Endymion

37

De Soya’s idea is to abandon Raphael’s plodding search pattern and jump directly to the first of the Ouster-captured systems.

“What good will that do, sir?” asks Corporal Kee.

“Perhaps none,” admits Father Captain de Soya. “But if there is an Ouster connection, we might get a hint of it there.”

Sergeant Gregorius rubs his jaw. “Aye,” he says, “and we may get captured by a Swarm. This ship isn’t the best armed in His Holiness’s fleet, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so, sir.”

De Soya nods. “But it’s fast. We could probably outrun most Swarm ships. And they may have abandoned the system by now… they tend to do that, hit, run, push back the Pax Great Wall, then leave the system with only a token perimeter defense after wreaking as much damage as they can on the world and populace…” De Soya stops. He has seen only one Ousters-pillaged world firsthand—Svoboda—but he hopes never to have to see another. “Anyway,” he says, “it’s the same to us on this ship. Normally the quantum leap to beyond the Great Wall would be eight or nine months shiptime, eleven or more years time-debt. For us it will be the usual instantaneous jump and three days resurrection.”

Lancer Rettig raised his hand, as he often did in these discussions. “There’s that to consider, sir.”

“What’s that?”

“The Ousters have never captured an archangel courier, sir. I doubt if they know this sort of ship exists. Heck, sir, most of the Pax Fleet has no idea archangel technology exists.”

De Soya sees his point immediately, but Rettig continues. “So we’d be running quite a risk, sir. Not just for ourselves, but for the Pax.”

There is a long silence. Finally de Soya speaks. “That’s a good point, Lancer. I’ve given it quite a bit of thought. But Pax Command built this ship with its automated resurrection créche just so we could go beyond Pax space. I think it’s understood that we might have to follow leads into the Outback… into Ouster-held territory if need be.” The priest-captain takes a breath. “I’ve been there, gentlemen. I’ve burned their orbital forests and fought my way out of Swarms. The Ousters are… strange. Their attempts to adapt to odd environments… to space even… are… blasphemous. They may no longer be human. But their ships are not fast. Raphael should be able to get in and translate back to quantum velocities if there is a threat to her capture. And we can program her to self-destruct before being captured.”

None of the three Swiss Guard troopers says a word. Each appears to be thinking about the death within death that would entail—the destruction without warning of destruction. They would go to sleep on their acceleration couches/resurrection créches as always and simply never awaken… at least not in this life. The cruciform sacrament is truly miraculous—it can bring shattered and blasted bodies back to life, return the shape and souls of born-again Christians who have been shot, burned, starved, drowned, asphyxiated, stabbed, crushed, or ravaged by disease—but it has its limits: too much time of decomposition defeats it, as would a thermonuclear explosion of a ship’s in-system drive.

“I guess we’re with you,” Sergeant Gregorius says at last, knowing that Father Captain de Soya has asked for this discussion because he hates simply ordering his men into such a risk of true death.

Kee and Rettig merely nod.

“Good,” says de Soya. “I will program Raphael accordingly… that if there is no chance for her to escape before we can be resurrected, she’ll trigger her fusion engines. And I’ll be very careful setting the parameters for her on what ’no escape’ means. But I don’t think there’s much chance of that happening. We will awaken in… My God, I haven’t even checked to see which system is the first Ouster-occupied Tethys world. Is it Tai Zhin?”

“Negative, sir,” says Gregorius, leaning over the hard-copy star chart of the search plot Raphael has prepared. His massive finger strikes down on a circled region beyond the Pax. “It’s Hebron. The Jew world.”

“All right, then,” says the priest-captain. “Let’s get to our couches and head for the translation point. Next year in New Jerusalem!”

“Next year, sir?” says Lancer Rettig, floating above the plot-table before kicking off to his own couch.

De Soya smiles. “It’s a saying I’ve heard from some of my Jewish friends. I don’t know what it means.”

“I didn’t know that there were any Jews around anymore,” says Corporal Kee, floating above his own couch. “I thought they all stuck to themselves in the Outback.”

De Soya shakes his head. “There were a few converted Jews at the university when I was taking courses outside of seminary,” he says. “Never mind. You’ll meet some soon enough on Hebron. Strap in, gentlemen.”

The priest-captain knows immediately upon awakening that something has, indeed, gone wrong. A few times during his wilder days as a young man, Federico de Soya had got drunk with his fellow seminarians, and on one of these outings he had awakened in a strange bed—alone, thank God—but in a strange bed in a strange part of the city, with no memory of whose bed it was or how he got there. This awakening is like that.

Rather than opening his eyes to see the enclosed and automated créche couches on Raphael, smelling the ozone and recycled-sweat scents of the ship, feeling the awakening-to-falling terror of zero-gravity, de Soya finds himself in a comfortable bed in a lovely room in a reasonably normal gravity field. There are religious icons on the wall—the Virgin Mary, a large crucifix with the heavenly raised eyes of a suffering Christ, a painting of the martyrdom of St. Paul. Weak sunlight comes through lace curtains.

All this is vaguely familiar to the stupefied de Soya, as is the kindly face of the plump little priest who brings him broth and idle conversation. Finally Father Captain de Soya’s reengaging synapses make the connection: Father Baggio, the resurrection chaplain he had last seen in the Vatican Gardens and had been sure he would never see again. Sipping broth, de Soya looks out the rectory window at the pale-blue sky and thinks, Pacem. He struggles to recall the events that have brought him there, but the last thing he can remember is the conversation with Gregorius and his men, the long climb up out of the gravity well of Mare Infinitus and 70 Ophiuchi A, then the jolt of translation.

“How?” he mumbles, grasping the kindly priest’s sleeve. “Why?… How?”

“Now, now,” says Father Baggio, “just rest, my son. There will be time to discuss everything later. Time for everything.”

Lulled by the soft voice, the rich light, and the oxygen-rich air, de Soya closes his eyes and sleeps. His dreams are ominous.

By the noon meal—more broth—it becomes obvious to de Soya that kindly, plump Father Baggio is not going to answer any of his questions: not answer how he got to Pacem, not answer where and how his men are, and not answer why he will not answer. “Father Farrell is coming soon,” says the resurrection chaplain as if that explains everything. De Soya gathers his strength, bathes and dresses, tries to gather his wits, and waits for Father Farrell.

Father Farrell arrives in midafternoon. He is a tall, thin, ascetic priest—a commander in the Legionaries of Christ, de Soya learns quickly and with little surprise—and his voice, although soft, is clipped and businesslike. Farrell’s eyes are a cold gray.

“You are understandably curious,” says Father Farrell. “And undoubtedly still somewhat confused. It is normal for the newly born-again.”

“I am familiar with the side effects,” says de Soya with a slightly ironic smile. “But I am curious. How is it that I awake on Pacem? What occurred in Hebron System? And how are my men?”

Farrell’s gray eyes do not blink as he speaks. “The last question first, Father Captain. Your Sergeant Gregorius and Corporal Kee are well… recovering from resurrection in the Swiss Guard resurrection chapel even as we speak.”

“Lancer Rettig?” asks de Soya. The sense of foreboding that has been hanging above him since his awakening now stirs its dark wings.

“Dead, I fear,” says Farrell. “The true death. Last rites have been administered, and his body has been consigned to the depths of space.”

“How did he die… the true death, I mean?” manages de Soya. He feels like weeping, but resists because he is not sure if it is simple sorrow or the effects of resurrection.

“I do not know the details,” says the tall man. The two are in the rectory’s small sitting room, used for meetings and important discussions. They are alone except for the eyes of saints, martyrs, Christ, and His mother. “It seems there was a problem with the automated resurrection créche upon Raphael’s return from Hebron System,” continues Farrell.

“Return from Hebron?” says de Soya. “I’m afraid I do not understand, Father. I had programmed the ship to stay unless pursued by Ouster forces. Was that the case?”

“Evidently,” replies the Legionary. “As I say, I am not acquainted with the technical details… nor am I competent in technical matters… but as I understand it, you had programmed your archangel courier to penetrate Ouster-controlled space—”

“We needed to pursue our mission to Hebron,” interrupts Father Captain de Soya.

Farrell does not protest the interruption, nor does his neutral expression change, but de Soya looks into those cold gray eyes and does not interrupt again.

“As I was saying, Father Captain, according to my understanding, you programmed your ship to enter Ouster space and—if unchallenged—go into orbit around the planet Hebron.”

De Soya gives his silence as confirmation. His dark eyes return the gray stare—with no animosity as of yet, but ready to defend against any accusation.

“It is my understanding that the… I believe your courier ship is named the Raphael!”

De Soya nods. He realizes now that the careful phrasing, the questions posed when answers are known—all this is the hallmark of a lawyer. The Church has many legal consultants. And inquisitors.

“The Raphael appears to have carried out your programming, found no immediate opposition during deceleration, and went into orbit around Hebron,” continues Farrell.

“Is that when the resurrection failure occurred?” asks de Soya.

“It is my understanding that this is not the case,” says Farrell. The Legionary’s gray gaze leaves de Soya for an instant, flicks around the room as if assessing the value of the furniture and art objects there, apparently finds nothing of interest, and returns to the priest-captain. “It is my understanding,” he says, “that all four of you on board were close to full resurrection when the ship had to flee the system. Translation shock was, of course, fatal. Secondary resurrection after incomplete resurrection is—as I am sure you are aware—much more difficult than primary resurrection. It is here that the sacrament was circumvented by mechanical failure.”

When Farrell stops speaking, there is a silence. Lost in thought, de Soya is only vaguely aware of the sound of groundcar traffic on the narrow street outside, the rumble of a transport lifting from the nearby spaceport. Finally he says, “The créches were inspected and repaired while we were in orbit around Renaissance Vector, Father Farrell.”

The other priest nods almost imperceptibly. “We have the records. I believe that it was the same sort of calibration error in Lancer Rettig’s automated créche. The investigation continues in Renaissance System garrison. We have also expanded the investigation to Mare Infinitus System, Epsilon Eridani and Epsilon Indi, the world of Inevitable Grace in System Lacaille 9352, Barnard’s World, NGCes 2629-4BIV, Vega System, and Tau Ceti.”

De Soya can only blink. “You are being very thorough,” he says at last. He is thinking, They must be using both of the other archangel couriers to carry out such an investigation. Why?

“Yes,” says Father Farrell.

Father Captain de Soya sighs and slumps a bit in the soft cushions of the rectory chair. “So they found us in Svoboda System and could not resuscitate Lancer Rettig…”

There is the slightest downward twitch of Farrell’s thin lips. “Svoboda System, Father Captain? No. It is my understanding that your courier ship was discovered in System Seventy Ophiuchi A, while decelerating toward the ocean world of Mare Infinitus.”

De Soya sits up. “I don’t understand. I’d programmed Raphael to translate to the next Pax system on her original search pattern if she had to leave Hebron System prematurely. The next world should have been Svoboda.”

“Perhaps the form of its pursuit by hostile craft in the Hebron System precluded such a translation alignment,” says Farrell without emphasis. “The ship’s computer could have then decided to return to its starting point.”

“Perhaps,” says de Soya, trying to read the other’s expression. It is useless. “You say ’could have decided,’ Father Farrell. Don’t you know by now? Haven’t you examined the ship’s log?”

Farrell’s silence could communicate affirmation or nothing at all.

“And if we returned to Mare Infinitus,” continues de Soya, “why are we waking up here on Pacem? What happened in Seventy Ophiuchi A?”

Now Farrell does smile. It is the narrowest extension of those thin lips. “By coincidence, Father Captain, the archangel courier Michael was in the Mare Infinitus garrison space when you translated. Captain Wu was aboard the Michael—”

“Marget Wu?” asks de Soya, not caring if he irritates the other man by interrupting.

“Precisely so.” Farrell removes an imaginary bit of lint from his starched and creased black trousers. “Considering the… ah… consternation that your previous visit had caused on Mare Infinitus—”

“Meaning my removal of Bishop Melandriano to a monastery to get him out of my way,” says de Soya. “And the arrest of several treasonous and corrupt Pax officers who were almost certainly carrying out their theft and conspiracy under Melandriano’s supervision…”

Farrell holds up one hand to stop de Soya. “These events are not under my wing of the investigation, Father Captain. I was simply answering your question. If I may continue?”

De Soya stares, feeling the anger mix with his sorrow at Rettig’s death, all swirling amid the narcotic high of resurrection.

“Captain Wu, who had already heard the protests of Bishop Melandriano and other Mare Infinitus administrators, decided that it would be most felicitous if you were returned to Pacem for resurrection.”

“So our resurrection was interrupted a second time?” asks de Soya.

“No.” There is no irritation in Farrell’s voice. “The resurrection process had not been initiated in System Seventy Ophiuchi A when the decision was made to return you to Pax Command and the Vatican.”

De Soya looks at his own fingers. They are trembling. In his mind’s eye he can see the Raphael with its cargo of corpses, his included. First a death tour of Hebron System, then decelerating toward Mare Infinitus, then the spinup to Pacem. He looks up quickly. “How long have we been dead, Father?”

“Thirty-two days,” says Farrell.

De Soya almost pulls himself up out of the chair. Finally he settles back and says in his most controlled voice, “If Captain Wu decided to route the ship back here before resurrection was begun in Mare Infinitus space, Father, and if no resurrection was achieved in Hebron space, we should have been dead less than seventy-two hours at that point. Assuming three days here… where were the other twenty-six days spent, Father?”

Farrell runs his fingers along his trouser crease. “There were delays in Mare Infinitus space,” he says coolly. “The initial investigation was begun there. Protests were filed. Lancer Rettig was buried in space with full honors. Other… duties… were carried out. The Raphael returned with the Michael.”

Farrell stands abruptly and de Soya gets to his feet as well. “Father Captain,” Farrell announces formally, “I am here to extend Cardinal Secretary Lourdusamy’s compliments to you, sir, his wish for your full recovery in health and life in the arms of Christ, and to request your presence, tomorrow morning at oh-seven-hundred hours, at the Vatican offices of the Sacred Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, to meet with Monsignor Lucas Oddi and other appointed officials of the Sacred Congregation.”

De Soya is stunned. He can only click his heels and bow his head in compliance. He is a Jesuit and an officer in the Pax Fleet. He has been trained to discipline.

“Very good,” says Father Farrell, and takes his leave.

Father Captain de Soya stands in the rectory foyer for several minutes after the Legionary of Christ has left. As a mere priest and a line officer, de Soya has been spared most Church politics and infighting, but even a provincial priest or preoccupied Pax warrior knows the basic structure of the Vatican and its purpose.

Beneath the Pope, there are two major administrative categories—the Roman Curia and the so-called Sacred Congregations. De Soya knows that the Curia is an awkward and labyrinthine administrative structure—its “modern” form was set down by Sixtus V in A.D. 1588. The Curia includes the Secretariat of State, Cardinal Lourdusamy’s power base, where he serves as a sort of prime minister with the misleading title of Cardinal Secretary of State. This Secretariat is a central part of what is often referred to as the “Old Curia,” used by popes since the sixteenth century. In addition, there is the “New Curia,” begun as sixteen lesser bodies created by the Second Vatican Council—still popularly known as Vatican II—which concluded in A.D. 1965. Those sixteen bodies have grown to thirty-one intertwining entities under Pope Julius’s 260-year reign.

But it is not the Curia to which de Soya has been summoned, but to one of its separate and sometimes countervailing clusters of authority, the Sacred Congregations. Specifically, he has been ordered to appear before the so-called Sacred Congregation of the Doctrine of the Faith, an organization that has gained—or, to be more precise, regained—enormous power in the past two centuries. Under Pope Julius, the Sacred Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith again welcomed the Pope as its Prefect—a change in structure that revitalized the office. For the twelve centuries prior to Pope Julius’s election, this Sacred Congregation—known as the Holy Office from A.D. 1908 to A.D. 1964—had been deemphasized to the point it had become almost a vestigial organ. But now, under Julius, the Holy Office’s power is felt across five hundred light-years of space and back through three thousand years of history.

De Soya returns to the sitting room and leans against the chair he had been sitting in. His mind is swirling. He knows now that he will not be allowed to see Gregorius or Kee before his meeting in the Holy Office the next morning. He may never see them again. De Soya tries to unravel the thread that has pulled him to this meeting, but it becomes lost in the snarl of Church politics, offended clerics, Pax power struggles, and the swirl of his own befuddled, born-again brain.

He knows this: the Sacred Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, previously known as the Sacred Congregation of the Holy Office, had—for many centuries prior to that—been known as the Sacred Congregation of Universal Inquisition.

And it is under Pope Julius XIV that the Inquisition has once again begun living up to its original name and sense of terror. And, without preparation, counsel, or knowledge of what accusations may be levied against him, de Soya must appear before them at oh-seven-hundred hours the next morning.

Father Baggio bustles in, a smile on the chubby priest’s cherubic features. “Did you have a nice conversation with Father Farrell, my son?”

“Yes,” says de Soya distractedly. “Very nice.”

“Good, good,” says Father Baggio. “But I think it’s time for a bit of broth, a bit of prayer—the Angelus, I think—and then an early beddie-bye. We must be fresh for whatever tomorrow brings, mustn’t we?”