| |
––––––––
Once back in the New Draconis Abbey, the Order of the Void Reborn’s Mother House, Ardrix sought Archimandrite Bolack, the Order’s Summus Abbas. Though he led the Hegemony’s only official religious organization, Bolack, like his predecessors, lived as simply as any Sister or Friar. At this time of day, he would be engaged in a walking meditation among the abbey’s extensive orchards, and so she made her way through the quadrangle, around the Void Reborn Orb dominating its center, and past the main buildings.
Set on New Draconis’ southern outskirts, the abbey had been built as a precise copy of the one destroyed during the empire’s final collapse. It even looked as old as Wyvern’s earliest settlements, those established during humanity’s quasi-mythical first age of expansion when an almost forgotten Earth still ruled. But it was endowed with a much larger tract of land than its earlier incarnation, one the Brethren farmed intensively.
When she found Bolack’s usual path, she composed herself and stood on one side, hands folded in front of her. If he was ready to speak, the Archimandrite would stop. If not, he would continue walking, and Ardrix would continue waiting.
Within a few minutes, a dark-complexioned, heavy-set, bald man in his late sixties came into view. His intense, hooded eyes beneath bushy eyebrows framed a flattened nose set at the center of a square face outlined by a short salt and pepper beard. Bolack’s sole concession to the display of rank was the small Void Reborn Orb hanging around his neck from a simple silver chain. Otherwise, he wore the same practical monastic robes as any Friar.
Acceding to Ardrix’s silent request, Bolack stopped a few paces distant, and she bowed her head with the amount of respect due to the head of her Order.
“Yes, Sister?”
The Archimandrite’s basso profundo bounced off the pear trees surrounding them.
“My day has been most eventful, and there are things you should know.”
Bolack tilted his head to one side, a sign she should speak freely, and Ardrix recounted Keter’s interrogation, with emphasis on the goods Keter brought back from Hatshepsut.
“And you saw those items?”
“I did. Crevan allowed me to inspect them.”
A faint smile split Bolack’s beard.
“He trusts you to that extent? Excellent.”
“Crevan accepted my tutelage in matters spiritual and meditates with me regularly, especially after we deal with subversives. From there, I built a closer rapport than my fellow Commission Sisters enjoy with their assigned officers.”
“Then matters are unfolding better than I’d hoped. And the objects?”
“I recognized several of them as high-quality alloy surgical instruments. Items of recent manufacture, better than what the healing Sisters use. They most certainly weren’t produced on Hatshepsut, nor were they relics of the empire.” She pulled a small notepad from one of her robe’s inner pockets. “The instruments bore small markings in hidden spots. I reproduced them from memory.”
Ardrix activated the pad and held it up so Bolack could see. Surprise creased the Archimandrite’s broad forehead when he recognized part of the marking, three nine-pointed stars inside an orb.
“That looks suspiciously like an imperial-era Void abbey imprint. But I’m not familiar with the initials. From memory, there was no abbey whose name started with an L on a world whose name also started with an L during imperial times. Even the Mother House on Lindisfarne used AL, for Aidan/Lindisfarne, if I recall correctly.”
“You do. That is indeed the former Order of the Void mark. I verified the records while Crevan was with Admiral Godfrey. As far as we can tell, there was no abbey using L/L at any time in our history before the Great Scouring.”
Bolack’s eyes narrowed as he contemplated Ardrix’s drawing. The Order of the Void Reborn used a different imprint, a phoenix rising from the flames within a circle representing the Infinite Void’s Orb.
“Then it can only mean there’s a new abbey out there, one founded after the empire’s collapse and not part of the Order Reborn.”
She nodded.
“An abbey which manufactures higher quality surgical instruments than we or anyone else in the Hegemony. Or someone is using the old Order’s markings for unknown reasons. Sure, the stars and orb were once a sign of quality, but it’s unlikely anyone remembers those days.”
Bolack scratched his beard and grimaced.
“The simplest explanation is usually correct. There is another on a world with which Wyvern lost contact. But where? There are at least half a dozen worlds I can think of whose names begin with L. And that’s without contemplating the possibility this L was colonized after the fall or disappeared from the astrogation records because of data integrity issues caused by the Great Scouring’s battles.” He glanced at Ardrix. “Did you discuss the markings with Colonel Torma?”
“No. I wanted to speak with you first and confirm my conclusions by perusing our archives.” She paused for a moment. “If you’re wondering whether the Ruling Council will be more likely to order a reconnaissance expedition based on the inscriptions, I can’t say.”
“Are you reading my mind now?”
He gave her a mischievous glance. As head of the Order, he possessed a powerful male mind, and no Sister dare probe it without his knowledge. She knew he was teasing her and ignored his question.
“If I tell Crevan, I’m sure he’ll inform the Chief of Naval Intelligence, and from what I hear, it will stir things up. Intelligence has been quietly militating for expeditions into the former empire in recent times. But proof some part of it beyond our star systems retained FTL space travel and the ability to manufacture advanced artifacts might trigger a political crisis.”
He contemplated Ardrix for a few seconds, eyes searching hers.
“A valid warning. You’ve learned well from your time with the Commission. What do you suggest?”
“I’ll show Crevan the markings tomorrow morning and explain what we just discussed. If I don’t, he will eventually find out the stars and orb were imperial-era abbey manufacturing marks and wonder why I said nothing about them. That might affect his trust in me.”
“Indeed. And with things going so well, any setback would be a shame...” Bolack left his words hanging between them. “I give you my blessing. Tell Colonel Torma about the markings. Perhaps he or Naval Intelligence can make an educated guess as to what L/L might mean. I confess I’m curious about answers to this mystery. If Brethren from the old Order are prospering out there, it will make life interesting.”
“You’re afraid they might consider us schismatics?” Amusement danced in Ardrix’s pale eyes. “Or an evolutionary step too far?”
Bolack let out a bark of laughter, proving she’d hit the mark.
“You may go. Search the records and speak with Torma tomorrow. Then tell me how he reacts.”
She bowed her head.
“As you wish.”
Ardrix turned on her heels and retraced her steps through the orchard and back to the abbey’s building cluster. Throughout, she felt the Archimandrite’s thoughtful eyes following her. Evidence that a house of the old Order was engaging in the trade of advanced items could only mean it enjoyed the protection of a faster-than-light fleet, or at least had access to one. That fleet would be perceived by the Hegemony as a rival, if not an enemy, and Bolack knew it, though he’d not raised the matter. It revived the specter of warfare between human factions, a final war that might end the species once and for all.
**
“Show me.” Torma stood and headed for his office lockup, where he kept evidence during an investigation, in this case, samples from Captain Keter’s confiscated cargo. He placed his palm on the door’s reader, and a soft snick announced the latches had retracted. Torma reached in and retrieved the box marked surgical instruments.
After returning to his desk, he withdrew bagged items one by one and placed them in front of Ardrix, who had her notes ready with the records she’d retrieved from the abbey’s database. She carefully took a set of shiny surgical scissors from one bag and turned them over until she found the tiny engraving. Using her notepad, she magnified it and nodded.
“Three nine-pointed stars inside an orb, with the notation L/L. I’m no expert, but these don’t look like they were manufactured in Dendera’s day.” She carefully ran her thumbnail over the edge of one blade, then studied it. “Sharp. Perhaps even unused.”
Ardrix let Torma compare the engraving with the old Order records on her pad, then returned the scissors to their bag before examining a pair of forceps.
“The same marks.” She looked up at Torma. “According to the records, abbeys would commission the manufacture of surgical instruments, both for their healers and as gifts for non-Order infirmaries, and have the maker engrave the abbey’s mark. That way, everyone knew the provenance. The instruments would be simple, so even the most rustic colonial health care providers could use them in the absence of power sources. And they’d be made to last a lifetime without sharpening, oxidizing, or falling apart.”
“Then they might be artifacts from the imperial era.” Torma perched on a corner of the desk and watched Ardrix go through the samples.
“That is always a possibility. Unfortunately, the metallurgical analysis didn’t offer enough clues linking them to know imperial manufacturers. But here is the most important indication.” Ardrix pointed at the L/L inscription on a scalpel whose blade was sheathed in hard plastic. “Based on our records, no old Order abbey used this particular letter combination.”
“Perhaps the data was lost during the ultimate attack on Dendera’s capital. A lot of records vanished during that time.”
She inclined her head.
“A definite possibility. But think of it this way. Pre-industrial healers can use those instruments, making them perfect trading goods on fallen worlds, yet their manufacture is beyond any of them. Coupled with the other items Keter brought back, I think we’re not looking at leftovers from the distant past. This is fine work, finer than anything we’ve saved from imperial days.”
Torma stood. “I’ll see if the lab can deduce anything from those engravings.”
“Will you bring this to Admiral Godfrey’s attention?”
“You better believe it, Sister. If you’re correct, this is momentous news. Why not bring the matter up yesterday, so I could inform General Robbins?”
“I had to be sure and needed a few hours in our records hall.” She gave him an amused smile. “You taught me I should always confirm before speaking, lest we make the sort of mistakes that might damage investigations beyond all repair.”
“So I did. Glad we can teach each other new tricks. Will you prepare a full report on your findings? I’m sure Admiral Godfrey would like something his analysts can work with.”
“Of course. Give me an hour. I’m not due in interrogation until ten.”
Torma settled behind his desk.
“Which case is on the menu?”
“Administrator Kai Ornelas. Charges of perverting the course of justice.”
He nodded.
“Right. Centurion Yau’s investigation. A nasty customer, that Ornelas.”
Since official corruption came under the subversion umbrella, Major General Robbins’ division investigated those accused of taking bribes. But Torma found such cases more annoying than satisfying, grubby rather than cleansing. He rarely took them on himself unless the quarry was of sufficient stature that nothing less than a full colonel heading a central Anti-Subversion section would do.
But the Hegemony didn’t lack for corrupt officials, no matter how severe the penalties because — and no one in his or her right mind would ever say so openly — many, if not most, got away with it thanks to political patronage.