whim. She had really needed that hug. The trip, the unpacking, the repacking and now here, had left her feeling wound up, and somehow abandoned.

    Why does Gregory want me here with these people?, she thought. Just a few more weeks, why won''t he let me stay with my father?This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    She took out the small puzzle box, a gift from her father, and placed it on the dressing table. The box rattled when she placed it, though she didn''t remember putting anything inside. She moved to pick the box back up, but returned to finish settling in instead, changing into simple jeans and a blouse before exiting to find her way downstairs.

    The kitchen was redolent with the smells of spices and baking. Besides Lucille, there was a taller heavyset girl busy cutting up and packaging vegetables next to a blanching pot that merrily boiled on the nearby stove. The bread smells emanated from an anachronistic French flue oven built into a stone wall at one end of the room.

    A quarter-open iron fire-door that sat below it showed licking flames deep within, supplied from a nearby bin of freshly split hardwoods. Sand colored counters were everywhere, obviously heavily used, but the room was quite modernly equipped with small appliances and conveniences. It looked much like any antique farm kitchen, one that had been updated over the decades. A result of its colonial heritage, Sienna could almost trace its history through three generations of additions and upgrades, could almost hear the arguments over what should stay and what should be replaced within it.

    I should feel more out of place here. But these people are so accepting, it''s hard to feel that way for long.

    Lucille looked up as she entered and, wiping her hands on her apron, called the larger girl over for introduction.

    "This is Gilda, my cousin''s wife, from Herr Muller''s estate near here. Gilda, this is Sienna Mavens. Her father is a scientist who works at the St. Croix compound. She is our guest for a while."

    Gilda laughed and showed her still wet hands, saying, "Glad to know you. If there is anything I can help you with, please ask. My husband does the soil and produce testing here, and I can usually be found helping in the kitchen. We grow our own vegetables, bake our own breads and process most of our own foods, save for those items we trade with the other estates, so there is always something to do in here. I sometimes help with the pressing and bottling of the estate wine, which is our export, but I prefer to work the kitchen. We are playing cards tonight in the family parlor, if you stop by then I will introduce you to the rest of us. There will be cakes, and of course, wine. Do you play? Will you come? "

    Again, the acceptance and instant warmth of these people enveloped Sienna, and another measure of tension drained away. They are so different from Gregory, I can''t even begin to understand why they would do anything like putting me up at his request.

    Sienna agreed she would try, and then insisted on helping Lucille finish baking the last few loaves of risen bread, and tried to make herself generally helpful for the balance of the morning.

 Chapter 24: The Ayes Have It

    Gregory went over his notes one last time before walking onto the speaker platform and taking his seat on the stage before the council of Avon. Of the 670 voting seats representing the various estates, one hundred and thirty would vote with him just because the owners were both paranoid and cheap. Gregory had contacted those of his ''converts'' in the remaining four hundred forty houses as had influence with the owners to promote his proposal. He expected this should net him perhaps another 60 or so seats. Special arrangements had been made with a select group of elder scions to see to it that their owners would not show up to vote. A very nasty stomach flu caused by a water-borne virus had swept these selected estates, leaving the elder sons in a position to occupy their voting chairs for this particular session. This was expensive, but an efficient way to get what he wanted.

    Gregory needed to secure this planet quickly and didn''t want to spend time beating down estate doors with mercenaries - better if they just invited him in. His procurement office had been hard at work handing out lucrative supply contracts with as many of the moderate estates as possible, so he felt he could expect to raise the 51% he needed without a problem. Luckily, his moving the seat of his operations here, and the general increase in the local economy St. Croix had brought to Avon over the last couple of years, had pre-disposed the landowners to view him with a certain cheer and a feeling that a brighter future was breaking.

    All the members were seated, and the elderly Reginald Townsend, the current meeting''s monitor, approached the podium.

    Reginald was one of the pat votes. Unlike most of the others, his estate raised cattle, and so was in a constant battle with the predatory wildlife to secure the safety of his herds. While the alien spoor of imported animals usually put local fauna off, the cattle were genetic hybrids, able to eat most of Avon''s indigenous plant-life without harm, and their scent was close enough to attract carnivorous attention. Gregory had talked with him personally about his civil defense proposal, and had patiently listened to a detailed diatribe about the dangers to the colonists from the ''fierce and combative beasts'' that ''infested'' Avon. Gregory did not bother to point out that the colony had never suffered any but the most accidental losses from the wildlife, or that Reginald''s estate likely attracted the attention it did because of the large number of poorly maintained slaughterhouses on his property.

    Instead he had commiserated, focused on the benefits of establishing troops on the estates that could defend and patrol the properties against the depredations of wildlife and invaders. Reginald''s eyes had gleamed happily when Gregory explained that his company proposed to underwrite the expense of maintaining the militia as a civic duty, only requiring the landholders to provide necessary barracks space. After all, St. Croix had its own extensive security issues anyway, and it was a shame not to move ahead and develop the kinds of protections established worlds routinely provided their residents. Oh, of course the company expected to supply the barracks themselves, as part of the defense package.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    The rest of the meeting had involved Reginald poring over estate maps with Gregory, pointing out the most attacked portions of the estate, and the best unused sites where barracks could be built. No, there was no problem getting the proposal on docket for the next council meeting; Reginald would see to it himself.

    Reginald banged his gavel and waved for attention. "As a first order of business, I would like to welcome back among us, landholder Gregory Saint Croix, who is gearing up his estate for full time production. I understand he is moving his mining company headquarters here."

    There was a moderate burst of applause, somewhat more enthusiastic from those members who had negotiated well-paying supply contracts with St. Croix.

    "The order of business today...," Reginald droned on in his piping tenor about road maintenance quotas and co-operative export allotments indicating the document numbers involved, and the voting order of the proposals. It was basically like a meeting at a farming co-op, on a slightly larger scale. There was a minor scuffle over the road maintenance agreements, which Gregory was forced to sit through. Finally his proposal was set forward, the carefully prepared documents his office had distributed earlier were recognized, and he was called to the podium.

    "We stand here today at the beginning of a new and profitable era of growth for the communities of Avon," he began. "We need to start looking at what that growth means to us in terms of our own security, well-being, and safety of our property, and our families."

    There was much more of this; his researchers had pulled together a truly inspired address based on some of the most compelling speeches ever written, and Gregory was an expert orator, skills honed in hundreds of business and civil situations.

    The agreement itself was a social contract that allowed St. Croix to supply workers to maintain vital inter-estate roadways, animal control, and should the need arise, community defense. All without requiring a tax base or raising levies, of course. Individual estates need not participate in terms of providing on-estate ''civil resource housing'', but that was encouraged, and alleviated an estate from providing other minor obligations that were mostly in place to give an overall group effort feel to the contract. Since it did not deal with export concessions, it was completely within the landholder charter to consider, and did not need to be passed through the scrutiny of the off-world export conglomerate''s more savvy lawyers.

    His address concluded to a louder rain of applause than his introduction had drawn, and Gregory felt confident when the ballot was called.

    He gained an astonishing seventy-six percent of the vote, and had the pleasure of receiving a vigorous handshake from that teary-eyed old fool Townsend. They would all be singing a different tune shortly, as his mercs started moving out and setting up their mobile barracks and surface-to-air missile launchers, but by then it would be far too late.

 Chapter 25: Questions

    Avery Leone returned to the estate in poor humor. He had not been happy with the idea of having St. Croix workers flitting all over the charters'' holdings, especially since he could see the St. Croix compound from his own walls as it was. He did not feel the need for a civil defense on a basically agrarian world with no cities or tourist trade of any note. He had voted against the adoption of the proposal, even though Gregory was a neighbor. Privately, he questioned Greggory''s motivations for the offer. It would be a great expense, to provide a global militia, for an agricultural outpost such as Avon. It seemed to him a businessman would have started by asking for more concessions in terms of funding and land. However, he had been out voted in council and that, he shrugged, was that. He made a note to talk further with Sienna about Gregory and his plans. A man about whom, he realized, he knew very little.

    He looked up the dirt lane to the estate''s porch. Sienna stood there, staring up over the tree break towards the St. Croix factory site, frowning. Her shoulders seemed to sag. She looked exhausted, and Avery wondered if Lucille had been over-working their guest. His sister''s love for the estate sometimes lead her to involve others in her passion, which was not always appreciated. Avery waved at the girl, catching her attention.

    ****

    Sienna was tired, but at peace as she let herself out onto the front veranda of the Leone estate. Lucille and Gilda had engaged her with banter about estate life, and had made her feel part of something. Life had meaning here,direction. Time didn''t just pass, it was predicted, looked forward to. The future was not some great unknown that needed to be faced,but an orderly net of events that needed planning for, that set the tempo for each day''s activities. It gave back a sense of purpose and comfort.

    Sienna took a deep breath, clearing her head from the almost dizzying smells of baking bread and burning wood.

    Looking up, she saw the distant matte gray dome of St. Croix. There was a swarm of activity above the structure, and a constant stream of small transports and cargo lighters descended upon it, a steel rain through the skies of Avon. Surface flyers circled it, shooting off in all directions, and the low rumble of tortured air could be heard even from here. The peace she had experienced dissipated as she watched, her thoughts returned to her father, and a wave of helpless despair engulfed her.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    Sienna gazed up from the front of the estate house, to see Avery making his way past the enclosure gates, waving as he came.

    ****

    Father Abrams trudged back across the dusty roadway just outside the estate of Herr Muller. His visit had been unproductive. He had been courteously received, but the owner had been absent. Two of the estate workers had invited him into their residences, and one baptism had been planned for later in the month.

    The missionary eyed his lighter, set back well off the roadway in a somewhat open dale, and wished, not for the first time, that he had loaded the small field mission kit before leaving Alcomer. It had been discussed at New Vatica, but decided against it. The thrust of the mission was to assay the interest in providing worship facilities, not to build a temporary one, that could not service the widely separated estates anyway.

    Father Abrams pulled up his cassock, carefully descending the drainage slope fronting the road, and picked his way through the brush to the lighter''s hatch. Inside the small ship, a nagging amber light reminded Father Abrams that mail awaited. He sat and flipped on the reader. Among the common and expected dispatches was one marked urgent, from the office of Cardinal Bayer who, among other things, was the Director of Missions. He opened the post, and read it with growing alarm.

    #

    To all Diocese, Missions,and Agents of His Holiness, Pope John MVXXII.

    An inquiry and warning.

    We have determined that an enemy of the church, who has caused the deaths of many faithful and other children of our Lord, has flown, seeking sanctuary. We are in need of finding this person, named Gregory St. Croix, excommunicate, industrialist, and murderer. We have included a likeness of this man and a list of properties in which he holds interest. If some evidence or word of his appearance has reached you or any of your parishioners, please contact the office of Cardinal Reswell immediately. Be warned that Gregory St. Croix may be disposed to do you harm. Do not approach this man or his agents. Stand ready to aid this office in the protection of our children and our faith

    #

    Father Abrams gasped. He had overheard this man being spoken of at the estate of Herr Muller! He held property just beyond the next estate, east of, of... he struggled to bring it to mind... it was the Leone/La Platte holding. He crossed himself and sat back.

    Practically parked on the doorstep of a monster! He thought, furiously recalling what had been said. Something about a meeting, organizing road repair crews, civil defense, yes, that was why Herr Muller had been absent. Father Abrams bent low over the console, and began to compose his response.

 Chapter 26: Cry For Help

    Cardinal Reswell trundled down the white marble stairs of the colonial ministry building and into the heavy gray downpour. Steeling himself, he started out for the military administration building at a brisk pace. His jowls clamped, elbows pumping a counterpoint to the sodden flapping of his sandals. Tucked inside his vestments was a communique from a small settlement on Vega II, Avon, the locals called it, he remembered. Diocullis was not at his residence, which meant he was already at work in his austere office.

    Normally he would just have faxed the missive to Dio and waited for a reply but he had poor Father Abrams waiting in his ship for a response from his office, and had no intention of keeping the fellow at risk one moment longer than necessary.

    A brace of color guards, resplendent in their royal blue dress uniforms and red half-cloaks,saluted as the cardinal pushed his way through the double doors.

    "Yes, fine, thank you. Please, can one of you fetch Commander Diocullis for me?"

    The Cardinal stood in a spreading pool of rainwater as his robes drained themselves onto the hard cold tiles. As one of the guards pivoted to comply, Reswell reflected that this was the third time he had bathed while dressed in the last few days, and it didn''t promise to be the last. He had to talk with the building commissioner about the plaza. There must be funds enough somewhere to provide covered walkways or awnings.

    Diocullis approached in time to see Cardinal Reswell wringing out his cap, adding to the flood he had already caused in the entrance-way. "Cardinal, how can I help you this fine, damp morning?"Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    Cardinal Reswell reseated the all but destroyed cap and dug into his vest, pulling out the message from Father Abrams. "Eh, yes. Here. You have been looking for this I think."

    Michael began reading the document, and motioned the Cardinal to accompany him back to his office. One of the guards passed the Cardinal a towel and held open an overcoat which the Cardinal gratefully put on, mopping at his face with the towel.

    "We can depend on this?" asked Diocullis, pointing to the paper.

    "Oh yes, yes indeed. I need to know what to tell Father Abrams. Should I recall him? Is he in any danger?"

    Michael nodded gravely, and put a warning hand on the Cardinal''s shoulder. "Don''t try to recall Abrams; he needs to keep out of sight. Have him hide his lighter as best he can. He mentions this estate, the La Platte estate. Have him make for that if possible and keep his head down. If he tries to flee he will be caught. If I read between the lines of this," said Michael, waving the missive, "it sounds like St. Croix is trying to fortify his position there. It could be a benefit to have an observer as close as possible to St. Croix. Warn him, though - if Gregory gets wind of him, he may try to hunt him down."

    "We will have to take Father Abrams into our confidence as much as will help him to stay alive and useful," continued Michael, "and hope he has the wit and luck to stay free of Gregory. See what else he can find out meanwhile."

    "I will, and right now, Dio. Thank you." They had reached Michael''s office, and before the Cardinal could turn to leave, Dio reached around the office door and procured an umbrella from a brass stand just inside the threshold. "Here, take this. Just don''t forget where you got it from, your Holiness."

 Chapter 27: Conversations

    Bishop Wile, Arlyis and Joshua stood before the translator. The overhead view screen showed the distant golden glint of a probe''s sail array, a cat''s-cradle of woven silk against the ink-black background of space. It glowed with the soft luster of generated power. The Wavies, barely discernible, flitted across it, appearing as small wavering points.

    "The mapping exercise was quite revealing." Miss Denis motioned toward the monitor." They see our universe as if it were a matrix of points in Super Space. not as a space-time coordinate."

    Joshua pulled his eyes from the monitor. "I''m not sure I understand what you mean."

    Arlyis bit her lip in thought, then said, "Imagine you are seated before a sheet of paper. Suppose the paper surface encompasses all four of our dimensions of height, width, depth and time. It doesn''t, I know, but imagine that all four dimensions are squashed onto it anyway. Consider the paper itself to be the Brane or envelope, of our contunua. Movement of the Brane, or matrix of our universe through super-space, is represented by the movement of the sheet. You have a pencil with its point pressed down onto the sheet. The pencil is not a part of our paper universe. Consider it to be one of the Wavies, existing outside of it.

    " Move the whole sheet beneath the pencil in such a way that eventually every place on the sheet turns up under the pencil point. This movement is itself outside of time, where the pencil is, not time as we understand it inside our paper universe. So there is no passage of time for this movement to happen as we see it. Effectively, the pencil could be thought of as existing at all points on the paper, at the same time, as far as the 3D paper universe is concerned, but from the pointy pencil''s view, its always on only one point. If you want the pencil to be ''at'' another place on the sheet, you don''t move it there, you ''wait'' until the paper sheet turns up under your pencil.  I guess if I wanted to finish the analogy, I would have to add a fifth dimension, call it, um, ''When/If''. Once your paper arrived at the proper place, you had to say, spin the pencil. Not up or down, but in some different manner, to ''arrive'' at just the right ''When/If''."  Remember, to us being on the paper, the pencil point at any particular time is nominally everywhere, it seems to ''resolve itself''  at any location it wants to instantly."

    "Wouldn''t your ''When/If'' dimension be guided by historical time?" Joshua looked perplexed.

    Arlys shook her head. "Not in the multi-dimensional world of this model. There are writers that specialize in a kind of fiction, called Alternate time line fiction. They base their stories on what the world might be like if this or that historical decision was made differently. In a way, they are right. Every possible outcome exists as an event, somewhere, just not where we are. One theory is that all Branes, or Space-Time Continua, are linked harmonics of each other, related somehow. At any one time, there are a number of possible events. Time is the way we index things, as if one event following another had some great mystic verity. It doesn''t. That''s just how three dimensional beings within our one Brane experience things.

    "We walk about our 3-D universe with a...a stick. We hold our stick up to things and say, that thing is so many sticks away, so many sticks tall, and we can pass so many sticks in a period of time. And time, well, we make up the intervals based on our local experience. We have known for just ever and ever that our time intervals get ''longer'' or ''shorter'' depending on how fast we are traveling, right? I mean, everybody knows that relative time, our time, slows as we approach light speed in normal space, or are affected by higher gravity - that it''s an event relative to the viewer, that it gets warped along with the contunua''s matrix, like marks on a rubber sheet do when the sheet gets stretched, right? That''s what FTL drive theory depends on, though we don''t really travel faster than light, but by crumpling the fabric of space/time. FTL is just a convenient way to put it, not something space drives actually do."

    Arlyis swallowed, nervous at lecturing a room full of experts instead of students. "Our concept of ''speed'' is just a piece of simple math - Distance divided by Time equals Speed. So all our concepts are, um, self delusional, or at least obviously incomplete. There isn''t any ultimate verity of distance in a curved universe, ''cause there is no physical reality of a straight line. All our rulers are crooked, curved and can be flexed. No "speed" because Time and Distance aren''t really constant in any all encompassing way, save as we define them within our own Brane. Our stuff only works in the little fragment of eternity we live in. You can''t even guide a missile to Andromeda with ordinary math, - just doesn''t work. Our whole scheme, just depends - it''s relative. Works good enough for us because we spend most of our time moving slowly in a gravity stable three dimensional field. Even cause and effect is a local, in multidimensional terms, phenomena. Our subspace radio systems depend on Quantum tunneling principles to work, a non-local event. That is, depend on changes that happen in no-time between two separated particles, without an intervening energy exchange."Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

    Joshua shook his head. "I never did understand that Quantum mechanics stuff."

    "Few do. Yet it is a fundamental fact of quantum mechanics, and always has been. Think of particles as actually being little standing waves poking up in a field. The little peak doesn''t have to ''move'' from one place to another, it can just disappear  as a wave here, and reappear at some other place where the conditions are right."

    Wavies have to learn our system, because they live outside the Brane of our universe. They don''t spend their time hanging around in three dimensions. They''re visitors here."

    Arlyis paused, and all three silently contemplated the rigged gear for a few moments.

    Joshua marveled at the concepts presented, and what they meant, in terms of the Wavies. Good grief, here I am, trying to talk sensibly with beings that don''t even share the same physical reality as we do, let alone the same language or culture. A new appreciation for the talents of his associates overwhelmed him.

    "Conceptually," Arlyis continued, "we talk about here and there; they talk about now and then. I''m stating this badly.... the analogy isn''t very close to what I am saying at all, but I am trying to give you a feel for the huge difference between our viewpoint, and what theirs might be.

    "Anyway - the point is, there are changes to the translator to accommodate talking about positions. If you need to indicate a place, the program stops, and you have to type in the coordinates here." Arlyis indicated a keypad attached to the console.

    "Some math gets done, and the translator spits out the translation, then you continue talking. It''s not real elegant, but it''s something." Arlyis shrugged. "Our translations are smoother overall, as we continue to add to the database. So you can have more complex conversations than before."

    Bishop Wile pointed out an amber light wired up to the console. "We added this to warn when translations have a chance greater than 20 percent of being wrong. Beyond that, we have been able to codify some littorals - ah, specific places, especially planets, where they have been defined before, such as we were able to nail down. Earth for instance, the site we are at presently, the former St Croix facility, and suchlike. The translator logic will sense when you are talking about places that need defining with the keypad."

    Joshua nodded. "Very good. Diocullis has uncovered the new bolt hole of Gregory St. Croix. The Earth defense forces are preparing to pay a visit, against Michael''s advice. Michael would like a little more information and assurance from our friends here about what he will be up against, now that Gregory knows we are onto him."

    Joshua picked up the microphone and keyed on the translator. "I speak to one who listens."

    "Your Name?"

    Joshua''s eyebrows arched, and he threw Bishop Wile a glance. Wile smiled. "I told you we have made progress. Go on."

    "My Name is Joshua."

    "I/We recognize you, Joshua."

    "We spoke before. I was interested in where your queen was. You remember?"

    "I/We remember. She is at a moment you call ... (Vega III)."

    "Can I Speak with her now?"

    "She is in (a)time/space fold. Sometimes she can talk to us, but she does not (sing) with us. She cannot (change) herself, when we approach, she hurts. We move things as she directs, she is better. It is no discontent."

    Joshua''s face took on a look of frozen concern. "Is there one who speaks with her? One who has talked with your kind before?"

    "Yes, Joshua."

    "Your Queen is not moving because this other speaker will not let her. He hurts her when he knows you are close. You may be indifferent to where she stays, her tjme/space, but she is not on Vega III of her own will. The other speaker keeps her there."

    "Why, Joshua? We only move things. Your kind move things too."

    "The other speaker''s name is Gregory St. Croix. His hive is lazy. He wants you to move things for him. You must not do this for Gregory. He hurts us when he moves things. You should not move anything the Queen asks for until she can move freely. I can free her with your help. Will you help?"

    "I/We do not reference. We do not move things to hurt. Why does Gregory move things to hurt?"

    Joshua looked helplessly at Bishop Wile. "I think we need to educate our friends here about human morality and ethics, a little talk about Good and Evil. Are you up to this, Benn?"

    Bishop Wile showed more teeth than a horse taking a bit. "The time has come, the Walrus said, to speak of many things. My pleasure and holy duty, Prelate."

    Joshua pulled back on the microphone. "They need to understand us as moral beings to be able to judge us as individuals. I can''t expect them to sort us out otherwise."

    "Just give me the mike." Bishop Wile rolled up his sleeves and pulled over a chair.

    "I don''t expect a stream of baptisms just yet. The general landscape will do,"  Joshua warned. He eyed the fussing Bishop, with a growing sense of disquiet.

    Joshua handed him the microphone with some second thoughts, reflecting that Benn had not always been a political attach¨¦. Visions of a younger Wile standing behind a pulpit mesmerizing his congregation swam to the fore. Still, he told himself, he had to contact Dio, and after all, who better to deal with the question of Good and Evil than a political linguist and Bishop of the Church?

 Chapter 28: Attack!

    Sienna returned Avery''s wave, trying for a smile as well. Returning his hands to his pockets, Avery waited until he had crossed to the porch before speaking. "I am sorry I couldn''t be here to see you arrive. It was estate business, and had to come first, unfortunately. Did Lucille settle you in?"

    Sienna nodded. "I was waiting to thank you. Staying with Gregory was not fun for me. Lucille is like a breath of fresh air."

    Avery drew in to himself, hesitating. The residents of Avon were sensitive about their privacy, and what he was about to do amounted to prying, a social offense among his peers. "I would like to ask you some questions about Gregory. Did you know he was intending to settle on Avon?"

    Sienna laughed, shaking her head. "Gregory? Settle here? He told you that? Gregory is here to finish some project of his involving my father''s research. He doesn''t tell me anything about anything, but I know the man well enough to tell you that settling anywhere is not his style. Why would you think that?"

    "Gregory - at the landholders meeting, he made a speech, a proposal. He talked of civil matters, made an offer to provide some services and a civil defense program. The council got behind the idea very quickly. He sounded very sincere in his interest in our community."

    Sienna looked perplexed."Mr. St. Croix? He must be after something. Is that what all the activity over there is about?"

    Avery glanced at the dome and pursed his lips.

    "I hope not."

    Avery rubbed at his arms."You should get a jacket; it will be cooler soon. I will take you up to the promenade on the wall. You can see the whole estate from there."

    "I would like that. Wait and I will be right back."

    Sienna retraced her steps back to her room and pulled out a denim jacket. Her eyes settled on the small puzzle box on the dresser. It was not an expensive item.The box was made of lacquered wood, cunningly inlayed with light and dark strips of veneer. She picked it up and shook it. Something rattled inside. She manipulated the box open, and retrieved something enfolded in a scrap of white paper. Sienna removed the paper, and turned the small switch box over on her palm. Then she read the note.

    #

    Sienna,

    Gregory has used us to build a terrible

    weapon and has no intention of letting us go. You must

    find a way to escape. The switch will turn it off, but

    must be used close to the device. Get this switch to

    someone who can use it.

    Keep safe.

    All my love,This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    Dad.

    #

    Sienna ran downstairs and out onto the veranda, the note and box clutched in her hands. Avery immediately saw something was wrong. The girl''s face was white, her eyes looking out at him as if from some trapped animal. She thrust one hand out, forcing the letter and switch box on Avery, who read the note with increasing alarm.

    He glanced reflexively at the dome of the St Croix facility. A closing trail of dust was rising through the forested expanse that separated his hold from St. Croix, and just then a fast moving transport cut the air overhead, moving west. Likely Gregory wasn''t interested in civil defense, Avery realized, he was involving them somehow in his own personal ambitions!

    There was a sudden clatter at the front gate, and the dusty tonsured form of Father Abrams stumbled through it at a broken run.

    Avery listened tensely to the priest''s report, Sienna''s note in his tightening hand. Then Father Abrams quickly read the note, as he listened in summary to Avery''s account of the council meeting, and suspicions, all the while shaking his head. "St. Croix isn''t sending out repair crews, I saw Military troops on the road coming here. He intends to secure all the estates against their aiding the Terran and new Vatican military. My lighter is west of here, in a depression just beyond your last field, down in a thicket out of sight - perhaps we should try to get back to it," said Father Abrams.

    "You would never make it," said Avery, watching the last-approaching dust trail. "I know where you are talking about. It is too close to the roadway." Avery sent Lucille and Gilda to warn the other estate residents to scatter and to gather up her son.

    "Meet us back on the veranda, now hurry!"

    Meanwhile he took Father Abrams in the house to grab up some supplies and his hunting bag. He picked up his father''s bag, weighed it hesitantly, and then tossed it to the priest. "Take care of this, it''s important to me."Then he opened the seal on the rifle cabinet, pulled out the two carbines and handed one to father Abrams. "For protection - we are going into the wild."

    They were returning to the foyer when everything fell apart. Avery could see Sienna, Lucille and his young nephew through the veranda doors. There was a commotion at the front gate, a shrill screech of braking tires, and a cadre of St. Croix mercenaries burst past the open gate. Avery cried out and tried to pick up his pace, but Father Abrams pulled him back.

    "No! They can already see them! We must stay free if we are to help them now!"

    Avery''s lips drew into a tight line. He nodded in frustrated resignation and angrily changed direction toward the dining patio doors. Once on the patio, Avery threw the hunting bag over the retaining wall, climbed up one of the hops trellises and followed the bag. The priest duplicated Avery''s example. Avery picked up the bag and ran across the open sward towards the surrounding forest, not looking back to see if the priest had followed until well under the dense cover of the closest verdure.

    From their vantage point they could see the transport parked outside the front gate. Two men reappeared, posting themselves there, rifles un-slung.

    "It doesn''t look like they are taking anyone off the estate," offered Father Abrams. "If Sienna''s father is important to St Croix''s plans, I don''t think she will be in any immediate danger. I doubt they are interested in anyone else. We must get that controller into safe hands."

    Yes, Avery thought, Gregory doesn''t care that Sienna, or anyone else, is at large on the planet surface, since we are all are stuck here like marooned mariners on a deserted Isle.

    Almost forgotten, Avery felt the small, square lump of the device pressing against his leg through the pants pocket. Sienna, at least, would not have anything suspect on her. The appearance of Gregory''s mercenaries was doubtless just a general part of his plan to secure the ground. His charge was as secure where she was as anywhere else on the planet, after all. Avery anguished over abandoning his sister and her son, but realized his instinctive reaction to Father Abram''s warning had been the correct one. It would take more than one man waving a hunting rifle to set things right

    "There is somewhere we can go. My father and I hunted this area when he was alive. We have a shelter of sorts deep in the wild lands, about a day''s travel from here. Some of the other Landholders nearby know of it also. There is an emergency transmitter, other things. Come."

    The two men pulled back further beneath the trees and set out to the north.

 Chapter 29: Aladdins Lamp

    Gregory rose from the system simulator console and stretched. It had been a long four hour session this time, but he felt he had finally gained a facility with the new operating systems. The Aladdin''s controls weren''t very different from a standard ship. Targeting and navigation were the same, even if they did link to radically different hardware.

    His people had done an impressive job, as well they should have for the money they cost. His security personnel were already stationed at every estate, and were erecting the mobile ground-to-air defenses. All the stable orbits around the globe had been seeded with mines, and the defense contracts had been filed with the appropriate Federation boards.

    The social contract, a stroke of genius on his part, gave him the right to post global defenses, so the church and Terran politicians would find deaf ears to their pleas for support in any actions they cared to file.

    Federation law was a very thin structure of inter-world agreements. Man had thrust out into the void too fast, out-pacing any attempts to regulate expansion. The big companies and corporations had rushed to establish inter-world contract law, but except for a few special interest areas like shipping and transport, there was little concern or support for establishing any comprehensive oversight agencies.

    The Federation council was just an oversize bargaining collective. It saw to the administration of a small anti-piracy force supported by the commercial shipping trade. It ratified large trade agreements, and maintained Standards and Measures Boards. It was a free trader''s paradise.

    They wouldn''t find him unprepared this time. A taste of the new technology he had sole control of and they, along with everyone else, would soon come begging to his bargaining table to find their place in the new order of things.

    His agents reported Terran forces had mounted an expedition. The time frame almost surprised him. He had estimated he would have at least a day or two after he filed his papers with the Federation, but somehow his location had leaked out earlier. Internally, Gregory was infuriated. When I find out who blabbed my business to the Terrans , they''ll fry for it, he thought blackly. Luckily, the whistle-blower was too late to affect his plans. The last of his personal baggage was already aboard ALADDIN''S LAMP, the last fitting screwed in place. It was time for phase three.

    The smell of new was on everything. Gregory St. Croix smugly passed his hands over the upholstered captain''s chair, his hard eyes sweeping across the bridge''s vista. Seven 4 x 6 foot flat screens fronted the room. Six of the view-screens reflected every exterior surface of the ship. The last, centered before the main console, provided a master navigation display where several dozen graphic status windows showed the operating condition and state of all ALADDIN''s major subsystems.

    Two auxiliary consoles flanked the main control board, where his technical and military aides were already busy verifying green status for the first flight, if flight was the right word anymore. Behind him clustered a small group of engineers and specialists. Among them, a recalcitrant Samuel Mavens stood, eyes downcast. Their presence wasn''t strictly necessary, but each had supervised some major aspect of the project ship, and had assured him of its operational perfection. Gregory hired people who knew what they were talking about. All the same, he put his neck on the line based on his people''s judgments, and made damned sure they did as well. Finally, he received nods from the secondary operators, and powered on the navigation controls.

    A low pulsing whine echoed through the huge ship. Two decks down, several ten inch thick data cables heated up enough to fry eggs. Terra-bytes of data streamed between layered banks of plasma state computers, and billions of nano-relays engaged and disengaged redundant sub-systems. A green telltale, signaling the completion of the systems check, lit on his console, and Gregory initiated the ship. There were no engine noises or sense of movement - the football stadium-sized ship just vanished from its build cradle in a rolling clap of thunder. The six screens fronting Gregory suddenly showed black, save for one, in which the long planetary curve of Avon abruptly appeared. There was a ripple of applause from the group of engineers, and a notable decrease in the tension that had pervaded the room previously. All the systems had been individually tested out before, of course, but this was still the Aladdin''s maiden flight. And soon, thought Gregory, going over the armament and defensive systems, its first fight as well.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    ****

    Arlyis entered the ship''s dining room unescorted for once. Sister Seika was on the transmitter pleading her case for a research grant, and Joshua was preparing fora conference with Diocullis, who was currently on route to meet with the crew here. She caught the eye of Colonel Colmer, who was just approaching his usual spot at table.

    The Colonel stopped to putdown a small bag he was carrying and waved at her. He motioned to two empty seats at the opposite trencher, largely unoccupied due to the absence of several of the ship''s busy complement.

    Here we go, she thought, I might as well hash this all out now as later. Arlyis mounted her sunniest smile and nodded, making her way to the suggested seats. Sir Colmer, bending stiffly from the waist, held the chair for her, then seated himself. A contemplative expression settled on his weathered features. He was quiet a moment, then, withan unaccustomed hesitation, smiled and spoke.

    "We really haven''t had much chance to just sit and talk, Arlyis. I''m happy for the opportunity, believe me. Besides which, look here." The Colonel produced two splits of white wine from the small bag on the table, and chuckled. "I had them brought up by re-supply last flight. Have to make do with the ship''s glasses, but..."

    "Oh, you are a true worker of miracles...Gimme."

    Colmer''s smile broadened and he opened one, splashing a generous portion into her glass, then the remainder in his own. I wanted to tell you how much I have enjoyed talking with you, and I feel I haven''t expressed that very well. It''s not often I get the opportunity to work with a beautiful woman such as yourself. Or one I feel at ease with. You have made this tour less a duty for me and much more of a pleasure."

    Arlyis tipped back her tumbler and tasted the wine. It was crisp and well balanced, a good colonial estate vintage, and her palate rejoiced in it after the long stint of abstinence aboard ship. She hadn''t thought to bring any luxuries with her for the mission, although that would certainly have been allowed. The monks didn''t stock wine, save for a small quantity of overly sweet sacramental vino that barely qualified. She glanced at the Colonel over the top of her tumbler. He was beginning to exhibit that boyish fidgeting she found both so at odds with the man''s military bearing and yet so ingratiating. He could be so proper at times, then burst forth with such a brocade of humor, whimsy, and openness, that it was impossible not to like him. He reminded her of a pet bird she had once raised. Quick, stiff, probing, yet funny too.

    "God, thanks for this. Apology accepted. Now open the other one."

    Colmer did so gladly, and managed to top off both glasses with the remaining split.

    Arlyis tried the wine again, then sat the glass down, and looked hard at Colonel Colmer. "You''ve been the perfect gentleman, Fredric. I''ve just been irritated at myself for ignoring that. Every time I find myself admiring a man, I tighten up. It''s the career thing, you know? I have spent ...well, years, pursuing a seat at the university, and forcing myself to ignore any distractions. I guess it''s become a habit. It''s not anything you''ve done. I am sorry if I have seemed off-putting."

    Sir Colmer sat back, his face dropping a bit. "I see."

    Arlyis laid her hand lightly on Colmer''s wrist. "This trip will get me that seat, Fred. I would love to see you once we get back. Will you do that for me?"

    Colmer brightened immediately. "Without fail, I swear."

    "Then, let''s finish this wine quickly. There''s something I need to show you in my cabin. For about, "Arlyis checked her watch, "an hour and a half. Diocullis is on his way here for a conference, so," Arlyis stood and pulled at Sir Colmer''s epaulets with an impish grin, "get on your feet, soldier!"

 Chapter 30: Discussions

    Michael Diocullis ran one hand through his lank black hair and seated himself at the small conference table aboard the CHRISTOS. In the lounge view screen loomed the bulk of the SHEPPARD, a battleship in the service of New Vatica. Four times the size of the WRATH, the SHEPPARD was one of the largest ships in the modest New Vatica fleet, a fully configured battleship. Attending her were six cruiser-class support ships and a dozen courier class vessels much like the WRATH. Given the current state of affairs, Michael had decided that traveling with at least one battle ready group was in order. Events were reaching an action nexus, and he had rather not run into trouble unprepared. Monsignor Ernst Ammens, Arlyis and Colonel Colmer were already seated as was Joshua, who was contemplating the stark utilitarian outlines of the small fleet in the viewer.

    Michael started the meeting."I decided, after talking to Joshua, it might be best to hold a face-to-face conference, given the rush of current events. I have, we all have I think, some decisions to make. You are aware a Terran task force has been mounted for a surgical strike at Gregory''s facility on Vega?" The question was rhetorical, so everyone simply nodded.

    Colonel Colmer - Sir Colmer preferred his non-military title unless he was approached as now, with military issues - cleared his throat. "I understand we won''t be going in with ''em, maybe you could clear the air about that?"

    "Well, we weren''t invited to the party. We need to talk more about that a bit," said Michael.

    Monsignor Ammens looked concerned, and said "I don''t see why they needed to rush into this, without consulting us. Didn''t they ask for your input about it?"

    Dio shrugged. "I think the expedition is foolish, ill-advised, and premature."

    "What," Ammens raised an eyebrow and asked, "did you tell them?"

    Dio blinked at Ammens and repeated, "I told them it was foolish, ill advised, and premature."

    Monsignor Ammens sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "That was, statistically speaking, possibly not the most effective response, Dio."

    "Yes, in fact it was. Their rush to respond is political, not tactical. I think this will become clear in a minute. For now, let''s just take for granted that there are elements in the commercial and political arenas on earth capable of putting two and two together. "Perhaps it would be best to start by going over what we know. We know that Gregory discovered how to direct the, ah, Wavies. We have his probe and his cage as evidence.

    "We now know the probe broadcast the location of the target and a recorded request from their Queen to remove and solidify oxygen and argon from the upper atmosphere to a way-point near the St Croix refinery, where it was picked up and transferred to the facility."

    "Yes, yes, and the cage device," contributed Ammens. "The cage, when analyzed, is not merely a holding cell. It is a sort of operant conditioning box, a training device used with animal experiments of the most classical type. It basically has a slip field generator that creates a pinch in the continuum of space to confine the Wavie inside. The mechanism allows the ''pinch'' to be increased or decreased in size, which mimics the effect of a gravity well insofar as the Wavies are concerned. We have no way of extrapolating how the entity was captured in it. Some kind of misdirection, I suspect. The Wavies'' natural response to gravitonal irritation is to reposition matter away from themselves, since the most common source of gravitons," Ammens performed a palms-up gesture with his hands, "is structured matter. Simply put, they trained the Queen by increasing the pinch on her until she issued orders to move the right things away to the right places, and rewarded the correct responses by lessening the pinch. Since she is cognate, the process is combined with words and phrases they have decoded, along with such positional cues as they have been able to pin down. The shape of such Positive/negative reinforcement curves is well established-"Ammens, who like any university professor of worth, knew when he was losing his audience. He stopped, cleared his throat, and summed up more clearly.

    "In any case, my feeling is that Gregory''s grasp of the Wavie language is, eh, not profound, and mostly directed towards defining nouns that designate material types, amounts, and positions. They, if I may paraphrase an ancient aphorism, don''t want to talk to the animals; they just want to use them. If he had spent the effort we have, our work with them would certainly have been simpler. Even in animal conditioning experiments it is easy to tell if your specimens have been worked with before, and what the focus of the training likely was."

    Joshua looked puzzled."Doesn''t the Queen understand she is being abused?"

    "Well, I can talk about that," said Sister Seika. "The beings only exist in our continua in a limited way. Actually, what we see of them here amounts to a sensory package and their genitalia. They reproduce here. Our universe is their nesting ground. On their side of things, they may see themselves as all bunched together like a school of fish, for all we know, no matter how scattered they appear to us."

    Sister Seika put her hands to her throat and thought for a moment before continuing. "You will excuse me if I don''t word this right from a physics perspective. From their position they can dip into our continua at any three-dimensional point. They don''t, I have been told, live in three dimensions. Also time, as it exists for us, is a malleable commodity for them, like clay. They work with it but don''t necessarily experience it, at least not as we do. For us time is linear, we live through every second as it passes by, the relativistic effects of high speed travel not withstanding. For them," Sister Seika shrugged, fanning out her hands, "it ain''t necessarily so.

    "Gregory, he grabs ''em by the cajoles alright, but to them it''s just one of those vicissitudes they normally wait out, or respond to by repositioning stuff. As far as they knew, the man was just trying to help. Hey, the man says, try moving this stuff from here to there. They try it, and what do you know? Things get better; at least for the queen.

    "Mechanisms confuse them; they don''t know a structure like a cage from an equal mass of scrap iron or whatnot. They are intelligent non tool-users. Think Dolphins here. They are, thanks to our team effort, just getting educated in linear, time based three dimensional communications. Which is why learning to talk with them has been such a fuss. It doesn''t come down to just a matter of linguistics, as we have always understood the science. Besides, I doubt getting the Wavies to understand they were being scammed was a high priority for Gregory''s bunch."

    "I think we can get down to what I need to discuss now," said Michael. "When we caught Gregory with his hand in the cookie jar, he fled. Why would he do that? Because he couldn''t stand, fight, and win. Then, he pops up on Vega III."

    "There are two points to consider about this. First, although we found him on our own, he announced himself by filing all kinds of civil paperwork for Avon with the Federation. In effect he is inviting invasion. Second, the paperwork filed gave him the right to defend Vega.

    "My question is: what makes him think he can defend an agribusiness cooperative like Vega? I would not want to rush in guns blazing until I knew what Gregory knows, or at least, had the Wavies on our side. This," Diocullis noted, "brings us back to politics. The Terrans don''t know everything we know, but they have the basics. They had the probe, they saw the cage, and they know what was done. They know Gregory did it, at least circumstantially, and they trust our judgment on the matter since they know we had enough other intelligence to help them."This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Michael held up his hand and started counting off points on his fingers.

    "They know, at minimum, four things: First, that matter can be teleported. Second, Gregory has something to do with point one. Third, they know where he is. Fourth, the citizenry are angry, so they have public support on Earth for retribution.

    "They have altered the goal of the assault," Diocullis continued. "They now focus on the science of it, mainly. They think Gregory has it, and they want it. The military leaders want it, the industrialists want it, they will kill for it, bargain for it, get down on their knees and grovel for it, come to that. So no, they don''t want to share with us right now. Apprehending Gregory has become just a means to that end."

    Diocullis leaned forward and looked at each person around the table. "I am a soldier of the church. My business is the military, but my purposes are moral and theological. My concern is - do we want anyone, any group, to have this power? Do we want Gregory or Earth politicians to have the power to grab anything from anyone, anywhere, instantly and in any quantity? In the sight of God, my friends, what should we do about that?"

    Silence settled over the table. Joshua absorbed the issues Michael had presented but felt that moving them to resolution would only happen the way any mountain is moved, one spade-full at a time.

    "I think the answers to this start with our coming to terms with the Wavies. We need to get them to aid us, or at least, not help Gregory. As far as we know for fact, they hold the keys to these new...processes. As for the larger questions, this isn''t the first time something unnerving has reared its head over the horizon. The church has not profited in the past by standing on the tracks of progress, so to speak.

    "Delaying the inevitable at best, only buys the time to prepare people to cope ethically with a brave new world. It is in this, to my mind, where the church is most relevant. For now, we need to focus on the task at hand."

    Michael drew in on himself as he considered this, then nodded. "You were talking about your efforts when we spoke last. How are they coming along?"

    "We are definitely making headway. We attempted to establish a dialog twice, and each went much better than the last. They still lack a basis for discriminating between us and our motives, which needs to be addressed before I can make progress. They have, understandably, no sense of the human condition. I set our linguist, Bishop Wile, to provide that basis. He has been working to explain to them something of our nature and philosophy."

    Michael turned a blank stare. "You set that old fire drake Wile to teach them philosophy? How long has he been inflict... instructing them?"

    Joshua looked startled. "Why, I just set him to it, just before I talked to you last. He can''t have been at it very long. Arlyis, have you seen Wile?"

    Arlyis shook her head. "He''s had his meals sent in to him. Far as I know, he has been hard at the transmitter for the last thirty-six hours straight."

    The sound of Monsignor Ammens and Sister Seika sucking air between their teeth filled the room. Michael, still poker faced, looked back to Joshua. "You haven''t checked up on him in thirty-six hours?"

    Joshua flustered. "It seems only yesterday. The Bishop hasn''t called for me yet. I hadn''t thought of it in terms of hours. It''s philosophy, not some kind of radiation hazard. Was I wrong?"

    Michael straightened up and sat back in his chair. "I think we should continue this discussion after Joshua has had a chance to gauge Bishop Wile''s ...progress."

    A sense of foreboding filled Joshua as he rose from the table. "Perhaps you are right. I should check on his progress. Please excuse me."

    He turned calmly enough towards the hallway entrance, but set off at a pace that would do justice to a marathon champion. Curious, Sister Seika and Arlyis got up and padded after the fast-moving prelate.

    Since the five monks bunked in only two rooms aboard the CHRISTOS, with both Arlyis and Sister Seika sharing cabin space, as did Street with Eldon, there were two unused rooms.

    The transmitter had been setup in one of the two unoccupied rooms at the extreme end of the cabin corridor. As Joshua approached, he could hear the faint strains of a choral work. Hand on the cabin door latch, the words to the refrain became distinct, obviously Ode to Joy, one of Monsignor Logan''s favorites, and one which the rest of the crew had become, unfortunately, over familiar with due to Logan''s penchant for whistling.

    Joshua opened the hatch, his mouth forming mild censure for Wile, who he assumed to be backing up his philosophic transmissions with music. His mouth continued to stay open for several seconds, as he took in the cabin''s context.

    The Bishop, and seated next to him, Father Logan, were both smiling and humming along to Beethoven''s refrain, the bulk of which, in harmony, was emanating from six blurs that appeared to be lined up along the opposite end of the cabin.

    Sister Seika and Arlyis crowded into the cabin pushing Joshua forward, which brought the frozen arch-prelate to his senses.

    "JOYFUL, JOYFUL!"

    Joshua took in the room, eyes flitting back and forth between the misty caroling blurs and the two seated, foot-tapping scholars. He stiffly motioned at Bishop Wile.

    Father Logan brightened at Joshua''s entrance. "Isn''t it wonderful? They have the tenor and mezzo-soprano down pat!"

    Bishop Wile rose, and waving vaguely in his direction, said, "My sons, this, this is Prelate Joshua. You remember Joshua?"

    The chorus ended, and one of the blurs floated forward a foot, and in a flattened voice that sounded suspiciously like Bishop Wile''s, said, "Content to speak with Joshua again, Bishop Wile."

    Behind Joshua, Arlyis whooped an intake of breath, threw a hand over her mouth, and whisked out of the room, pulling Sister Seika with her. Joshua could hear them having a muted fit in the passageway.

    "They can hear me?"

    "Oh yes," said Wile.

    "Good to speak to you again also, and so close at hand as well. May I talk to you a moment, Bishop Wile? - Outside?"

    "Ah, yes of course."

    Arlyis and Sister Seika were leaning against the wall at the halls other end, near the entrance to the lounge. Sister Seika was holding Miss Denis by her shoulder against the entrance way. Arlyis was shaking limply with the effort to contain herself.

    Joshua swiftly approached her, glancing over his shoulder to be certain that Bishop Wile followed. Arlyis took her hand from her mouth and waved Joshua off.

    "I am very," she gasped, "sorry, your Grace. It was just, hee-hee, the shock. I''ve seen them before, outside the ship of course, but just then, in the cabin, with the singing! I remembered what Sister Seika said about what parts of them were visible to us and, Oh! I had to leave. I am truly sorry." Arlyis broke into another paroxysm of barely suppressed laughter.

    Joshua blushed, and then turned to face Bishop Wile tightly. "Could you perhaps bring me up to date on what has been happening here?"

    "Ah yes, well. I started out by introducing the concepts of free will and responsibility, determinism, and discussing action and consequence models. We discussed logic and proof, the use of syllogisms, touched on dialectical materialism, humanism, solipsism, and my favorite, Thomism."

    Bishop Wile stifled a yawn,blinked and continued. "They were very interested in Thomas Aquinas. It became clear they wanted more material on many topics. Father Logan came in at that point. We determined that it might give them more access if they could translate our communication forms to theirs directly rather than having to depend on our translation equipment. We defined some normal communication bands, and explained how we used sound in air to talk normally. We chose some typical radio wavelengths and encoding standards; then," Wile waved his hands in circles at both sides of his head, "sort of ran our translation base backwards to them, so to speak. They picked this up very quickly, so I began broadcasting digital text files on things -the Bible, of course, the collected works of Thomas Aquinas, general works as I had available. Logan explored the concept of music with them, and we broadcast a few of our examples. They decided to try sound-based communication and came aboard - Well, you can''t make sounds in a vacuum, after all. They caught on to it quite quickly. They were trying their audible skills at choral music when you came in."

    Joshua gave every impression of being about to say things that Bishop Wile did not want to hear, so he rushed on with his report.

    "Although not blessed with hands, their mental skills are far more diverse than ours. They have no more problem tuning in on, and translating, all kinds of frequency-based information than we have with falling off a log. They can capture, analyze and remember vast quantities of information. Their memory is eidetic, you see."

    "All this in thirty-six hours?" Joshua interrupted.

    "I used to teach sophomore philosophy at the college, you know. A typical semester class minus test sessions and labs included about twenty-eight to thirty hours of lecture. Mind you, I couldn''t just upload entire texts into student heads either. I know what you are thinking. I was very fair in my lessons. Only twenty-eight Wavies have applied for church membership. I am getting quite tired now, though. On the bright side, I think they are prepared to enter useful dialogs with you, at this point, and I think we can dispense with the translator."

    Joshua pressed his lips stoically together and turned back to rejoin Father Logan.

 Chapter 31: Baine Prepares

    Commander Lionel Baine walked briskly through the radio room hatch and hesitated. Something about this mission that nagged at the back of his mind. As soon as M.I. had determined Gregory St.Croix''s new location, orders for a surgical strike had been cut and his attack group activated. The mission execution warrant had been rushed to the base commander directly from the Unified Armed Forces office.

    The mission strategy session had been terse. It had not been accompanied by any of the detailed intelligence briefs that usually swamped the process. There had not been any discussion of coordinating the attack with New Vatican forces - unusual, since the last operation had been a joint action with Diocullis as acting Combined Forces Commander. The objectives had been clear: Interdict any inter-system traffic, secure the St. Croix Facility on Vega III and detain Gregory St. Croix for questioning and trial

    The Gettysburg held its position just beyond the Saturn Lagrange ring orbits. Of the several fleet assembly sites, this was the most disliked. There was too much debris, too many overlapping gravitational fields, and navigational problems galore. However, it was well mapped, and the site of a fifty-year-old science station. The view was spectacular. Most of the fleet units were already here, only a few stragglers (re-supply ships mostly) had yet to arrive.

    Baine approached the communications NCO, seated before the banked stacks of transmitters, receivers and encoding/decoding modules. "Any ETA changes for the remaining units?"

    The officer half turned,unplugging an ear piece which he let dangle over his left shoulder. "No sir, no updates; everybody seems to be on track".

    Baine was strongly tempted to have the NCO contact the New Vatica office of Diocullis to find out what, if anything, the Papal forces planned. Only two things prevented him from satisfying his curiosity. One was the possibility of a general court marshal for providing military information. Besides, if the New Vatican fleet should show up, strict interpretation of the mission directive would require interdicting it. The other was the presence aboard the Gettysburg of a large contingent of military intelligence which had been attached to, but not put under, the orders of the fleet. He entertained no intention of attending an impromptu debriefing held in his honor. So instead, he nodded and quickly retreated from the radio room.

    Major Mattson saw Baine leaving the radio shack, and stopped, waiting for the commander as he approached. "Any changes to the fleet schedule?" the intelligence officer asked.

    Baine shook his head. "No sir. I just checked. Everything is on track."

    It wasn''t that Baine disliked the man, but the forty something officer, as well as his cadre, were a thorn in the saddle of this operation. Baine didn''t like messy chains of command.

    Mattson checked his watch. "If that''s true, we should be underway in thirty-six hours. I will see you in Ops before then, commander. "

    Baine acknowledged the major''s assessment and headed for the last stop before returning to the command center. He always surveyed the battleship''s fusilier bay before an engagement, and there would be no break in that precedent today.

    The fusilier bay was where the ship-to-ship weapons were mounted. The bay, actually a module,was depended forward from the bottom of the ship with an unobstructed 360 degree clear view in the plane of fire. Eighty percent of the ship''s point offense/defense arms were concentrated in this heavily armored section. Only the command center had more shielding.

    Free space engagements were the most disliked and risky type of fleet actions, and had the highest overall casualties. The tactics were brutal, and defensive measures were weakest. You had five flanks to your one front, all of them exposed, and the objective targets free to disengage and retreat at any time. Planetary weaponry deployed from the battleship''s drop bays, topside launch tubes, and other areas of the ship.

    Stepping into the bay, Baine swept it with a critical eye. The floors were clean and clear, all gear stowed, gunnery crews at post.

    The fire chief snapped to at Baine''s entrance and bawled, "Officer on deck!"Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    With that, all the visible crewmen bolted upright facing him, and held salute until Baine responded, "As you were," and returned the gesture. Baine quizzed the lean-faced Chief, receiving confirmatory responses to all readiness queries about the armament and ammo. Baine walked with the chief through the fire deck, stopping to inspect each section.

    There were three basic forms of weaponry here: missiles, projectiles and energy projectors. The first section contained the missiles, dubbed Dandelions by the crew. These were armor-piercing and self-guided. Since they were ship-to-ship, and not structures expected to cope with gravity, the rockets were thin-bodied, only eight inches in diameter, and launched from tubes that imparted an initial velocity.

    Baine signaled the technicians on duty to expose the head of one, and ran over the assembly with a practiced eye. The head was a bulb that contained the payload and was three times the diameter of the missile itself. This was rigged to deploy a mirror-coated, concave ceramic shield even larger in diameter than the head, to deflect laser countermeasures, which gave it the look of a flower and stalk - thus Dandelion.

    Baine reflected that time lapse films showed the deployment of the missiles to look rather like a bunch of parasols being ejected from a garbage can.

    The now exposed main wiring harness ran like a copper and glass spine through it, branching out to connect the thirty or so powered sub-systems that comprised its arming, intelligence and mechanical functions. In space the Dandelion was fast to deploy, relatively compact to store, and had virtually unlimited range. At reasoned distances it was fast enough, but could also be ejected at speed and allowed to coast in the direction of the target for days, if need be. The on-board smart guidance system would activate the missiles thrusters when the target was proximate, quadrupling its speed and correcting its course. On the minus side, it was highly visible when closing due to the mirrored shield, heat and propellant.

    An orange and yellow wire lay neatly coiled, and unconnected, next to the guidance module. Baine glared at the technician and alerted the Chief. There ensued an instant reprimand, ending with the Technician''s removal from the deck. Baine instantly ordered every deployed missile re-inspected for the fault, and leaving the hustle behind, went on to inspect the Pod''s Rail-Guns.

    There were four of these advanced-design cylindrical rail gun modules, covering the bow, stern, port and lee. Each linear accelerator was fed from a hopper that spit depleted uranium-tipped foot-long steel darts, about fifteen per second, from each of its sixteen rail-heads at incredible speeds. Each gun could, despite their 30-foot length, swivel to cover a 40 degree sweep and 10 degree elevation or declination, though not quickly enough to make the ability useful for close defense. However, the weapon was intended for mid-range use and curtain fire, and was expected to be partially directed by ship movement. They could clear mines, fire at ships, and erect dense  fire against incoming missiles,  given enough lead time. They were also hard to avoid individually, since they were inert, small, and very fast. The velocity imparted near nuclear strike damage. Several tons of darts were available per ship. Baine had the crews perform complete range of motion checks for each gun, and test charged each of the weapon''s linear motorways. All were flawless, and he again moved forward to the laser bays with the now sweating Chief at Arms at his elbow.

    Four Suntan laser arrays were mounted here. These were ultraviolet projectors. Each array featured six fusion powered emitters casting two-inch beams of super hot coherent UV, that could bring the temperature of the stricken surface to 5000 degrees Kelvin in an instant, vaporizing or cracking open missiles, rending fighter craft, and thanks to a visible violet component, blind optical tracking systems, including their human operators, as a sort of bonus. The pulsed lasers were very quick to redirect and could target close missiles or vaporize incoming projectile fire. They were effective up to a twenty-five mile range before the beam energy dissipated appreciably.

    While test firing these was not possible in formation, Baine had gunnery notified to run a targeting simulation on the units, and carefully scanned the resultant reports. Bank three exhibited a two-percent lag in target acquisition time. Baine ordered a systems'' re-inspection, and moved on, flanked by a now shaken Chief.

    The Chief knew nothing further would be said before his crew, but a nasty dressing down would follow, once the commander had him alone.

    Two more Suntan blisters were attached topside along with a half dozen automated fifty millimeter machine gun pods, there to make fighters nervous, if little else. Projectile weapons had become actually quite useful in the cold vacuum of space, once suitable lubricants and barrel materials became available. Cartridges generated their own propulsive gas when fired, so actually attained higher speeds. Also, without gravity, bullets traveled straighter and far longer distances without loss of that speed. Recoil, which amounted to thrust in space, needed balancing though, so each one was part of a system far more complex than a plane mounted Gatling gun. Space warfare was a nightmare navigation problem.

    Time was now at a premium, so with a few tacit final words to the Chief, Baine left.

    Having completed the ritual visit, Baine retraced his steps back to the command center, just forward of officer country.

 Chapter 32: Forests of Avon

    Father Abrams nervously followed Avery through the thickening alien greenery, away from the Leone estate. Dodging the low-branching, treelike ferns and thorny floor growth, the two remained alert for patrols and animal life. The deepening shadows and subtle changes in the woodland chorus whispered of the oncoming twilight. Chilled and basted with forest dew, Father Abrams began to feel the leaden toll of the trek.

    Finally he puffed, "A moment! Let me catch my breath." He stopped, hands on knees, breathing hard. "I don''t think we are being followed."

    Avery turned, re-shouldering his pack. He checked his watch and listened intently for a moment to the constant background chatter of the forest. They were, by Leone''s guess, about two miles north of the estate by now. "I think you''re right. I have not seen any signs of patrols. I think Gregory''s troops may be staying to the roads and estates. Soon, it will be too dark to travel safely. There is a small knoll ahead, with some rocky cover at the end of it. We can stay the night there. Catch your breath, and here," said Avery, passing a plastic canteen he unhooked from his pack, "drink. It is damp, I know, but still you can dehydrate here quickly."

    Father Abrams took the canteen gratefully, and squatting against the fat base of a fern, drank deeply. "How much further to this knoll, did you say?"

    Avery shrugged. "I make it to be about a half hour''s travel, about half a mile."

    Reflecting on this, the Missionary asked, "And the hunting camp?"

    "We will not make that until well past noon tomorrow. It is a full fourteen hour walk from the estate. We did not start until late afternoon. We will be fine at the knoll for one night, I am sure."

    Father Abrams passed back the canteen and stood shaking the forest debris from his cassock. The priest pulled the hunting bag over his shoulder and picked up the carbine. "I never hunted as a boy, Avery; I doubt I will be much help with this rifle. I was told by the mission board that I would be alright as long as I stayed close by the estates. Are we in much danger from wildlife here?"

    "Some. We smell wrong, not like Avon''s native animal life, so we won''t attract Sprangs. Those are the main predators here. You were told about them?"

    Father Abrams shook his head. "No, I was not briefed on the local animals before I came, just told to stay near the estates, which I have. I am afraid I haven''t wandered far enough from the settled areas to see any, and my focus has been perhaps too narrow-minded. I know there are predators here, and I have seen smaller animals, flying things, insects and such, but if the larger predators were ever discussed, I probably just didn''t make note. In my own defense, I use my lighter to move between the estates, so except for some rather long walks through cultivated fields, I actually haven''t seen much of Vega, Ah, Avon."

    Avery took a long look at Father Abrams. "The larger animals do not normally approach the estates these days. If you have not traveled into the bush, it is understandable, I suppose. You are not, pardon my frankness, as I would imagine a missionary would be. I envision some gaunt, fire-eyed survivor, savvy with the ways of nature, yet ready to sacrifice his very life for the cause."

    Father Abrams colored with embarrassment. "That is how I saw myself once, as a young priest. Unfortunately, I showed an early facility with library science, and my Monsignor felt I would serve the church well in that venue. I, I spent five years in the stacks, and," he said, patting his ample waist, "at table. I watched myself age, grow fat. I felt I had abandoned my calling. This, it was the last chance for me, you see. I wanted to live the life I had always envisioned. Afraid I made a pest of myself, until the Monsignor relented. So," Abrams looked defiantly at Avery, "here I am. And, I am willing to sacrifice myself for the good of my parishioners, if it comes to that, my son."

    Avery''s face in turn colored, and lowering his gaze, he said, "I meant nothing by my remarks, Father, it was unkind. Sprangs are a kind of reptile. About two meters long, about this high." Avery indicated with his freehand a height of about two and a half feet. "They are attracted to movement and have good depth perception, so they will attack if close enough. They are territorial, and prowl their ranges at night.That is the danger - if they come across us while prowling, they will attack to defend their territories; but they will not hunt us. I have some traps in the field bags for them. They, the beasts, are called Sprangs because they crouch, then leap to attack. It makes them easy to trap. I will set these when we camp. You will see."

    Night was just settling in as they reached the slightly less forested rise and crossed over to just below a tumble of eight foot basalt boulders at the knoll''s far edge.

    "The rocks will help keep the wind off, and we have some clear space from the hill to keep watch. I have stayed here before," Avery said.

    Digging into the packs, Avery produced two collapsed, flexible poles and a thin but large thermal tarp fitted with folds sewn in halfway along the sheets length at the outer edges. Avery threaded the poles through the folds, and then pushed the pole ends, now protruding from the tarps'' middles, deep into the loam. Then he bowed the free ends of the poles over and secured the cords. This formed a sort of floored tube with the two bowed poles supporting the roof half of the tarp.

    He then pulled a can of compressed foam out of the sack, along with a ball of crumpled plastic. He applied the nozzle to a fitting on the crumpled ball and a hissing ensued. The ball filled and flattened out, forming a half-width expanded foam mattress about three inches thick. He repeated this process with supplies from the other bag and erected a second lean-to for Father Abrams.

    "The sheeting material reflects your body heat back to you," Avery explained. "It is impregnated with an insect repellent as well, so we will be warm, dry and bug-free tonight."

    Avery pulled a hand ax from the bag, along with several other metallic sections and some other things Father Abrams couldn''t identify, and bustled about the periphery of the campsite. While the priest looked on, Avery screwed together several metallic cylinders ending with a pointed section,then affixed the assembled spear to a flat plate he had hammered deep into the dirt. The plate had two long stakes in the bottom, holding it firmly in the soil. A wire ran out from the base plate ending in a small sensor, which Avery placed about five feet in front of the assembly.

    Noting the priest''s interest, Avery explained. "This is a Sprang trap. The sensor makes a faint noise that attracts the Sprang''s interest. When it is within two feet of it, the sensor releases a catch, and the pole flies up from the ground to a 45 degree angle, waving around a bit. Sprangs attack the moving pole. They crouch and jump, impaling themselves on it. They cannot help it; their attack is, ah, a genetic response? The sound cannot be heard more than ten feet away, so the trap won''t call them, but it will skewer them if they are close."

    With the rock jetty behind them, and the traps set in front, the two men sat and ate a ration from their packs, then settled down to sleep in the inky dark of the unlit camp.

    Both men awoke to an earsplitting scream. Father Abrams threw himself out the open end of his shelter and stood shaking in the dark for a second, head darting right and left as he collected his wits. Then he made a grab for the carbine next to his bag and stumbled around the lean-to, peering into the night. He could just make out some violent movement beyond the camp and headed towards it. As he approached, the movement resolved into what appeared to be an eight-foot-long dragon, flailing out its life on the business end of one of Avery''s spear traps.

    A thrashing bright red tail and huge fanged maw filled his view. The jaws worked open and closed, and the Sprang flexed its claws, rolling over the collapsed trap, raking the dirt as it died.

    The priest stood, working his own mouth in a sort of shocked sympathy, when another threshing noise sounded, and a second beast jumped out of the dark, landing on the first. The new intruder screamed and bit deeply into the carcass of the first Sprang. Then it lifted its huge gore-dripping head to stare at the priest. Father Abrams fumbled up his carbine, and pressed the trigger several times, waving the hunting rifle at the Sprang, who hissed, then crouched to spring. Suddenly, a report rang out from behind the priest. The lizard''s head snapped sideways, and it fell, convulsing on top of the first.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

    Shuddering, Father Abrams turned away to see Avery standing behind him, lowering his carbine. Avery approached the priest and gently took the rifle from his shaking hands.

    "You must disable the safety catch to fire it - like this, do you see?" Avery released and reset the safety catch several times in demonstration.

    The speechless priest nodded nervelessly. Regaining his voice with a swallow, Father Abrams inquired, "Are you a religious man, my son?"

    Avery thought about this as he surveyed the small mountain of dead flesh now piled on top of his spear trap.

    "I have not had the opportunity to practice a religion. The church, as you know, is not established on Avon. Still, I have always believed there is something beyond this life. Often, on the wall of the estate, in the quiet of an evening, I have thought on this."

    "I asked," gulped Father Abrams, "because I would like to be put to my rest by believing hands when I die. The event seems closer than I would have guessed just yesterday."

    "It was a brave thing you tried to do, Father. Not many could have faced a beast of that size as you did. Most would have run away. Perhaps you are that missionary I envisioned, after all."

    Abrams beamed. "I did, didn''t I?"

    Avery looked up at the sky, sighed and said, "It will be light soon. We will have to break camp now. We can''t stay here with this," he noted, waving at the dead Sprangs, "and the gunfire could attract other attention." He handed the carbine back to the priest, looking regretfully at the site of the buried trap.

    Both busied themselves with the details of breaking camp. Finally shouldering their packs, they started north once more. Just before they cleared the open knoll,three men broke free of the surrounding cover, trotting through the dim light towards the high ground of the hilltop. Avery started to crouch, but as the three approached they began to wave, and Avery straightened, saying, "I know these men, wait."

    The thinnest of the three men bounded up the hill eagerly, a tight grin spreading beneath sandy-brown hair. Following him a younger but more heavily built lad, and lastly, a rather stocky and much shorter older man worked his way up at a sedate pace. Reaching the top, the thin grinner called out and embraced Avery, who introduced him as Daniel La Platte, his brother-in-law and partner in the Leone/La Platte estate. As the two talked, they were joined by the trailing pair, the short stocky Herr Franklin Muller and his son, Bart.

    "Gott Damn, but is gutt to see you free," said Herr Mueller, changing over his couched shotgun to shake Avery''s hand. "Dat pig St. Croix, he sends vifteen uff his tuggs to mine estate gates, vere dey vas some sort uff mizzle launcher up-putting. Dey tries to get in, too, but my son tolt dem to go away, und shut da gates on dem. Zo dey bring up zer truck und push in the gate. Your Daniel, my son and I, armed ourzelfs, unt ''trough the back gate ve go. I did not vote to half his black boots all over my crops, by Damn!"

    Avery introduced Father Abrams to the three newcomers.

    "Ya so, you are the missionary I vas told came by ven I vass at the meeting, nein? Zorry I vas not dere. I build for you a kirche, Ach! A church ven back to my estate I get, by Gott!"

    Father Avery blushed and shook the voluble German''s hand. None of the original colonists were native to Avon, of course, and though almost everyone spoke basic commercial English, it was not unusual to find it spoken as a second language. Third generation residents were already beginning to generate a local patios, though as yet, its traces were faint.

    "We heard a shot,"said Daniel, "so we decided to chance it and see who it was. I knew you would pass through here if you got out." Daniel''s face took on a pained expression. "Lucille, my son, are they alright? What was the shot for?"

    Avery looked away. "They were on the porch when Gregory''s men broke in. We had to run, and they had already been seen. There was nothing to be done. We think they are all right, but..." Avery shrugged, and pointed at the still visible carcasses piled at the knoll''s edge. "We had some Sprang trouble, that''s all. We have not seen any of Gregory''s men."

    Herr Muller''s face darkened. "Don''t worry. Ve get zem back soon. Ve had more luck. I gott twenty men off ze back fields on our vay out, not armed yet, but you and your fader vere not the only vuns who built hunting retreat. Alzo, I half more zan hunting rifles put away there. Ve should get started, nein?"

    Daniel put his hand on Avery''s shoulder. "I will stay with my brother-in-law. You should get back with the others." To Avery he said, "You are making for the hunting dome, right?"

    "For the transmitter." Avery nodded. "We need to contact Father Abram''s superiors. Any of my people who made it out will head there."

    Herr Muller nodded. "You see iff you can find your men, den. You bring effryone up to mine lodge, after, ya? Den ve go chase doze swine off!"

    Avery agreed, and the three set off north while Herr Muller and son went back to rejoin the other escaped workers. The day wore on without further incident. Daniel took advantage of their infrequent rest stops to tutor Father Abrams in arms'' handling and some dry fire exercises, but no rounds were wasted for fear of attracting unwanted attention. They kept on watch for other stragglers or patrols, but saw no one. It was well past dusk by the time the cadre had pushed their way close to the Leone hunting grounds. Approaching the last break in the wood fronting the small hunters'' retreat, they saw the twelve foot insulated kit dome, with two small transparent panels set near the top in lieu of windows.

    Avery motioned for quiet and whispered, "Wait here. I will go forward and watch for a time. If it is alright, I will call you in. If not, I will come back and join you. If you hear any excitement, do not come in. Go find Mueller and tell him what has happened."

    Avery backed away and set off to circle to the opposite side of the cabin clearing. Father Abrams and Daniel crouched and waited. After twenty minutes, Avery reappeared quietly behind them looking anxious and uncertain.

    "There is someone at the back, in the brush behind the cabin. I could not safely see who it was. The cabin seems undisturbed, from what I could tell. We will have to chance an encounter with the lurker. You and I should work our way around opposite sides, on his flanks. Father Abrams, I would ask you to do a brave thing. Give us ten minutes, then walk into the clearing and around the cabin openly. We will see what this visitor does. Could you do this?"

    Father Abrams turned white, but nodded. "I put myself in God''s hands," he said, "and yours. We all must do what needs doing. Go on."

    Avery and Daniel melted back into the brush, and Father Abrams crossed himself, unshouldered his carbine and stashed it in the forest litter. After a few minutes, he took a deep breath, rose, and walked stiffly into the clearing midway to the cabin and paced around to the rear.

    There was some rustling in the brush, and a young man stumbled out into the shadowed clearing. Father Abrams stiffened even more and stopped, half raising his hands. Just then, from the right and left of the figure, both Avery and Daniel stepped into the clearing, each with rifle at the ready.

    "Wait! Stop! It''s me, Bob Traneil, the Cooper. Lucille sent me! I was waiting here for someone to show up! Don''t shoot!"

    Avery pulled up his carbine and signaled the others. "How long have you been here?"

    "Only a couple of hours or so. The cabin is locked, I didn''t want to break in. Lucille said to run and try to join you if I could. I tried to find others to come, but there were too many men around the estate. They drove a big long truck into the grapes, and started to set up some kind of building there. I came here to find you then. None of the others got out before the soldiers came and sealed the gates. I walked all day and part of the night to get here."

    The young man wrapped his arm about his thin torso and shivered. "They are all over the roads and around the estates everywhere I saw."

    Avery said nothing, and turned toward the cabin.

    Daniel said, "Let''s get inside and see what we can do about all this."

    The cabin was quickly warmed against the chill evening, and Daniel and Avery began pulling things from sealed containers and assembling a small radio transceiver on the cabin''s only table. Father Abrams found a thick dry blanket and wrapped it around the young Cooper, who was wet to the skin from his unprepared trek and from crouching in the thick vegetation.

    Avery finished connecting a coaxial cable the transmitter and threw the loose coils at Daniel, who ran the cable outside and began connecting up to the portable dish that he had affixed to the cabin.

    Looking to the priest, Avery said "We will have to be quick. Too many know about these cabins. Gregory never stayed on Avon long enough to be aware of how we live here, but soon he will start asking questions about missing people, and someone will tell him. For now they are satisfied to erect their installations and control the roads. He knows we have no professional military. This is just a simple field radio, not a particle transceiver, so you must hope they have not found, or at least not disabled, your ship yet."

    Father Abrams looked blankly at Avery. "What do you mean?"

    Avery continued, "Your Lighter. You must patch through from here to your ship''s packet radio, and have it put you through. Warn them about the new weapon, tell them of the switch, and Sienna''s note. Ask what they suggest we do. We should only stay long enough to get a reply, no more than an hour or so. The packet transmitter signal can''t be traced, but this one can. We can''t chance leaving it on for long. Compose what you will say and ready your access codes. After you transmit, I will try to contact Herr Muller''s lodge, then we wait a short time. If nothing comes back within an hour," Avery shrugged, "we turn it off and go."

    Daniel returned, and both men began stripping the cabin of anything useful. A spare hunting jacket, two sidearms, more ammunition for the rifles, some field rations, a pair of binoculars, a hiker''s backpack; all was divided up and distributed between them.

    Father Abrams indicated he was ready, so Avery switched on the transmitter and turned it over to the priest. Their luck held, and the transmission went through. Avery dialed in the Muller''s lodge frequency and told them they would be moving out within the hour. Then they set the radio to receive, and waited.

 Chapter 33 & 34:New Vatica & Dios War Conference

    Thunder crashed through the roiling dark predawn skies of New Vatica. Flashes of brilliant gold bloomed in the clouded, grey heavens and scattered bronze highlights across the worn, wooden floors of the rectory.

    Cardinal Reswell sat at the radio''s console, playing and replaying the packet transmission. He had already entered the information into the library archives and, of course, re-transmitted it to Michael''s flagship. Reswell wound his fingers together tightly, worry more evident with every word that clawed its way from the small box before him. He had sent Father Abrams into this mess. He was the one who had transmitted the advice of Diocullis to poor Father Abrams. He had sent him into this spiral of increasing danger. Father Abrams was no agent provocateur and Cardinal Reswell no handler.

    Yet, he thought, here I am, exactly were I shouldn''t be - crumpled before a transmitter, with lives at stake, people waiting to be told what the plan is, where their salvation lay. All he could do was wait, sit here, hope Michael would have an answer to all this, and within the hour.

    I should be praying for the salvation of their souls, he thought, trusting that God''s providence will protect them. But this box speaks to me, asks my counsel, and awaits my reply. And I have no idea what to say. If I fail them now, they could easily perish. All I can do is sit here, wishing I were somewhere else-.

    ****

    Michael sat at the impromptu conference table, thankful for the presence of Joshua, who really felt no more comfortable than the military tactician did. Still, at least Joshua had some experience dealing with these X-tees. The group of six Wavies hovered around the table, and Diocullis struggled to keep his eyes from watering as he tried focus on the mostly transparent manifestations.

    One of the Wavies vibrated,and a strangely familiar voice projected from it. "We will help you liberate our Queen, but we cannot hurt others. We will only help those Joshua or Bishop Wile signify to us. We understand now the unitary nature of your existence, and the angst of your struggles to attain meaning in your lives, but we need more time to absorb the moral limits of your individualities."

    Diocullis shot Bishop Wile an unsavory glance, but said, "Yes, our philosophical underpinnings...troublesome to sort out, it will take time, but in the interim, we need to keep Gregory St Croix from continuing to hurt others, your Queen included, and bring him before the judgment of his peers. To do that I need to know what you can do, what your limits are in terms of the aid you can give."

    One of the blurs floated closer and said, "We understand. What do you need to know?"

    Diocullis hesitated, then said, "I should probably get one thing out of the way first.Can''t you just zap your queen away from Gregory, or just bring them both here?"

    The Wavie spokes-being dulled a little. " Our Queen does not exist entirely in your -Place. We cannot move her. We do not transport living beings like Gregory - in your place knowingly. We do not know what harm that would do to the soul, so we will not."Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    Dio favored Bishop Wile with another frustrated look, then continued, "Gregory will likely try to hit our ships with fairly large amounts of matter and energy, can you keep these things from striking us? It would hurt us if these things hit us. We need your word that your kind, and your Queen, will not do as Gregory asks when we engage him."

    "We can do that,"said the blur.

    An officer entered, and, bending low to Diocullis, spoke briefly to him and handed him a message. Michael read the message, passed it to Joshua and continued."We have come to understand that planets make you uncomfortable.Can you appear on the surfaces without harm? Move things from them?"

    "We cannot nest near such objects, but we can visit them, Diocullis, and move things, as long as the gravity well is not too intense."

    Joshua completed reading the communique and sent a sharp look to Dio. Michael raised his hand toward the prelate, and stood.

    "I have a message to send. Please excuse Joshua and myself for a moment."

    Both excused themselves and slipped quietly into the adjoining hallway. Diocullis immediately started strolling off in the direction of the radio shack. Michael rolled his eyes towards the following prelate, raising his brows.

    "You read the message, I take it?"

    "Yes. This will prove a very dangerous expedition for Commander Baine. Cardinal Reswell must be at his wits end. What will you tell Father Abrams?"

    Diocullis pulled at his chin. "Actually this is working out better than I had hoped. We may be able to solve many of our problems at one stroke. Or, "he frowned," loose everything we worked to salvage. But at least, we have a path now. If we can get our hands on that controller Abrams was on about, we could be in position to eliminate Gregory''s edge. He said there were at least twenty four men free and available on the ground, and for a few more minutes, he will be standing by for radio contact, so we have a say in what they may do."

    Dio slapped the radio hard copy with his free hand.

    "Gregory has deployed missile defenses next to the landholder properties - an old insurgent''s trick. If you try to take out his launchers, you endanger innocent citizens. Gregory only has to control six or seven hundred plantations, and his tactics tell me his ground troops are turned to the task of keeping his hostages nearby. He is not expecting to have to defend the ground. I think he believes this to be a practical demonstration of a product he wants to market. Control of Vega might be just a side-benefit. He feels the product makes him invulnerable. He is a businessman, not a general. So I am going to teach him a little something about guerrilla warfare, get that switch these people are talking about, and eliminate his product."

    Joshua thought about this, and said, "Having the support of the Wavies, why can''t we just land Marines and equipment, sweep the inhabited area and be done with it?"

    "Chain of consequence,"said Dio. "The mining facility on St. Croix was a wholly owned property of Gregory''s corporation, not a political entity, and therefore entirely addressable for his actions. We are in pursuit of a criminal, with respect to our own rules in advocacy of the See, and in support of the Federated Earth Charter. Vega III is an independently chartered and settled world. What constitutes aid and what constitutes invasion enter into this venture - Gregory knows this. I did not come here without checking up on these things, you know. That is why he filed the landholder defense initiatives with the Federation. It doesn''t matter that the landholders were buffaloed into agreeing with a lot of sleight-of-hand on Gregory''s part. His right to defend was a ratified act of the residents. On the other hand, supporting rebellious settlers with reason to feel that their rights were not properly represented - well, that''s a defensible activity."

    "Will you contact Baine about this?"

    Dio shook his head. "Baine is the biggest part of the problem. This could be simpler if he wasn''t involved. Baine is the customer, although I don''t think he knows it. We will have to try and salvage him, if we can - he seemed a good lad. I need you to get the Wavies ready for what I have in mind. I want some of them to - ah, here we are."

 Chapter 35: Contact!

    Avery grabbed the microphone as the receiver came to life, passing it to Father Abrams. As the speaker activated, the voice of a distressed Cardinal Reswell wavered into existence amid the static of the radio output. "Abrams? Are you there? This is Cardinal Reswell, and help is on the way! Are you there?"

    Father Abrams crossed himself and looked to the receiver with a palpable feeling of relief.Barely able to contain himself, he blurted back into the transmitter."Yes, yes I am here! So good to hear your voice, Cardinal! What can you tell us?"

    "We are sending some...agents, to aid you. I warn you not to be surprised by what you see. I told you about the new beings called Wavies we discovered that seemed to be part of this Gregory fellow''s plans? We are sending one to you. You must give the switch to it - ah, him. We have a plan. Your friends can be a big part of it, if they are willing. It will put them all at considerable risk, but it is our best hope overall. To save time, I am going to transmit his recommendations as a file. Your transceiver has a print output in working order I trust?"

    Father Abrams glanced at Avery, who nodded, pointing to a paper slot in the bottom of the receiver.

    "Yes, that would be fine, Cardinal."

    "Very well, I am sending it now. I was told to keep this conversation as short as possible. God be with you. I pray for your safety daily."

    The transceiver began to chuckle and paper output emerged from its base, lapping onto the table. Avery turned off the receiver, and Daniel began disassembling it, stowing it in its pack even as Avery reviewed the few sheets of instructions the Cardinal had transmitted.

    A slight expression of disbelief overtook Avery''s features as he read, then he shrugged and removed the small switch pack he had received from Sienna and placed it on the table.

    "The Church Force commander recommends we try to take over one of the two mobile missile launchers nearest the St Croix base - he has given us an instruction as to how to set coordinates to aim and fire it at the facility. He is sending some, it says here, representatives of an alien species, as allies, to disable all the other launchers and to try and disarm as many of Gregory''s troops here as possible.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    "We are to use what we have, and the help of these...others, to find as many of the free estate residents as we can. He wants us to stay out of the estates themselves, and to try to break Gregory''s control of the roads and harass his forces until New Vatican regulars can land.

    "We are not to try to defend anything, just to attack and move, and keep from bunching up all in one place till then. It is a good plan. We are not to be surprised by the sight of our allies. We should be seeing a representative creature, a Wavie, he calls it, almost immediately, so we are to stay calm."

    He had barely finished speaking when a wavering blur appeared and floated towards the cabin''s plain table.

    The blur vibrated and spoke."I bring Greetings from His Holiness, Grand Prelate Joshua Higgett and His Reverence Commander Michael Diocullis of New Vatica. I am content to place myself at your orders. I am to transport a construct from you to Michael and deliver some others, and then aid you as best I can. I am to introduce myself as auxiliary agent Mr.Brown, Crusader of the Order of the Aquinians, pending. Where is the object to be transferred?"

    Avery stood nonplussed at the Wavies appearance, unsure what he was seeing despite the warning in the message, and pointed to the switch on the table.

    "The large two-meter carboniferous object, or the small 15 centimeter metallic construct?"

    "The, er, the smaller object, please," sputtered Avery.

    The switch promptly disappeared from the table much to the amazement of the startled quartet. In its place appeared a pile of items including a knapsack filled with tightly packed field communicators, rations, spare ammo clips and a pair of infrared binoculars. Next to these, three automatic mini-rail guns and what looked like belt mountable explosive charges materialized, along with some cards containing arming instructions.

    Barely able to tear himself from the eye-tearing blur, Avery checked his watch, and then grabbed up the pack and one of the Military rifles, working its mechanism before slinging it over his shoulder and then indicating to the others to do the same

    "We must leave here,and quickly!"

    Avery snapped at Father Abrams, Robert and his brother in-law, who were still stunned at the appearance of the Wavie. "Come on! We can all be amazed later. Go!"

 Chapter 36: The Leone Estate

    Sienna watched the four obviously bored mercenaries lounging on the front steps of the estate. One had picked up a dried piece of grape stalk, and was sitting on the lowest step hunched over, digging a hole in the dirt with it. Two more were parked on the veranda railing, talking and laughing. Lucille was arguing with the fourth soldier, a Sergeant Paxton who stood in the doorway, one hand on the butt of a huge side arm jammed into a black open-top holster on his belt. Her voice pierced the doorway as Lucille raised her tone.

    "It must be started today, sergeant! The crops will not wait out your emergency. If the grapes are not picked now, they will rot on the vine. At least let me put one picker on the fields so that we will not lose everything. You can send one of your men with us to ride the picker. It will be in sight of the walls at all times."

    The sergeant shifted his stance uncomfortably and rubbed the back of his neck. "My orders were to secure this estate and keep everyone off the roads. I can''t let anyone off the property until my orders change, Miss. You''ll just have to wait it out with everyone else. We don''t even have an accounting of where all your people are yet."

    Lucille glared at the trooper and stamped one of her size five feet. "The picker only seats five people including the driver. How much of a risk is that? I will go myself, my ten-year-old son can drive it, and I can use two other girls from the house to help pick. At least let us gather enough to start a pressing. Just the two acres near the back wall." She hesitated then added, "I will give each of your men a bottle of wine from our stocks if you will agree."

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere."Where is this picker?" asked the officer.

    "It is in the equipment barn against the rear wall, outside. Your men have already checked it, sergeant."

    "Oh. Yeah. Which one is it?"

    Lucille pointed to the rear of the house. "It is the one with the covered wagon and open floor. The truck, it rides over the furrow, so that the plants come down the center between the benches in the wagon. That way the workers can pick the grapes while seated." An exasperated look crossed her face. "The one with the high cab on the left, where the driver sits."

    The soldier with the stick picked up his head. "Aw, let her go pick her grapes, Paxton. I''ll ride shotgun. There''s nuthin'' else to do ''round here."

    The sergeant rubbed his chin, glancing distractedly at the outer gate and the six men stationed there. "All right, but just the rear field, two hours. Get your people together, and come back here. I''ll check you out the front gate. Private Pickfield will go with you--you hear that, Pickfield? Two hours. Then you herd their asses back in here pronto! You get that?"

    "I got it, Sarge."

    \Lucille thanked the sergeant and turned toward Sienna. "Go get my son and Gilda, meet me back here."

 Chapter 37: Mullers Lodge

    Avery cleared the last stand of transplanted oaks fringing the cut valley around Herr Mueller''s lodge. Unlike the modest hunting retreat Avery had enjoyed with his father, Herr Mueller had taken advantage of the huge tracts of virgin undeveloped land to build a virtual resort, carefully blended into the landscape to avoid contest with the true owners, the giant grant-holding conglomerate.

    Mueller had once remarked to Avery''s father that if the conglomerate ever titled out the particular parcel he had pre-empted that he would just build another elsewhere and had waved off warnings and censure.

    Not many landholders even knew it existed, and those that did looked the other way. With less than a fifth of the arable land in use, no one cared anyway. It would be generations before even the most temperate zones of Avon would be completely settled.

    Close up, the inset frontage of the place was impressive, with large smoked glass picture windows looking out onto a respectable brook that promised good fishing and rafting. The bulk of the lodge, however, was built into the hillside that backed the stream and therefore had the advantage of not being visible from the air. A rustic boat dock and a few suspiciously open, sanded landings along the brook were the only obvious signs of the extensive retreat. The natural vegetation and carefully landscaped oaks canopied the surrounding paths and outbuildings.

    Father Abrams, who had begun this part of their travels in bug-eyed awe of the surreal Mr. Brown, now wore an almost irritated expression as he pushed after Avery onto the lodge grounds. Wavering behind the struggling priest, the ephemeral Mr. Brown, continued to dun him with a seemingly endless avalanche of theosophical queries.

    "I would be content to hear your explanation of our church doctrine of Papal Infallibility. Is it verified progressively along your time line? What are the precede ..."

    "I believe, "interrupted the besieged Father Abrams, "we will need to pursue these questions at another point, Mr. Brown. We seem to have arrived at our destination."

    God''s Grace! Thought the priest, it is like being closeted with Benn Wile! This creature even sounds like the Bishop.

    Avery signaled for a halt, and closely watched the few men passing along the retreats paths,while Daniel and the young Robert emerged to join the group. Then they walked down together towards the lodge. Herr Mueller was already standing in the doorway when they arrived.

    "Zo! Vas ist los? Avery, vhat is dat thing you here bring? "

    Avery hoisted himself onto the porch. "An agent of the church, Herr Muller, a new species discovered among the stars."

    "I am Mr. Brown," it said. "I move things."

    "Yes," agreed Avery, "you certainly do. He is here to help us move Gregory off our estates. Yes?"

    Mr. Brown vibrated. "I am a Crusader of the Order of the Aquinians, pending. I carry forth the work of the church. You are a friend of Avery?"

    With an astonished look, Herr Mueller nodded and reached out a tentative hand toward the Wavie, then withdrew it, realizing Mr. Brown had no hands. "Ve are all friendts here. If Avery sess you are vun, zen it is so."

    Mr. Brown vibrated once more, and a large pile of military arms and supplies appeared on the plank floor of the porch. The startled German''s face beamed as he took in the cache of supplies.

    "Such good friendts you haff, Avery. Mr. Brown, ve must haff a chat ven zis ist over vit."

    Avery passed the message texts and instructions they had received at the hunting shack to Muller. As the older landholder read, Avery continued, "The ecumenical forces have a plan. They want us to gather as many of our free people from around the estates as we can, then destroy Gregory''s dome. These supplies are to help. I think we should divide our forces, and send half to your estate, Herr Muller, and half to mine. We concentrate on getting one of the missile launchers under control, and turn it on the dome. As soon as one group finishes the dome, we can concentrate on freeing the workers from our two estates and withdraw to the wilds."

    "Ya, zis I agree mit. My son vill ze troops at mine estate harass, meanwhile ve vill clear your estate undt Gregory''s dome destroy," Muller said. "Also, vonce ve haff attacked, ze troops vill be forewarned, und tinks vill become much harder. Dis vay ve can veaken him right away and releaseze men from two estates. Our land-holds are closest to ze dome, undt it vill be harder to take zem if ve start our resistance elsevere. Also, at ze dome, zey vill haff little time ze missiles off to fend, if from dat close ve fire."

    Father Abrams pointed further down the document to the Wavies part of the operation. "Mr.Brown will call his other crusaders just as we attack, and they will try to disarm the mercenaries as we encounter them. Mr. Brown warns us that his crusaders are not very familiar with our arms, and mistakes will be made. Many will likely not be disarmed, or only partially so. It will still be dangerous. You will still face live fire."

    "Ya, but zis still good plan ist. Ve blitzkrieg dere beachhead, den hit and run. Gregory hass only zo many men. Mitt ze ecumenical fleet to contend vit, he can import no more. Ve hurt zem bad right away and later zo much easier it vill be." Herr Muller shrugged. "Besides, ve haff no time to come up vit a better plan. Bart!" The younger Muller appeared in the lodge doorway, and stared at Mr. Brown. "Bart!" Herr Muller barked again. The boy shook himself briefly, and the stunned look faded from his features.

    "Dad?"

    Franklin Mueller waved at the gear piled on the porch. "Pass out zis equipment. Start mitt dose dat unarmed ztill are. Zen upgrade ze ozzers. Get zem all up here. Ve vill be leaving soon." Looking at Father Abrams, the,thick-set German crossed himself, and asked, "Could you gif us, your blessing, Fazzer? Ve vill, all ze aid of providence need, zis day."

    Avery helped the booming Mr.Mueller and his son organize the men at the lodge, and things got,under way. Mueller strode to the fore, exhorting his son and the group that were to follow him, then sent them off. The bulk of the stranded workers bunched behind or straggled after Avery and the portly German, back the way Avery had come, towards the domes of St. Croix. It took longer for the larger group to make any distance, and they did not reach the clearing where Avery and Father Abrams had stayed until well after dark. The extra time required turned out to be as exhausting as a longer trudge would have been. Many simply dropped down on blankets, feeling secure from predation in their numbers, or too tired to care.

    "Post guard, I should make some of zem," groused Muller. But ze Sprang traps, this job zay will half to do. Zees men, too pooped are, undt zey would just nod off, any-vay."

    Avery agreed, adding "I don''t think there will be any forest patrols, at least this far from the estates. The traps, they will activate for men as easily as for the Sprangs. We would have some warning. We can set the traps to make noise if approached."

    "Ya, zat is so. Besides, only a few any military training half."The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Both opened their packs and set out their hunter''s sleepers. Then Avery went to find Father Abrams, to help him erect his.

    A small cook fire had been set by the few who were more hungry than footsore. These sat around the low flames heating various eatables on the end of long sticks. Some of the things seemed to be just pierced cans, others cooked sausages, and at least one small animal someone had managed to catch on the march. Occasionally a stick dipped to low, sending a few sparks sailing upwards.

    Father Abrams stood beyond this group, talking with the decidedly strange entity called Mr.Brown. Mr. Brown floated up past Father Abram''s shoulders, and as Avery watched, slowly sank down onto his head. None of the men, who were close to the fire, occupied with the art of heating their dinner without burning the skewers, saw this.

    At his distance, Avery did, but, not knowing what to think of it, approached the fire and detailed a few of the men to set out traps out away from the clearing. By the time this was sorted out, most of the men had finished their quick culinary exercise, so he kicked out the remains of the fire, and continued again towards the priest. Mr. Brown had since left, and Abrams now stood alone, staring up into the dark skies.

    The priest turned when Avery came up from behind, but seemed to look through, rather than at him,in a pensive, if untroubled, stare.

    "I thought to help you put your lean-to up. Would that be all right?"

    Abrams seemed to refocus on him, and waved distractedly off to the left. "One of the farm workers helped me with it already, my son, but your were kind to ask."

    "I could not help but see the, ah, Mr. Brown that is, perched on you like a holiday mask, before I came. You two seemed to be talking, then it made this alarming move. Was this something I should be concerned about?

    Abram''s eyes widened a little, and he shook his head. "Oh! No, I wouldn''t think so. There was no harm in it. No harm."

    "So when I saw you and this... Mr. Brown...by the fire, that pyramid of him on you like a hat, I was understandably worried, of course."

    Father Abrams nodded. "yes, I can understand your concern. It was just an experiment, a trade of perspective, if you will. He said he could see my ''node'' and offered me a trade."

    "What kind of trade?"

    "Ah. To See ourselves as others see us, so to speak. To trade perspectives, he said."

    "And did you?"

    Abrams nodded. "Not the way I thought he meant, but, yes. Spectacularly."

    "Can you describe what it was you saw?."

    Abrams sat silent, thinking for a moment, then said, "It was like the difference between those diagrams of sound waves, and what they really are. The actuality you know them to be."

    Father Abrams worked his hands hesitantly in front of him, as if caressing a softball. "I once spent a lot of time looking at diagrams of sounds and waves. The, eh, the library of New Vatica was installing a paging system. The head librarian had told the technician he wanted no echoes, a muted sombre voice only, so as not to disturb the research that goes on there. The place has tall ceilings, you see."

    Avery didn''t, but having had words with the good father before, just nodded and let the priest set his own pace.

    "The man took many readings of the library room''s sonic qualities. The installer spent a lot of time with me explaining, showering me with diagrams and such. Mostly, all were in two dimensions; views of peaks and troughs,like side views of ocean waves. It is easy to forget somehow, he mentioned, that the reality is not these useful, but incredibly wrong, graphic efforts. Sound wells out from sources in explosions of compression, in expanding spheres of fronts, and there are millions of them, impacting on each other, slapping and disturbing each other, even creating new ones from their collisions, that also bloom out, casting their own expanding and inter-penetrating globular fronts. Most interact, and some cancel each other at places, shaping to different forms at others, or reinforcing each other at times. Yet listening, we manage to sort it all out easily enough, which is amazing, almost impossible, if you consider it."

    Avery waited patiently. This was obviously difficult for Abrams, and Avery was as concerned as he was curious.

    "Everything, it seems,"continued Abrams, "is made of some complex of vibration, and all that there is, takes on some aspect of this. Sound to ultrasonics, to radio waves, to microwaves to x-rays, to cosmic rays, heat, light, even matter itself. All a symphony of inter-penetrating vibration. Like electrons that exist, according to atomic cloud theory, where we expect them, only as a probability and at a lower likelyhood, perhaps billions of miles away. Mr Brown showed me...some of the truth of this. That''s how vibrations are. That''s how everything is, given the right viewpoint.

    "That is what I saw, eh, experienced. Only, that the waves of his reality bear the same resemblance to sonic vibrations as two dimensional graphics do to the sounds they represent. Not colors, forms, shapes, distances, but a vibrating, interacting, periodic yet timeless state of waves and the collisions, the piling up of them. My soul was one. I sensed it, pulsing out to everywhere. I felt centered, but could see that if I wanted, I could just as easily be there, as here, because I was also there, as much as I was anyplace else, a complex propagated wave-state, shuttling across the cosmic bubble, with everything else...everywhere else. Size, distance, were meaningless. There were patterns. Some of them I could sort out from it all. Many...most, I couldn''t. Beneath it all and everywhere, the out-coiling, vibrating strings of everything...I could sense how the Wavies could move, no, not move...be, here or there, instantly. The Wavies exist beyond all that, really. That''s just the limited view I could glean from my communion with Mr. Brown. More an epiphany than a revelation, not a religious experience, but miraculous. No more of the divine in it than can be seen anywhere, but certainly no less. Does that answer your question? I could just as well say, you had to be there, and leave it at that, if you prefer."

    Avery mused. "I suppose, it is, as you say, impossible to describe, but you did try. Thank you for that. What did Mr. Brown gain from all this?"

    "Oh, he was ecstatic! He called us fascinating and blessed! He saw our world as we see it, colors, and forms and perspective! Warmth and cold and motion! All, he said, contained as a model within each and every one of us, shared, yet separate and independently generated. He said we form things from it, build within it, work and live in it, draw our needs from it, make it our own. He was astonished, and wondered at our power of mind to do that. He said it was beautiful."

    Worry haunted Avery''s gaze. "Did the experience, did it have any permanent effect on you, do you think? You are all right?"

    Abrams fell silent, considering. "I don''t think I was changed, I feel no different. Wiser maybe for the glimpse, but truth to tell, I agree with Mr. Brown. There is a luxury of wonder in how we see this universe of ours, and it hasn''t stopped us from puzzling a good deal of it out. It was a revealing, changing experience, but in the sense you mean, no. No, it didn''t madden or warp me, I don"t believe."

    Avery shook his head. "Not something you should try again, Father. We know little of these beings, helpful as they may be. You could have had your mind destroyed, or been whisked away permanently, a million things."

    Abrams agreed. "I have no intention of repeating the experiment. I wasn''t sure what he meant at the time," he blushed. "I was curious."

    Avery looked at Abrams intently, but eventually turned away without further comment.

    Abrams stood alone awhile, taking in the muted voices of the forest. Everyone else had retired for the night. Looking up, he could see a glittering forever of bright stars above the clearing''s limited horizon. He noted one in particular, then lifted his left hand, and stared at it. A dim glow bloomed above his fingers, a orange sized ball of boiling flame. Small flares breached out from it , to curve back and be swallowed by it. It seemed to revolve within itself. The image faded. Abrams lowered his hand, returned to his shelter and retired.

    ***

    Diocullis revolved the small switch pack in his hand and asked Arlyis, "Can you dope out the signal this generates and boost it?"

    Arlyis looked at it while leaning against the corridor wall of the CHRISTOS. "Sure, once you know what frequency it''s broadcasting on, no problem. What is it?"

    "This," said Michael, "is a present from one of Gregory''s pet scientists. We now know what the man is trying to sell. He''s figured out how to build a machine that does what the Wavies do - without the Wavies."

    "Oh, no."

    "Oh yes, he has. "Dio nodded, lifting his brows. "He intends to demonstrate its power on the Earth fleet, and then open up bidding to all comers, or just license the tech out, or something even more heinous. We don''t know how far he has taken the concept. Safe to assume he has put together some pretty impressive military applications. He apparently thinks he can reserve some of the technology, and sell the rest. Impossible, of course. Once any of it is released, sooner or later, someone will back-engineer the rest. The demon will be out of its bottle."

    "What does the signal do?"

    "Funny you should ask,"Dio said wryly. "It saves our bacon. The scientist that provided it didn''t like where this was all going, so he built an ''off'' switch into Gregory''s prototype and managed to sneak the switch out to us somehow. Mr. Brown, one of Wile''s Wavies, picked it up for us."

 Chapter 38 Baine Attacks

    Commander Baine stepped to the officer''s bridge of the Gettysburg joining Major Mattson, and took his position before the fleet operations table.

    "All reporting in and positioned, Commander" snapped Major Mattson.

    The Fleet was ready. Fourteen idling ships of the line trailed the Gettysburg, each with a flight deck packed with sixteen fighters. Flanking these, thirty-six Cruisers held station. Trailing this fleet were two military cargo carriers surrounded by a swarm of twenty gunships.

    "Commence operation, "Baine announced, and the fleet smoothly moved from orbit in formation. At the appropriate moment, the fleet engaged slip fields and vanished into subspace. Major Mattson turned to face Baine with a stiff nod.

    "Now that we are underway, I am instructed to provide your sealed orders." The terse Major handed Baine the ''Red Letter'' packet and stepped back.

    Lionel took the packet and laid it flat on the situation table, peeling open the zip string tape. A sheaf of documents came free and Commander Baine sat and read through the packet''s contents. A series of alternately surprised and baffled expressions moved across his features as he read.

    Commander Baine shot a glance toward Mattson, asking, "You knew about this?" Mattson responded calmly. "My clearance gives me some advantages. I helped to form the plan as it happens. Do you need anything clarified?"

    "Clarified?" Baine Purpled. "They want to begin by a display of arms and afterwards to parlay. Initially they want me to...these are the exact words...''offer Gregory St Croix amnesty in exchange for the immediate surrender of all materials and technology involved in the strike against Earth''. Failing that, I am to mount a capture and contain campaign to seize all major properties of St Croix on or near Vega three. If, in apparently your judgment Major, this effort fails, only then am I to prosecute an attack to termination."

    Baine held his hand before Mattson and raised one finger. "The man is evil." He raised another to join the first. "He attacked us and is responsible for the death of hundreds of infants and elderly citizens." A third joined the first two. "He is holding a world at hostage. We are to start by exposing our forces to fire and offer to let him off scot-free? If Gregory decides not to just give up, we are left to try to sneak up on him? Or scramble to adopt an offense? If all else fails, blow the place up? What the hell kind of orders are these!" Baine stared angrily into the cool and placid face of Major Mattson.

    "It''s not the man that is the threat. It is the power he wields - the technology. We need to take his toys away. Find a nice deep pit to bury them in for a while. At least get our hands on them, so we can study them, learn to defend against them. Whatever else may come, we must remain safe, Baine." The Major shrugged. "My men will take care of capturing the base and securing the technology, that''s why the success or failure of that contingency was left to me. I am not here to look over your shoulder. If we can''t acquire what we need here, we must obliterate all signs of it. That last part is for you to prosecute, should all else fail. This is war after all. It''s what we do."If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

    The fleet dropped out of slip space, arrayed in all its glory, per instructions, and the farce began.

    The ALADDIN hung like a piece of fruit above the broad curve of Avon. Gregory squinted at the forward display as the Earth ships appeared, and, ignoring the request for parlay, immediately got to work. Sensors reached out and defined every ship in the fleet, noting the position and speed of each. Four ships of the line disappeared from sight, to be reconstituted in the core of Avon''s star, where their tons of mass vaporized instantly.

    "Wasteful," mused Gregory. The result wasn''t very spectacular anyway, as the ships disappearance was silent, un-chaotic, the re-materializations hidden, therefore not instructive. He could do better. Five gun ships wavered, disappeared, then reconstituted in the same hull space occupied by one of the cargo ships, exploding like a nova into a raving flash of radiation that swept the nearby complement of lighters in a destructive tide, then dissipated to leave behind only an expanding front of thin, super-heated gas and plasma.

    Opening a common band communication channel, Gregory initiated a prerecorded sales pitch, while conferring with the armament operators at their sub-station consoles around the room. It is, thought Gregory, important that they know I will defend my claim on Avon successfully, but after they capitulate, know the systems used are for sale.

    In the flagship Gettysburg, the drone of Gregory''s macabre commercial was picked up and aired for the bridge crew, for whatever tactical advantage might be gleaned from it. Baine listened with half an ear, eyes fixed on the tactical displays, frantically trying to take in the extent of the disaster they detailed.

    Over a background of military marching music, the voice of an announcer proclaimed. "The problem with all previous offensive and defensive armament has always been its limitation to the quantity of materials on hand. A single ship or small force is almost always obliged to retreat before one better supplied or equipped, when tactical considerations do not dominate."

    Baine''s eyes flickered constantly over the situation display. A tight frustrated look haunted his features and his lips moved constantly as he relayed orders through the command channel pickup at his throat. I am facing a madman! The battleships were now deploying their fighters, attempting to enclose Gregory''s odd ship. A deep thrumming vibrated through the Gettysburg''s structural members as a thousand dandelion missiles belched from the fusilier bay. The missiles spat out, riding their initial explosive charges, then fired their propellant burn cycles and sped off toward the specified orbital paths around Avon.

    "Enter St. Croix Military Division''s new age battle systems! Completely free of material constraints beyond those required for installation of the system itself, St. Croix technology leverages the materials of war instead of maintaining cumbersome inventories of them. A single ship can deploy the destructive armament equivalent to a fleet of any size..."

    Major Mattson turned to Baine. "Clear me an orbit to ground path! I need to get my marines down to that base of his."

    "I deployed dandelions to sweep the orbital paths clean of mines," said Baine. "They should start cleaning up in about ten minutes."

    Gregory''s infomercial continued brightly in the background."... tailor a response to any attack or defense, without the tell-tale traces of deployment left by other weapons!"

    A plane of nuclear fire a tenth of an inch thick and several hundred miles square appeared suspended between the swift rush of the dandelions and the planet''s atmosphere. Winks of fire blossomed as the missiles touched the screen and dissolved into vapor. Elsewhere, a thousand small chunks of asteroid debris were silently dissolved to fuel the nuclear violence of the ghostly shield.

 Chapter 39: The Fields of Avon

    The picker rolled across the field with a camel''s gait, swaying left then right with a gentle lurching momentum, punctuated by an occasional rise and fall that left the seated pair suspended almost weightless on the opposed benches. The pace was snail-like.

    Each girl was tethered to a single horizontal pipe that ran the length of the wagon behind the benches. Below the pipe, behind the picking bench, ran a slow moving belt which fed back to a hopper. The truck rolled up onto a furrow, straightened out, aiming down the row to slowly began its harvesting pass.

    The grapevine pickets marched through the open gap between the benches. Sienna''s gloved hands flicked out, cutting a cluster of black frosted grapes from a passing vine then tossed the bunch behind her onto the hopper''s moving belt. This was the second time the sergeant had let them out onto the fields to collect the fruit and Sienna was becoming practiced at it. Lucille sat across from her, eyes flicking along the marching plants, hands moving with the swift deftness of long experience.

    Her son Leslie drove the rig as he had yesterday while Private Pickfield, chewing a piece of green vine, rode shotgun. The heavy brown stock of his post rifle was jammed down between the passenger door and the seat. Its business end leaned against the truck''s dashboard. Gilda was absent this time tending to kitchen duties and the sergeant wouldn''t let any of the others out into the fields.

    Suddenly with a startling crack, the rifle disappeared and the mid-afternoon quiet filled with the sounds of gunfire and shouting men. Lucille looked up bewildered, squinting through the slat sides of the carriage.

    Private Pickfield spat the vine end from his mouth and jerking open the cab door, stood half in and half out of the truck to look back over the field. Several men were running from the cover of the wood across the break and into the vineyard, making for the big mobile launcher the mercenaries had set up there. Private Pickfield scrabbled at his belt holster, pulled out a formidable looking handgun and took aim at the dashing men.

    Leslie let the steering wheel go and lifting both legs from the floor, kicked out at the soldier''s legs shouting, "Ma! It is Papa! I saw Papa coming!"

    The truck bounced over the furrow with a sharp snap to the right as Leslie let the wheel go. Private Pickfield, jounced by the picker''s motions, was already half in the air when Leslie''s kick shot the soldier''s feet out from under him. The mercenary tumbled from the truck, cursing furiously.

    Sienna''s tether snapped taut as she was pitched forward, and Lucille barked her nose against the carriage wall leaving a smear of blood on the wooden slats. Leslie recovered control of the careening truck, and pointed it toward the racing figures now scattering among the vines of the field''s edge.

    "Stop the truck! Stop it!" Lucille screamed at her son, frantically working the tether latch connecting her to the safety rail of the truck. Sienna recovered her balance and grabbed the bench with both hands. The noise outside was now a constant din. Unable to see anything from the bench, she concentrated on keeping from being bounced from her precarious hold. Leslie managed to slam on the brakes, stalling the truck before it upset. Then he pushed open the cab door and raced off toward the estate militia scuttling through the field''s vines. Lucille finally free of the tether, threw herself into the cab and tumbled out the door in pursuit of her son.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    "Leslie, no! Come back!"

    Sienna unhooked her tether and climbed into the cab. She could see the puffs of smoke and hunched figures dodging along between the furrows towards the launcher. Mercenaries surrounding the launcher crouched and fired in defence.

    It was into the no-mans land between the two groups of contesting men that Leslie ran. His mother,struggling to catch up, raced after him. Lucille heard a chattering burp. A line of rippling dust kicked up behind Leslie, who jerked and fell from sight beneath the arbors. Lucille''s screaming was unending.

    Avery crawled between the plant rows, watching the almost colorless Wavies winking in and out of sight as they closed on the Launcher, the mercenaries weapons evaporating as they passed. A lone grape harvester was in the field, and during the initial rush, it had veered off, careening towards his position.

    He toggled the field communicator and raised Herr Muller. "Now! Mr. Brown''s friends are up to the truck. Take the launcher! Daniel and I will control the field. Fire the missile."

    The radio crackled with Herr Muller''s response, but Avery''s attention was drawn to the truck, that suddenly braked. The driver''s door flailed open, and his sister''s son flew out of the cab, running pell-mell towards Daniel, who crouched not forty yards away. Forgetting the radio, Avery shouted at Daniel, pointing at the boy. Daniel rose up, his face a mask of fear, waving his arms. "Down! Get down!"

    An armed mercenary rose from beneath the launcher and took aim at Daniel. Avery could see the burst of smoke from the muzzle as it rattled against the merc''s shoulder. Daniel pitched to the ground, and Avery swung up his rifle, took a bead on the merc and fired. The merc fell. Avery refocused his attention to where he had last spotted Leslie. All that could be seen was the bent over back of Lucille, who was screaming. Avery hunched and ran through the arbor rows toward her.

    Herr Muller spat and cursed, crawling through the field. He fumbled at his belt for the radio controls then commanded, "Go! Go, go go! Get zem!"

    A ragged line of workers ran forward, firing. They didn''t hit anything, but the wild shots kept the remaining mercs flat to the ground about the launcher. The Wavies had made it to the missle site, and with a succession of pops were disarming the confused soldiers there. Muller scrambled erect and trotted off after his men cursing and puffing.

    Sienna lowered herself from the truck cab of the picker. The firing had stopped, and she could see Avery, who was now standing over Lucille, pulling her upright in the arbor at the spot she had seen Leslie fall.

    Sienna limped through the rows toward the pair in a daze. So this is what a battlefield looks like, she thought. Damn Gregory to hell. The green grape vines still shivered quietly in the mild summer gusts and sunlight threw deep black shadows between the field rows. Nature went on unabated, unconcerned over the death of one young boy and his father, or the shaking sobs that wracked the hapless mother and wife.

    Herr Muller bent over the fire control panel of the launcher, squinting alternately at the instruction sheet Diocullis had sent, and the control board, muttering. His workers stood over the spread-eagle mercenaries, post rifles aimed. There was a click and a whirr. A rotating light came to life atop the launcher, and a deflecting blast panel elevated into position. A loud buzzer sounded, and with a roar and a cloud of smoke, a tall white cylinder sped away into the bright sky. The contrail arced up then down again, and everyone standing watched a half-sphere of fire grow in the distance where the St Croix dome stood. The dome disappeared in the resulting explosion, as a rending thunder shook the air. The crew cheered.

 Chapter 40: Battles End

    Gregory stared angrily at the tactical screens. What is wrong with these people? Didn''t they understand all they need do was call and ask about the product, now that it had been demonstrated?  He could block all their attacks and pick them off at his leisure. Did they want to die?

    One of the military assistants lifted his eyes from his console "Sir! Ground reports guerrilla activity. Communications with the factory floor have ceased. I have reports that the main base has been destroyed!"

    Gregory snapped his attention to the adjutant. "What? How could those farmers manage that? What the hell are those mercs doing down there? You get a hold of my field commanders and have them step on those hicks!"

    "Yes sir!"

    Behind Gregory, Samuel Mavens started, thinking Oh God, Sienna! She is still at that grape farm! He jerked his head to look towards the energy translation module mount at the control room''s far end. I will have to do it myself.

    He pushed at the engineer in front of him, and bolted towards the egg.

    Gregory spotted the sudden movement, and shouted. "Stop him! He''s after the Control matrix!"

    One of the adjutants pulled a sidearm from his holster, and an ear-shattering crack exploded in the confined control room. Samuel lifted into the air and spun down to the deck.

    "I didn''t say kill the man, you moron! That was the developer you just shot!" Red faced, and ears ringing, Gregory forced his attention back to the tactical screens. The remaining battleships had started forward, and his sensors indicated UV lasers charging aboard the massive ships. "They are going to try lasing their way through my screens. Hah!"

    Gregory''s hands flashed across the controls, and giant disks of mirror-surfaced lead appeared before Baine''s confounded ships. One, unable to change course, ran directly into a disk, turning into a cloud of silently shattering debris. Another managed to complete its power-up, and fired a rotating spread of beams that deflected away from a disk like a concert light show, striking several of the fleet''s own small attack craft, destroying an unlucky few in the ricochet fire.

    The other ships vectored off to regroup. Gregory''s tell-tales warned of another flight of incoming ships dropping out of slip space. He refocused his attention onto the new arrivals. These weren''t late arriving customers to be baited. His instruments quickly confirmed them to be units of the New Vatica Military. The small fleet of ships arrived surrounded by a cloudy halo several hundred miles in diameter, looking in Gregory''s screens like a phosphorescent white mist.

    As it approached, the mist resolved into something familiar. Gregory drew in his breath; the cloud was composed of thousands of Wavies. The shimmering blurs enclosing the new fleet detached, and formed into a huge curved plane that rushed towards the ALADDIN.

    Gregory worked the controls of the ALADDIN. Soulless and efficient, the on board systems scanned star maps. A thousand light years away, a white dwarf star heaved as a trillion tons of its collapsed nuclear core vanished. Each bucket-full of the nuclear hell weighed more than the Australian continent and contributed more gravity to its small system of captured planets than Earth''s moon. The already unstable and dim core shrunk, the gravitic pressure of the reduced core no longer able to overcome its own outbound pressure, it exploded outwards in a nova event.

    On a globe circling the dwarf, a colony of small crablike beings waved their antennae curiously in its methane rich atmosphere, at the sudden drawing in, then dispersion of their "sun".   It darkened then flashed, and minutes later, a wave of nuclear wind rolled over the planet, incinerating the atmosphere and vaporizing every mote on it before the dispersed gravity released it from orbit, to sling into space. Two billion years of evolving life was no more.

    An eye-searing beam of bright yellow cosmic fury appeared, spearing towards the on coming sheet of Wavies. It struck with the tearing energy of a dying star, playing over the formation, and disappeared as if a magic wand had been waved over it. The formation moved forward relentlessly, and somewhere in the vast night between the galaxies, a bright bloom of light  and cosmic radiation manifested. In a million years, an arising civilization would turn their primitive telescopes on that area of sky to wonder at its cause.

    Diocullis watched his formation of Wavies advance, then turned to speak to Joshua.

    "We have to move quickly. Gregory now knows he can''t get at us . If we hesitate, he will have time to react. There''s no telling what Blaine will do. I want to put an end to this right now." Michael looked at the slightly green glowing blur floating near the view port to his left.

    "Mr. Green, form up your crusaders as we discussed."If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    "Yes, Commander,"emanated the blur.

    The wide plane of Wavies'' collapsed to form a great pipe, and Diocullis drove his ship into the near end of it, powering up the transmitter connected to the small switch box Arlyis had rigged to the console. Dio mashed down on the single maroon button fronting the box.

    ***

    Gregory viewed the massive plane of the Wavies approach. Suddenly it reformed, taking on the shape of a large tube. It looked like a gun barrel of immense size, and pointed directly at the ALADDIN.

    "Shit!" Gregory threw himself at a small yellow button at the top of his console. Yet another untried part of the ship''s technology, it should in theory translate the entire ship and all it contained to a place of safety,beyond any possible pursuit, into a far reach of the Andromeda Galaxy. A destination only his new technology could obtain.

    Ten inch thick data cables heated under the resistance of their load as processors and generators whined to life. A slight blurring passed over the ship. In the control room, a smoking crackle issued from the egg-shaped module set in the far wall, before the fallen body of Samuel Mavens, its inventor, then turned off.

    ***

    Commander Baine noted the entrance of the New Vatican fleet with a frown. I was afraid of this. If they directly engage Gregory I will have to intervene. Baine brought the emerging ships to Mattson''s attention.

    Major Mattson, who was busy on the communicator, readying his marines, informed Baine he had decided to declare the direct approach a failure, and was going to try dropping his stealth troops onto the surface and into Gregory''s factory. Mattson had a special group of two-man landers that were almost impervious to detection. Used for black ops, Baine knew them to be swift, quiet and practically invisible.

    Mattson acknowledged the new fleet''s advent, saying, "Leave them be for the moment. They''ll provide a good diversion. Go ahead and see if Diocullis will answer a hail. See what he intends, if you can. Send out another wave of Dandelions to sun-side, and we will follow them down. Then focus all ship''s UV emitters on the sun-side of Gregory''s ship, or whatever that thing is. If we can''t get at him, we can at least blind him for a bit. I''m going down there with my men. You have the bridge to yourself now. Give us all the cover you can. It''s only one damn ship!"

    With this, Mattson hustled off to join his attack group.

    Baine felt a lightening of the pressure he suffered in the Major''s presence, and relief that he would not be compelled to turn his fire on Diocullis. Earth owed the man. Hell, he owed the man. Baine passed orders to the Fusilier bay, and added a full volley from the linear mass projectors as well. Then he ordered a hail to the New Vatican fleet.

    While the hail went through, Baine returned his attention to the viewers. There seemed to be some kind of blurring effect near the Vatican fleet. It didn''t show up on the scanners, just faintly on the visuals. Was it some kind of radiation? Some new hellish thing of Gregory''s?  Then a massive discharge of energy filled hundreds of miles of space before the New Vatican fleet, whiting out every visual display on the bridge, and pinning every meter. The visuals slowly returned. The fleet and Gregory''s ship were still there, but then amazingly,Gregory''s ship started to wink in and out, and vanished.

    Baine blinked. Although the hail had gone through and Dio was now on-line, Baine held a hand up to the Radio officer while he rechecked all the sector scanners. Nothing. Baine dropped his hand.

    "This is Commander Baine aboard United Forces Ship, GETTYSBURG. Is that you, Michael?"

    "It''s me. How goes the war?" Michael replied.

    "Just ended, I think. This mission didn''t include Alcomer''s participation, as far as I was informed. What are your intentions? Did you have anything to do with what just happened?"

    Diocullis hesitated, then said, "Something Gregory caused, I think." And that is no more that the bald truth of things, thought Diocullis.

    "We are here in support of our missionary on Avon, a Father Abrams. He has asked for our aid on behalf of his parishioners. It seems Gregory fomented some sort of civil dissent here, illegally incarcerating several estates of church supporters." Also true, reflected Diocullis.

    Bane stared at the battle-viewers, now void of any hostile images except the fast clearing orbital mines. Otherwise, all that remained were his fleet, and the New Vatican ships. He thought of the stealth landing force now streaming down to the surface of Avon. There would still be dozens of sub-orbital and other small craft to deal with and Mattson would not want any interference until he had secured Gregory''s research facility.

    "We are completing our mission here, Dio. For safety and political reasons, I will have to ask you to stand down until we tidy up. Don''t make this harder on me than it already is. Will you comply?"

    Michael took a report from the hands of an adjutant, read it briefly, and smiled. "Yes, yes of course. Take all the time you like, but let us know if you need help. There is still ground activity on Avon, and my sources indicate the presence of several active missile launchers. We expect you to let us land aid and supplies to the beleaguered estates reasonably quickly, of course."

    His sources?  Baine mulled this over, but said, "I think that''s acceptable. I should have a clearance for you in an hour or two. Stand by, and thanks for the offer and the reconnaissance."

    ***

    Major Mattson lay semi-prone in the screaming confines of the dart-like lander. Built for stealth and speed, it offered a bone jarring descent, and a no-frills navigation package that kept him sweating and fighting to control the ship.

    "Incoming S.T.A.,Major," shouted the commando behind him. "Counter measures deployed."

    A packet of ignited phosphorous, foil strips and a tiny random radio emitter ejected from  small vents in the dart''s rear. Out of the four inch wide vision strip the dart allowed for, he could see one other flat black lander,and below it, coming fast, the tail flair of a surface-to-air missile. Mattson cursed. We must be right over the damned launchers, if they can track us. The companion dart disappeared in a ball of white fire. How many have I lost?  he wondered. The ground came up fast, and grinding his teeth, the major hit the landing switch, and hung on.

 Chapter 41: Aftermath

    Avery held the shivering, limp body of his sister close. It was as if she were not there at all, or as if Lucille''s soul had abandoned her body to whatever fate and had fled. The tears that wracked her fell softly onto his hands and arms, and never, ever, had he felt more defeated and helpless. He turned her slowly to face him, and unable to stand any longer, lowered them both slowly to the ground. I should look for Daniel. I should...

    He realized that not all the tears falling were hers.

    Father Abrams hesitantly picked his way through the arbor, fruitlessly trying to wave away the stinging smoke still blowing across the field. Since he was a non-combatant, he had been left with the field transmitter just inside the periphery of the woodlands during the battle. He had seen, through the verdure, the launch of the missile and had heard the destruction visited on the Dome. This he dutifully reported to Diocullus via the device, and had decided in the following silence,to rejoin the others. He made out the forms of Avery and Lucille, and was working his way towards them.

    Mr. Brown floated toward him from the launcher site, so he slowed at the entity''s approach.

    "We have recovered our Queen from the half-sphere-shaped construct, Father Abrams. The energy release vaporized the constructs confining her. We have educated her to the newest level of enlightenment we have achieved," vibrated Mr. Brown.

    Father Abrams looked at the wavering Crusader (pending). "That''s nice, Mr. Brown,"said Abrams distractedly, "you must be pleased." He continued on toward Avery and Lucille, a worried expression on his face.

    "Many life patterns have discontinued at this location," noted Mr. Brown.

    "That is the only real result of these kinds of activities, to my mind, Mr. Brown."

    "These life patterns will continue elsewhere, Father Abrams?"

    "That is our belief, Mr. Brown. But these lives were not allowed to fulfill their allotted destiny in this life, Mr. Brown, and that is a cause for deep sorrow."

    "Is it not the will of our Maker?"

    This brought father Abrams up short. He remembered that this wavering piece of trans-dimensional energy enclosed a thinking mind that had accepted the philosophy of the church.

    "We are not compelled to follow enlightened ways...there must always be choice. What happened here is the result of many poor choices. Our mission is to bring others, and ourselves, to make better ones. We believe it is the will of our Maker that we accept responsibility for our actions and go on to make better choices. Bad choices affect us all, and rightly, if not happily, so. An English poet once noted, I paraphrase loosely, That we are all part of one whole, that if any individual be lost, we are all diminished. He chided us not to ask for whom the bell tolls, for it morns us all."Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    "I must meditate on this, Father Abrams."

    "As well you should, my son, as well you should."

    The Priest now closed on the decimated Avery and his sister. He drew in a deep breath at the sight of the young body before the pair, and knelt, crossing himself.

    Avery focused his tear-blurred eyes on the priest. "My sister Lucille''s husband...Daniel. I saw him fall. He....Could..." it was all Avery could say.

    Father Abrams nodded and leaned forward, gently taking the shoulders of Lucille and pulling her to him. "Go and see if you can find him, my son. I will stay with Lucille."

    Avery stood and walked to the place Daniel had fallen, sank to his knees, and did not risea gain for a long and painful time.

    Mr. Brown vacillated over the deceased boy for a moment. Then he floated to the launcher. There was a rending crack, and the entire vehicle disappeared. Suddenly there were thousands of blurs, all in a line, that stretched straight as a surveyor''s transit might define as far as the eye could see.The line moved swiftly across the inhabited lands, and no weapon of any kind survived their passage. Then they vanished.

    ***

    Major Mattson stood before the blown-out husk of what used to be the St Croix Research and Development Division. He kicked at a shiny piece of metal before his boot. Behind him, thirty-five surviving commando specialists stood, alertly scanning the surroundings, but with nothing otherwise to do.

    He thumbed his transmitter on. "Baine. Are you getting this?"

    A scratchy voice funneled out of the field unit and replied, "Yes Major, loud and clear."

    "There is nothing here. Do you get me? Nothing. The whole complex is gone, a missile strike. The farmers here have ballistic missiles?"

    "Not that we know of, Major."

    "The New Vaticans, they have a contingent down?"

    "No, Sir. I have talked to them. They are holding well out of orbit, as we requested. Diocullis says there is one missionary here, but he has been at it for a year. Apparently, the missionary called the Vatican when the occupation began, on the behalf of some of the landholders. Seems they didn''t appreciate being bottled up in their own estates. There haven''t been any further arrivals, just the small task fleet we saw appear before you left. They are requesting permission to land and give aid when we are ready to allow it. It seems the locals were able to liberate one of Gregory''s mobile launchers and successfully turn it against the dome."

    Major Mattson swore, then noted, "If they were willing to wait, they didn''t know what was at stake here. We are done. Send a carrier down to get us."

    "Should we land a clean-up force? Interrogators?"

    "Hell, no, why waste our men and supplies to clean out a nest of stranded Mercs? Do you think anything a hired grunt has to say is worth my time? Dio wants to do it, let the church handle it. That''s not what we came for."

    "I will send him a go-ahead to land then?" Baine inquired.

    "Do it. Just get us off this mud-ball."

 Chapter 42: End of a Mission

    Two weeks had passed, and Avery walked Lucille and Sienna from the archway of the new cathedral Herr Muller had built on his estate. The Dedication service had been a bit extended, the consecration performed by Benn Wile with Father Ammens assisting, was also a memorial service in honor of those who had fallen to free Avon. The complement of the CHRISTOS, save for Sister Seika, had stayed for the dedication, as had Diocullis. Sir Colmer and Arlyis had wandered off afterwards, hand in hand, to take in the manicured grounds of the estate.

    A marble reliquary had been built into the church, inscribed with the names of Daniel La Platte,and Leslie La Platte, among others. Herr Muller wanted to inscribe Samuel Maven''s name as well, but that would have withdrawn hope from Sienna, so a separate marble plaque had been mounted adjoining the reliquary dedicating his courage, and listing him as M.I.A.

    Sienna and Avery had grown close, and with her father M.I.A., she had decided to stay on Avon.

    Joshua, Bishop Benn Wile and Diocullis still lingered just outside the arch of the newly erected structure talking in low tones. Joshua shook the Bishop''s hand.

    "It was a fine service, Benn. Herr Muller was tickled to have his church consecration attended by a Cardinal, and you have the undying appreciation of Father Abrams."

    "Yes, ah, the very least I could do my boy, the very least, couldn''t have missed it. Just tell me this was all worth something, in the end. We did clean the cosmos of that rascal Gregory, yes?"

    Diocullis sighed. "I pressed the button before he disappeared. There is much to be said of that. First, in the act of vanishing, that at least he knew he had no exclusive on Wavie technology and that such blackmail as he intended need not to be tolerated. Second, if the signal worked, the prototype was destroyed. Third, there is no trace of the man or his ship anywhere, so our odds are good that he is no more. More importantly,"Diocullis smiled grimly at this point, "the Earth - system people are clueless, they didn''t find the tech, and they didn''t connect with the Wavies, so we are blessed. There are only four people on this planet who had any contact with them, and they are not going to say anything. The Pope has reconsidered releasing anything about the Wavies to the galactic polity at large, given the circumstances. The brief view anyone else had was just that ...brief." Dio shrugged. "So lots of people saw ghosts, right after or during a battle. They can say whatever they like. All in all, could have been much worse."If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Bishop Wile made a face at Michael and said, "Ever the optimist. Must be a military thing. I conferred with the Pontiff, and John and I agreed. We, ah, sat with Mr. Brown and his Queen. They have agreed to stay well away from the shipping lanes and ships in general. They won''t try to contact those outside the church - they have seen the discord in our souls, so to speak. The remaining employees of St.Croix are another matter. We do not know for certain how many others were in Gregory''s confidence. The fact he considered the Wavies to be an industrial secret, notwithstanding. Then, there is that fellow Haviland. The Earth legal system had to release him. The ship-crowding charge didn''t stick."

    Dio snorted. "One out of work scow pilot. An acceptable risk, I think."

    The churchman hunched his shoulders in deference to Dio and continued, "The Wavie Queen was able to pinpoint the location of Friar Theomendus Carcciccio''s lost flock. Mr. Brown and Mr. Green took some of their fellows there. Many of the Colonists were still alive, and they were able to restore the lost nutrient content to the water and soils, so they will not have to be relocated. A church medical relief team has been dispatched, of course."

    Joshua sighed. "Pope John felt moved to ratify the crusader''s order. Only fair, really. Oh! Sister Seika sent her regrets. Her request for a permanent research facility has been approved, and she was in a hurry to set up station-keeping at the Wavie nesting grounds."

    Joshua''s stomach issued a profound growl.

    Michael asked, "Do you think they will throw us a lunch?"

    "The Wavies?"

    "The Avonians!"

    Postscript: Victoria

    Sister Victoria Seika sat in the darkened viewing room watching the Wavie colony and taking notes. There had been a significant increase in activity for the last three days. Mr. Brown had said that a birth was expected soon, so she had been taking her meals and sleeping here in "The Blind" as she called it. Her audio re-interpreters were running constantly and with the visual and energy recorders going, there was no particular reason why she should insist on this vigil, but she did.

    A shower of light developed above a slowly circling ring of Wavies. The output of her audio translators brought forth an increasing swell of singing, Sister Seika recognized it as the one they had learned aboard the CHRISTOS.

    Joyful! Joyful!

    As the refrain built, the light increased, forming a mile-high triangle of scintillating light, at the apex of which a small pyramid of wavering energy appeared. The pyramid bloomed to illumination, and a borealis of beams shot from each side of the small glowing structure, fanning out like wings of fire.

    Why, she thought, it looks just like that ornament my mother topped her Christmas tree with, when I was a child!