Chapter 46
Jim Vassilakos
“Well,” I said, breaking eye-contact with Reggie, “I must say this meal was better than the one I had a few days ago. Crew stew takes some getting used to. Canon, will you join me in my cabin for a drink? One that I will make for you?”
“I’d be delighted, Captain.”
«What about me?» Josefeen’s eyes bulged in outrage.
«What about you?»
I needed to talk to him in private, and under the psi shields in the overhead bin. If I was going to wipe his memory, I could at least let him know why. I squelched the rising objection from Josafeen by pulling the drapes, as it were, shielding my mind from her telepathic verbal onslaught.
“Thank you for your company Commander, Lieutenant. Canon? Shall we?”
“Of course, Captain.”
(Carry on.)
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
It was but a few steps to my quarters, and once inside, I offered him a zardocha as we sat beside the low kava table.
“What’s a zardocha?” he asked.
“You’ve never had one?”
“I don’t recall,” he said, thinking to himself that he’d had so many different drinks over the years, how could he possibly be expected to remember all their names?
“Jackie, bring me two zardochas.”
“To confirm,” a synthesized voice said in the androgynous tenor to which I was well-accustomed, “you want two medium zardochas, both ice-blended, each with thirty milliliters of Frangelico.”
“Correct.” Somewhere in the ship, probably not far away, an autoserve was grinding ice and pouring coffee. “I forgot to ask, how was your tour?”
“Of your ship? Very nice, although it got cut a little short,” the Canon replied.
“Oh?”
“We stopped at the theater. Brother William was telecasting the remembrance for those who couldn’t attend in person.”
Brother was a term used among the clergy to refer to fellow clergy, even those of different chapters, so long as they were both under the umbrella of the Imperial Church. Hence, Brother William had to be Lieutenant Briggs. No doubt he’d stayed aboard to be here for all those who couldn’t be spared, not that there was much chance of the Zhodani attacking us while we were in orbit, surrounded as we were by the bulk of the 212th Fleet, but maintaining certain minimum crew requirements were demanded by Navy regulations.
“Of course, we ended up talking theology,” the Canon continued. “Our respective observances are quite different, but there are certain congruities to our beliefs.”
“Faith is actually something I want to discuss with you.”
“Oh?”
The door swooshed open, and Gopher, the modified 476-INLAV, floated in. That was quick. A small hatch on its round surface opened, revealing our drinks, and two retractable arms extended themselves, taking the glasses and quickly setting them on the table, all without spilling a drop. Then it floated back out, and door swooshing shut in its wake.
“Let us then toast faith, Captain, and tell me what is it about faith you wish to discuss?”
“You want something,” I said.
I could see the thoughts forming in his mind, something about the psionic orb, but I held up a finger before he could put them to words.
“I know you want something,” I said. “The question, as always, is the cost.”
I sat back and sipped my drink, taking comfort in the familiar taste.
“What would you be willing to pay, to do the one thing you want? And you know I am not talking about money. This is the whole of your pleasure versus innocence debate. Do you want to know and by knowing lose faith, or keep your faith and have the knowledge of what you gave up?” I paused, swirling my drink. “You should have some. It’s at the perfect temperature.”
He took a sip, thinking it a glorified, hazelnut frappé, which was actually a fair description.
“You’re saying the knowledge contained within the Eye of God will destroy my faith? You know this for a fact?”
“I don’t just know it,” I said. “I feel it. And so do you.”
I stood and walked away a little and then turned on the view screen, selecting a feed from one of our cameras pointing out into the depths of space. Up here, in orbit, the stars didn’t twinkle. They looked brighter, more clarified, and the great clouds enshrouding the galactic core resembled a storm swirling with such chaotic beauty that it defied human comprehension.
“You feel it?” He sought clarification.
I contemplated the evidence of all my fears and said, over my shoulder, “I have given you my word that what you want is real and true. Even doing that may cost you, and for that I am sorry. But if you want more, if my word is not enough, then the cost will be higher.”
“Meaning?”
“You once gave someone a choice about what they needed to do, a binary, do this or do that. This is not quite as stark, but it could quickly become so.” I turned and met his gaze. “I am a man who has sent people into battle to die. I have killed in the defense of the Imperium. I stand ever on the edge of the great night and carry the light of the emperor against our enemies. If you tell me that you will accept death to learn a truth under your very core, I am in a position to grant it. In the short time I have known you, I have come to like and respect you. My line of work calls on me to make these kinds of judgments quickly. But this goes beyond mere fondness. This approaches something far more fundamental.”
“I am ready,” he said.
“No.” I shook my head. “No, you’re not. Please, don’t answer so quickly. Enjoy the drink. Think about this. You will come to an answer, and I will know what it is and how you came to it, and then I will make my decision. And then…, well, then we will see if our worlds change.”
He contemplated for a long moment, thinking that here was his chance to know something revealed to very few, his last chance at true wisdom, and he wasn’t going to let it go. If he did, if were to shy away from this opportunity the universe had so unexpectedly granted, then his whole life’s journey would have been in vain.
Yet, there was certainly a reason the Eye of God was not shared freely among the clergy. He’d asked about it, of course, but was told, quite simply, “It’s not for us.”
“Why not? Why do some have access and others don't?”
“These things we do not discuss. It is like the fruit of the tree of life, also known as the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.”
The old fable about the apple of Eden. Surely it held theological significance, but was it a valid basis for sequestering wisdom?
“We’re priests. Shouldn’t we all know about good and evil?”
“It is better to think without knowing than to know without thinking.”
And that was the end of it. No more questions. No more conversation.
He was given a piece of bumper sticker wisdom and told to simply accept. And he did, because there was no choice. But now there was a choice. Now, near the end of his life, he could choose to know. Whatever the risk, he was ready.
He looked at me, eyes unblinking beneath a furrowed brow.
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
“It might not accept you,” I warned. “It might not give you anything. Is it worth the cost of knowing there is nothing more for you, that they were right?”
“Perhaps that would be the best outcome.”
I couldn’t help but smile and nodded in agreement.
“A lifetime of devotion has left your brain… well-used.”
“That’s a kind way of putting it.”
“The point being, it may not hold up.”
“Yes, I know all this.”
“I know you know. I just want you to understand that it will be me that will be in your head trying to figure out how to fix the damage, which is not something I want to do or which I should be doing. I’m no anointed messenger for the divine. That’s your job. I’m just a man who has been placed in authority and given responsibilities, and I have my duty. Most people in my position wouldn’t offer you this choice. Most wouldn’t even consider it. Devotion to our duty is so overwhelming that anything that distracts from it is to be eliminated.” I turned back to the starscape. “It is because I am new to this and to my own abilities that I am taking the time to talk to you, but I too am looking for something. I am also weighing the costs, not just the costs to you but also the potential costs to myself.”
I took another sip. Zardocha really was my favorite drink. I could feel my mood settling.
“But I am used to this sort of balancing,” I added.
The Cannon nodded, now realizing that I too would be taking a risk, and what was to be gained for me? The friendship of a man whose mind I’d destroyed? He was asking too much, he thought to himself. He didn’t want to put me at risk, even though, in his heart, he felt that there was great wisdom so close. If he could only reach out and touch it.
“I am sorry,” he said. “I don’t want any harm to come to you because of my ambition.”
Hearing those words voiced by his own lips almost made him chuckle, albeit ruefully, as he was once the least ambitious person he’d ever known.
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
I nodded, feeling a sudden heaviness, as if a portal that had been opened by the universe was being closed, a candle of possibilities snuffed out by my own deliberate choices.
I reached out to him with a telepathic tendril and saw my hand rise slightly, as of its own volition. If I could touch his face, I sensed I could get deeper into his mind.
(Does Gus try to touch the Cannon’s face, ala the Vulcan mindmeld, or does he continue as before?)
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
“I am sorry,” he said with a sigh. “I don’t want harm to come to you because of my ambition.”
Hearing those words voiced by his own lips almost made him chuckle, albeit ruefully, as he was once the least ambitious person he’d ever known.
I nodded, feeling a sudden heaviness as he stared down at the low kava table sitting between us. I reached out with an additional telepathic tendril, hoping to strengthen the clarity of my peephole into his mind once he looked up at me again. If only I could touch his face, I sensed I could go deeper.
I rolled my chair beside his.
“Close your eyes,” I whispered.
He looked up, the pensive, far away look in his eyes suddenly over-bright and almost feverish as he stared at me for a long moment. Is this a test? he wondered, hope suddenly rebuilding. Trust the universe, he said to himself. Whatever will be will be. He then closed his eyes and waited expectantly.
«So do I get to help you skullfuck this dude or what?»
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
I'm getting the sense you want me to push this along, so....
«So do I get to help you skullfuck this dude or what?»
I winced.
«Where are you?» I asked, not sure I really wanted to know.
«On the other side of your door.»
I looked at the front door to my quarters.
«Yes, that door,» Josefeen clarified.
I went over and pushed the Open button, then stepped back to let her enter.
«Were you out there long?» I asked, glancing back at the Cannon. He was still waiting, eyes shut, the very picture of obedient expectation.
«Long enough to admire your efficiency,» she replied. «I see you’ve already got his ankles up over his shoulders, so to speak. Nicely done.» She then mentally counted the number of empty chairs: one. «Have you considered investing in additional furniture?»
«You can sit on the table,» I suggested, though I wasn’t sure it could withstand the weight of her upper torso.
«I’ll stand.»
I shrugged and sat back in the chair, the Canon directly in front of me. Though his eyes were closed, I tried reaching into his mind, and it again occurred to me to touch his face.
«Go ahead.» Josefeen thought, putting two fingers along my neck where not too long ago she’d injected the psi-enchancer. «Touch is the best route for establishing a deep connection.»
«How do I do it?» I asked, opening my hand in front of his face.
«Whatever feels right. Your psychic body will tell you.»
Indeed, my fingers seemed to know where they wanted to go. It was strange, to say the least, and no sooner did my hand make contact than I could once again sense the spider’s web of aged threads that beckoned my favor. Despite the fact that he could feel my fingers on his face, he kept his eyes shut, thinking still that this was all part of some elaborate test after which I would present him with the Eye of God.
As he thought all this, various threads lit up in the vast recesses of his mind, but which was the one connecting with his memory of the green room?
«Which one?» I asked Josefeen.
«For recent memories, always try the nearest.»
I touched the nearest.
“You’re saying the knowledge contained within the Eye of God will destroy my faith?” he'd asked. “You know this for a fact?”
“I don’t just know it.” I could see the creases along my own forehead. “I feel it. And so do you.”
«Now rip it out,» Josefeen telepathically intoned.
«How?»
«Just grab and yank like you’re pulling a weed.»
«I don’t want to leave him with lasting brain damage. One more thing to explain.»
«He’s an old stoner. Who will even notice?»
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
«He’s an old stoner. Who will even notice?»
A lot of people, quite possibly, but that’s not what actually bothered me; nor could I exactly understand how this felt different from pulling the trigger in combat, although it did. I reached out with my mind, somehow wrapping my psionic tentacle around the memory. It was almost like one snake latching onto another, and then I yanked. It was coming loose. I could feel its tether to his mind stretching and then snapping, as I dragged out its root, exposing every memory to which it was once connected. I could sense them all lined up on a moment-by-moment basis.
As I’d led him into my quarters, he was suddenly afraid, as if a part of him knew he would not exit the same person. He did not think I would mind-rape him — he’d heard of such things — but he also didn’t really mind if I did, as it would be the will of the Universe and perhaps a just punishment for reaching for the divine. If nothing else, it might force the inner circle of Supreme Stoners to finally invite him to join them. But he really didn’t believe I would do it.
This is a kind man, he’d told himself. I was a person who showed appreciation, even to those beneath me in the social hierarchy. I was not the sort that pushed my weight around, he perceived. He will do as he has to do, and if has to kill me, then I am dead already, so there is nothing to worry about. I am on his ship, and I am at his mercy, just as I am a part of the Universe and its mercy, so long as I am suffered to exist.
For he’d already ascertained that I was a psion. I’d effectively told him so. But I had the Eye of God, and if he wanted to touch it, he’d have to go through me, even if that meant following a path through the disassembly of his mind.
He long hoped the inner circle of Supreme Stoners would invite him into their ranks, but for some time he suspected it might never happen. This was slowly filling him with a silent melancholy. He, after all, was old enough to drop dead at any moment. Even his mind felt old, sluggish, and whenever he got high, he felt the sorrow of not being good enough.
“I forgot to ask, how was your tour?” I’d asked, interrupting his inner thoughts.
“We stopped at the theater,” he explained after getting his bearings. “Brother William was telecasting the remembrance for those who couldn’t attend in person.”
He liked Chaplain Briggs quite well. They’d met a few times and engaged in interfaith dialogue on each occasion, the Canon eventually offering my Religious Affairs Specialist a little pouch of mushroom for assistance in future meditation. Chaplain Briggs was apparently not religiously prohibited from saying yes, as he didn’t make any religious protest, but as a Navy Officer he understood that accepting such a gift, at an official Navy function, no less, might be problematic and began to explain that it would probably violate Navy regulations in some way.
“What about when you’re off duty?”
“You see that Vargr over there?” Briggs pointed at Lt. Shepherd. “She just lost her shore leave over some off-duty chocolates.”
“Isn’t chocolate poisonous to Vargr?”
“Hence, the reason.”
“I see,” the Canon said, smiling as he decided who he’d talk to next. A few minutes later, he intercepted Lt. Shepherd at the hors d’oeuvres, offering his condolences over the whole chocolate incident.
“How do you know about that?” she asked, wide-eyed. “It didn’t make the news, did it?”
“Oh yes,” the Canon teased. “I saw it on Channel One.”
“What?!”
“Actually, he told me,” Reggie admitted, gesturing in Briggs’s general direction.
“Oh! Oh, thank Cleon.”
“I offered him some mushrooms for enhanced meditation,” he said, holding up the little pouch, “but he declined.”
“Mushrooms? Wait. Are those magic mushrooms?”
“Only if you believe in magic. I don’t suppose you’d like some. You can put them to use at a later date. Here, take the whole bag. There’s plenty more where these came from.”
Lt. Shepherd wrinkled her snout in confusion.
“Oh, I'm sorry. I’m evangelizing,” Reggie explained. “It’s my job. I’m with the Sodality of the Silver Chalice.”
“The what?”
“We’re more popularly known as the Deacons of Drugs.”
“Oh! I’ve heard of you guys,” Shepherd nodded.
“I don’t want to get you in trouble,” the Canon said, holding the pouch out to her again, “so you’ll need to be careful with this, especially considering the fact that you are not a careful person as evidenced by the aforementioned chocolate incident, but I trust you will take that into account.”
She looked at the pouch, then she looked to both sides, locating me talking to the Admiral.
“I have a new captain who I really can’t afford to piss off.”
“He’ll understand,” the Canon said, “especially if you don’t get caught. Here, take them. If you change your mind later, you can flush them down the toilet.”
«Gus,
you’re going too deep. You need to come back.»
(Does Gus go back, or does he continue following this memory thread to see what happened?)
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
«Gus, you’re going too deep. You need to come back.»
I heard but ignored Josafeen. This was intoxicating, a side of Regi I hadn’t suspected: subversive, cajoling, preying on instincts. I had never needed to do that. I followed orders until I was in position to give orders, and I always had an objective. This was different, and I needed to see what happened. If he suborned my crew, it would relieve my conscience somewhat.
But just as she reached for the pouch, he withdrew it, tucking it into a pocket in the green folds of his robe. Josefeen, meanwhile, faded into the distance as I settled into the moment, feeling what it was like to be him.
“These mushrooms are poisonous to your kind,” he rebuked her. “The smallest nibble would make you sick. Eat a whole one, and you could die.”
“Then why were you offering…”
“To illustrate how easy it is to make a terrible decision, a decision that could alter the course of your life… or even end it.”
“For the record, I was going to flush them down the toilet.”
“Excellent choice, but you can flush these instead.” He handed her another bag, this one containing twenty little, bite-sized biscuits. They were laced with a drug specifically formulated for Vargr physiology.
“Are these…?”
“Skuubi snacks,” he said, nodding. “One should last you about five deplars — just under an Imperial hour — but it will take as long for their effects to even begin, and make sure you’re in a safe place with people you trust, as they’re plenty strong, enough so that I’d caution against doubling the dosage.”
“Wait.” Lt. Shepherd frowned. “How do I know these aren’t poisonous too?”
“You don’t, and you are well-advised to be skeptical.”
“So I can’t even trust a man of the cloth?”
“Good heavens, no!” The whole scene went left and right as he vigorously shook his head back and forth. “Terrible deeds have been done by religious figures throughout history, too many to enumerate. I’d tell you all about it, but it would only offend your canine sensibilities and probably kill any spiritual wonder that might otherwise grow within you.”
“I’m very spiritual,” she said, tucking the bag of skuubi snacks into her vest. “I even do yoga.”
“Good for you. I trust my gift will make your meditations more illuminating.”
Her ears flattened as she mulled over how to respond.
“I don’t trust you,” she finally said, staring at him for a long moment. “Maybe I will flush these down the toilet.”
“As you wish.”
“Are they really safe?”
“No drug is ever entirely safe,” he replied, “but these will increase the local entropy and help with the formation of ideas and moments that may hopefully stand out in one’s memory, and they invite our Divine Mistress to put a finger on the scales of fate, which is sometimes amusing but, of course, not without potentially unpleasant ramifications.”
“Who’s this Divine Mistress?”
“Eris. The Sodality of the Silver Chalice originated within the College of Discordia.”
“College of Discordia?”
“The Erisian Mysteries,” he said, as if that explained everything. “We even have ties to the Cult of the Flying Spaghetti Monster.”
“I thought that was a joke.”
“College, cult, joke… what’s the difference?”
«Gus, you need to come back to the surface before it’s too late.»
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
«Gus, you need to come back to the surface before it’s too late.»
With effort, I pulled myself toward the source of Josafeen’s voice.
«Well, one more mystery solved.»
Back in the cobwebs of his mind, the neatly lined-up array of memories was now a free-flowing mess. They had disassociated and were presently all floating off in various directions.
I checked my wristcom to see how much time had passed, taking me out of his brain and back into the here and now. Wasn’t time supposed to compress when using psychic abilities? Popular dramas had a lot to be held accountable for! And what was this weird giddy feeling I was having?
It inverted as the Canon opened his eyes. They bulged from their sockets, terror-filled. Last he remembered, I’d invited him into my quarters, and he’d thought to himself that this was his moment of truth, and then, quite suddenly, his eyes were closed and my hand was on his face. He was missing time, he realized with unsettling surprise. Where was the Eye of God? He looked around, feeling suddenly ill. What’s going on? What’s he doing to me?!
And then I made it even worse — much, much worse — explosively vomiting my recent dinner all over his nice green robes.
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
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