Part One
“Have you made your choice yet?”
The voice was as cold and cruel as the
metal slab Damiel lay upon. The straps
chafed raw against his arms, chest and legs.
Steel manacles bit cruelly into his wrists. Already, his temples were encrusted with the
salt of his tears.
“Well?”
Damiel wanted to answer. He desperately wanted to say the words that
would end this once and for all. And yet
… if he spared himself, it would never truly end. Not in his heart, not in his mind.
On the edge of his vision, he could still
see the ten white-clad faceless figures gathered around him. Although his tears blurred his vision, he
knew the symbol they wore on their shirts.
A nine-headed serpent rearing up in defiance. Hydran Unity.
The one syndicate even the police feared.
“Do you know who these fine people are
around me?” said their leader.
“Surgeons. The silly bastards
forgot to bring along their anaesthetic, didn’t you silly bastards? But apart from that little inconvenience,
they should be able to keep you alive for, oh, ten, maybe twelve hours.”
Damiel’s breath speeded up like a panting
puppy, his heartbeat raced like rapid fire.
He hoped to God that Takvid was bluffing. But then, if the rumours were true, this was
a man who blasted the limbs off living police officers just for fun. If the rumours were true, then he was not
likely to show much more mercy to a twelve year old.
“The thing is … once these good people
start working, they’re not going to stop.
And don’t think you could tell us a few minutes into the operation,
‘cause by then you won’t be able to talk.
So it’s tell now, and it’ll be all over.
Or, if you prefer …”
Damiel felt every single organ in his body
tighten, as if bracing for impact, as if bracing for a crashlanding that would
be prolonged for hours. He was not going
to give in, not even if that meant his death.
Not even if that meant … but his mind could not even go there.
“God will punish you,” Damiel whispered
harshly.
“Oh, will he now?” Takvid stepped back in mock surprise. “Then tell Him to get in the fucking
queue. No threat’s gonna scare me,
kid. Not even any of your bullshit about
hell and damnation. I’m the world expert
on that subject, kid, not you. Shall I
prove it?” He turned to his
surgeons. “Show him. Go on.
Show him our last victim. It
might help the pipsqueak make up his mind.”
One of the surgeons wheeled something tall
and spindly towards the table. A flat
screen suddenly appeared over Damiel’s face, attached to a long metal arm like
a dentist’s light.
“The poor sod you are about to see,” said
Takvid, “was lying in exactly the same position you are right now, on exactly
the same table. Which, more or less,
means that whatever happened to him is pretty much going to happen to you. Are you ready?”
Damiel was willing to do anything to delay
his torture. He hoped that they would
show him hours of footage so that he could have time to think, time to
breathe. But if the footage truly lasts
for hours, then that would mean … when they start on him …
“Yes,” he whispered.
Then Takvid switched on the screen, and
Damiel saw what they had planned for him.
He was still screaming when he awoke on the
park bench.
“Damiel?”
Father Tamoni’s kindly face was sunken with
concern. There was not a hint of
surprise.
“Have you been dreaming again?”
“It’s nothing,” said Damiel. But of course, Father Tamoni knew what the
dream was about. He had known for six
years. “I’m sorry,” Damiel added, then
turned and reached for his padscreen on the bench beside him. It was displaying the same page he had been
reading before he had fallen asleep - “The Legacy of Hieronymous Bosch”.
“What is it?”
“I should have told you earlier. I’ve been having a chat with the visiting
priest, and he said that he would like to talk with you.”
“Where
is he from?” Damiel asked blankly.
“Kylastora,”
replied Father Tamoni. “I’m not sure if
you’ve heard of it. It’s one of the
smaller ultratech colonies, not far outside the Keter border.”
“Ultratech?”
said Damiel, the slightest lilt of a query in his voice. “And he’s interested in our monastery? In me?”
Over
Father Tamoni’s shoulder, in the distance, Damiel noticed the elderly, slightly
built priest standing patiently under a tree.
“Well,
all branches of our Church have to look out for each other,” said Tamoni,
“regardless of technological gulfs, or minor disagreements over the finer
points of theology.”
Damiel
nodded abruptly. “But where does he fit
into it?” he said, indicating the priest in the distance.
“Father
Marishison has read your Declaration of Faith,” said Tamoni. “He was most impressed with many of the …
issues you raised. He thought it was
wonderful that someone so young was willing to ask such tough questions. He would like to have a chat with you about
them. Would that be all right?”
Damiel
rested the padscreen on his lap, sighing lightly. So many saw his philosophising and
introspection as evidence of precocious brilliance. He knew too well that it was nothing of the
sort. He never had a choice. He had been forced to ask those questions at
far too young an age.
“Fine,”
he finally said. “He can talk to me.”
“I’m
glad,” said Tamoni. “Except…”
“What’s
wrong?”
“Oh, nothing’s
wrong. But, well, you are of age, after
all, and I trust you still haven’t ruled out the possibility of transfer…?”
“I’ll
decide when the time comes,” said Damiel.
“I
know. I know. It’s just that … I’ve read Father Marishison’s
credentials, and I must say I’m very impressed.
You know how long people live in ultratech societies. Well, Marishison is over a thousand years
old.” He paused to let that fact sink
in. “And looks not a day over eighty, as
you can see. He is very highly regarded
where he comes from, and not just by other Jobitarians. He has seen a lot, been through a lot. So it must be a very high achievement just to
attract his interest. I feel …” He
swallowed. “Well, like I said, the
choice will be yours and no one else’s.
But I feel that this may be your golden opportunity. I feel that this may be truly what you have
always wanted. Lord knows I could be
wrong, but that possibility seems so remote right now. I honestly … oh, listen to me. Babbling and raving about a gut feeling that
could be disproved at the drop of a hat.
I should really leave it to you.
And please feel free to kick me in the arse if I’m proven wrong.”
Damiel
gave one of his rare smirks. “I would be
most obliged,” he said.
Father
Tamoni left Damiel and Father Marishison to converse in private. The old priest sat on the bench beside
Damiel.
“What
have you been studying?” Marishison asked.
“The
history of religious artwork,” replied Damiel.
“Throughout the galaxy.”
Marishison
nodded. “That’s one of my own favourite
subjects. It seems that we’re off to a
good start already. I’m sure Tamoni told
you why I’m here.”
Damiel
nodded.
“I
read your Declaration of Faith. There is
something unique about you, Damiel; and trust me - in my travels, I do not use
that word lightly. We need someone with
your honesty, someone with your sense of fair judgment. People like you are greatly valued where we
live.”
“Why?” Damiel’s enquiry was swift and blunt. “Why me?”
“Because,
like you, we believe in justice. We
understand how important moral order is in a universe of sentient beings. That is all I’m allowed to tell you at this
stage. Except for a few more vague
details.”
“What
are they?”
“Well,
I’ll be honest with you. As advanced as
our community may be, it is not all laughter and banquets. Quite often we do have to deal with the … let
us say less savoury side of life in this big galaxy. It is our calling. But there are always two things, two payments
if you will, that make our grim task worth the while.”
Damiel
straightened his posture, genuinely curious as to where this conversation was
heading. He had known for years that his
life was pointless unless he was tested - truly, meaningfully tested. “What are these payments?” he enquired.
“One
payment is this: it is the knowledge, the proof, that you are making a
difference. You would be helping others
make the right choice. As trivial and
familiar as that may sound, it is the context that is valuable. Considering what we do, considering who we
deal with, that context could not possibly be more valuable.”
Damiel
considered this very carefully. The old
priest’s words had so many possible meanings, yet Damiel caught a glimpse of
something glinting like diamond behind those words. After all, the issues of choice and “making a
difference” had been playing upon his mind throughout his adolescence - a
handful of years that had felt like a lungful of lifetimes.
“And
the second?”
“The
second payment is actually the first that you shall receive. It is simply an answer. An answer to a question that has been
plaguing you.”
Damiel’s
breath froze.
“Each
and every one of us has such a question,” said Marishison, his wizened, kindly
eyes connecting with Damiel’s. “I do not
know what yours is, but I’m certain that you do. After all, our sources have informed us that
you have a burning desire to be relieved of such a heavy burden.”
The
words struck home, burning away the last shreds of doubt Damiel harboured. This is what he wanted. This is what he had spent years praying
for. Perhaps, if the Almighty willed it,
this could finally bring some meaning to his tainted life.
In
the corner of his vision, Damiel barely noticed the black cat staring at him
from the branches of a nearby tree.
“I
have good news, Father,” said Damiel, in his most cheerful tone in years. “I don’t have to kick you in the arse after
all.”
Tamoni
rose from behind his desk, his face wide with joy. “You accepted?”
“Yes!”
“Haha! Bless you Son!” Tamoni rushed around the desk to embrace his
loyal acolyte. “I knew it! When do you leave?”
“In
three days. I’ll start packing tonight.”
“And
so you must. But first, on the subject
of the things you must take with you…” Tamoni reached into a tray on the desk
and picked up a gold amulet by its chain.
“For so many years I have kept this, saving it for that day that had to
come.” He handed the amulet to Damiel.
Damiel
held the amulet closer to his eyes, studying the finely detailed engraving on
the small golden disc. It depicted the
noblest of animals - a lion, a horse, an elephant, a tyrannosaurus - all bowing
in reverence to a lamb on top of a hill.
The lamb’s eyes evoked peace and wisdom far beyond his seeming
years. Radiant beams emanated from the
lamb like a holy aura. At the bottom of
the amulet were letters of Old Anglic, which Damiel recognised instantly: “The
Meek shall inherit the Universe.”
“It’s
beautiful,” said Damiel.
“It’s
ancient, too,” said Tamoni. “More than
eight thousand years. Be sure to wear it
on your travels, and heed its message well.”
“I
will, Father.”
“And
Damiel…” The priest’s grin wavered slightly.
“They can help you, can’t they?”
Damiel
broadened his grin. “They left me with
no doubt,” he said. “They seem to know
exactly what I am looking for.”
Damiel
floated freely in the small passenger cabin, savouring the exhilaration of his
first space flight in seven years. In
the window, the morning sun rose gloriously over the sweeping blue and white
curve of his home planet Sylavor.
Perhaps he could leave his memories behind, way down there. Perhaps that would be for the better. Yet Damiel knew all too well that the mind - his
mind - did not operate on such simple, clear-cut rules. Healing was not going to be easy.
The
door slid open, and Marishison floated in.
“Does
the shuttle computer know what it’s doing?” asked Damiel.
“Better
than I ever would,” said Marishison. “We
should enter the Milton in less that one hour. But please, climb down into the chair. I have some words to share with you.”
The
seat gently gripped Damiel’s skin and clothing with millions of soft
fibres. Sitting across from him, it was
clear that Marishison was similarly restrained, invisible though the fibres
were. His face wore a long, grave
expression that he had not seen in the three days he had known him.
“I am
afraid I have told you and your peers a bunch of half-truths. Outright lies even. I must apologise. But please be certain, over the next week,
you will have every right to change your mind.
Just say the word, and we shall turn back without complaint. Understood?”
Damiel
frowned, too concerned to nod. “What
haven’t you told me?”
“Damiel,
it is true that I used to be a priest in the Universal Jobitarian Church, but
that was a very long time ago.”
“What
the hell are you now?” Damiel blurted out.
“I
still have a role to play. A role you
might yet understand.”
“And
does that role involve whisking me off my own planet under false
pretences? Or using your precious
superior technology to forge your background and contact details?”
“So
it would seem. But only with the best of
intentions.”
“Oh
yes!” shouted Damiel. “The path to Hell
is paved with them! Wonderful
well-meaning intentions such as kidnapping!”
Marishison
gently shook his head. “We will never
let it come to that. If you do not want
to continue this transfer, we can turn back at this very moment and return you
to your home. If you make this decision
tomorrow instead of today, then we turn back tomorrow and return you home. We have to pass through three wormholes. After the third wormhole, then there will be
no turning back. But up until that
point, you are free to choose. We only
get a total of seven days out of hibernation before the third and final
wormhole - the rest of the time, we have to remain in stasis while the ship
accelerates at a much faster rate. But
those seven days should provide plenty of time for you to make your
choice. We are only a small part of a
much larger community, and the extra time and energy in turning around will
cost us very little. We have prepared
and equipped ourselves for such eventualities.”
A
long period of silence followed.
“I
sincerely hope you’re telling the truth this time,” said Damiel.
“In
our community,” said Marishison, “lies and half-truths are a necessary
evil. However, there are some lies that
must never be told. We will never lie to
you about the choices we have given you.”
“What
precisely is your community?”
“That,
I am afraid, is something I cannot disclose at this moment.”
“I
see. So I can make my own choices, so
long as they are not fully informed choices?”
Marishison
chuckled lightly. “So very perceptive. Can you see, now, why we chose you?”
“Oh,
I’m sure I could see why, if only I had any idea what you’ve chosen me for.”
“Again,
you are free to turn back at any time.”
“Yes,
I could. I could return to the monastery
right now, and spend the rest of my days never knowing who you really were, or
who you worked for.”
“That
is quite the case. Your curiosity is too
strong to let the likes of us slip out of your sight.”
“And
I’m sure you were counting on it.”
Marishison
chuckled more loudly than before. “I’m
afraid you have me there. But that is
your own curiosity dragging you along on this adventure, not mine.”
“Somehow
you knew,” said Damiel. “You knew that I
had…”
“That
you were being plagued by the questions of life? That is a plague we all share, Son.”
“I
think you know what I mean,” said Damiel.
“Except … Father Tamoni never told you, did he? He never gave you specific details.”
“Only
your Declaration of Faith. But trust me,
Lad, I am very good at reading between the lines.”
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