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“Captain Fenrir. Welcome to the priory.” Sister Hermina formally bowed her head as Aswan Trader’s master entered the infirmary the following morning. A thin, gray-haired woman of middling height, with sharp features and deep-set eyes, Hermina had the typical ageless face of a Void Sister. She’d been expecting him thanks to word from her informal intelligence service, a network of watchers in and around Thebes. Many of them were youngsters keen for an apprenticeship with off-worlders who were bringing back technology. Most of the rest were grateful patients healed of injuries or illnesses that were often fatal a few years earlier.
“Sister.” He returned her bow with proper courtesy. “I’m here to see how my men are doing and offer my thanks for your devoted care.”
“The man with the leg wound, Tobias, will fully recover. Your medic did a good job cleaning the wound, and we found no signs of infection. He’ll go home in a day or two, but it’ll be a few weeks before he’s fit for duty. The other two, with abdominal injuries, are still in the intensive care unit. Sister Gwen operated on both yesterday and redid your medic’s field surgery. It was outstanding work under the circumstances and kept them alive until they reached us, but both are fighting off serious infections, Jiang more so than Okano. The intensive antibiotic treatment should work, but it’ll be a day or two before we can release them from the ICU.”
“Good news, then, Sister. Thank you.”
“Come. You can speak with Tobias, but the others are sedated, though you can see them through the ICU window.” Hermina turned on her heels and led him through the waiting room and along a corridor with white walls, pierced by equally white, numbered doors. A clean, almost antiseptic tang permeated the air, and Fenrir felt his anxiety ease a bit.
Although they called it an infirmary, the building was, in every respect, a fully-equipped field hospital, one of countless such put together on Lyonesse and sent off with missionary teams aboard Void Ships crewed by the Lyonesse Navy. The merchant mariner’s awe at his surroundings, something even the least talented Friar would sense, pleased Hermina.
When the Lyonesse government decided, long ago, it would reclaim human star systems patiently and through peaceful means, many scoffed at the idea. The republic’s armed forces were the most powerful in the known galaxy, or at least, they’d not met anyone capable of fielding anything comparable. As a result, taking star systems by might and imposing colonial governments would have been simple in the short term.
But judging at how avidly the Thebans absorbed the missionaries’ teachings, in part because of vague yet persistent generational memories of better times, the wise men and women of the day were right. By the time Lyonesse offered a rebuilt Hatshepsut a seat on the republic’s council of state, years, if not decades, of accumulated goodwill would ensure the best outcome.
And the people of this world would be ready to rejoin humanity at large without needless trauma. At least that was the theory, and though Void Sisters were long-lived, Hermina might not witness the eventual result. This was the work of generations. By the time that blessed day rolled around, a new Hatshepsut Abbey, supported by dozens of outlying priories, would be entirely composed of locals whose abbess answered to the Summus Abbatissa on far away Lyonesse.
Hermina ushered Fenrir into a brightly lit, cheerfully decorated recovery room with beds lining opposite walls. Patients sleeping, reading, or otherwise keeping themselves busy occupied most of them. One, a young man with the deeply tanned face of a sailor, sat up and waved when he spied his captain. The smile on his face seemed genuine, though his features were still marked by his ordeal.
“Tobias. How are you?”
“Feeling great, thanks to the good Sisters, Captain. Whatever they’re giving me for the pain, it beats rum halfway across the galaxy, and at hyperspeed, if you’ll believe that.”
Fenrir chuckled.
“And it has you talking like a galactic instead of a mariner.” He glanced at Hermina. “Any chance I could taste this marvelous elixir? Tobias normally swears by rum.”
“Only if you’re in pain.” She smiled at him. “Not something I recommend seeking out on purpose.”
“You mean like—” Tobias’ mirth-filled voice died away when confronted by Captain Fenrir’s hard stare. “Never mind.”
“Take care of yourself, lad. I’ll see that the Sailor’s Union makes sure you receive the shore pay you’re owed while you heal.”
Tobias bobbed his head in gratitude. “Thank you kindly, Captain.”
“You’d best thank Sister Hermina. It was her and the other Brethren who proposed the Sailor’s Union scheme, and a fine idea it’s turning out to be.” Fenrir glanced at Hermina, who replied with a faint nod.
“Yes, Captain.” Tobias turned his gaze on the prioress and lowered his head. “Thank you for everything, Sister.”
“You should direct your praise at the Almighty, Tobias. The Void giveth.”
Without missing a beat, the young sailor replied, “The Void Taketh Away.”
“Blessed be the Void,” both intoned in perfect harmony, drawing an astonished look from Captain Fenrir.
“I didn’t know you were a believer, Tobias,” the latter said.
“Many of us in Aswan Trader and most other ships are, Captain. Thinking of the Almighty helps us pass the dark hours of the night watch in pirate waters.”
Hermina suppressed a pleased expression. The spiritual mission was progressing just as well as the worldly one.
Fenrir shrugged. “If it helps, then I suppose it’s good. But don’t let the Sisters recruit you. I need able sailors for our next voyage.”
“I’ll be there, Captain. Guaranteed. The damned pirates in the Central Passage owe me one.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Tobias reddened with embarrassment. “Sorry, Sister.”
She waved away his apologies and smiled.
“Those who prey on others because they’re both lazy and depraved are indeed damned, Tobias. Considering this planet’s natural riches and its small population, there’s enough for anyone who’ll put in the effort.”
“Is there anything you need?” Fenrir asked.
“Not a thing, Skipper, but thanks. When are you heading back to sea?”
“In a few days, provided I can find replacements for you, Jiang, and Okano. Can’t sail with three experienced deckhands missing. At least not beyond the Theban Isles.”
“Nothing wrong with short-haul contracts, even in a barquentine.”
“Provided they’re for settlements with deep enough harbors. Rowing bulk supplies ashore in our boats just isn’t my idea of a good time.”
Tobias grimaced. “Roger that, Skipper.”
“Well... Glad you’re on the mend, lad. I’ll pop my head in once a day while we’re alongside, and if there’s anything you want, I’m sure the Brethren can send a messenger to the ship.”
“Thank you. Tell the lads I said hi.”
“Will do.” Fenrir glanced at Hermina. “Can I see Jiang and Okano now, please, Sister?”
“Certainly. Follow me.”
She gave Tobias a little wave, then led Fenrir out of the ward and further down the bright, sterile corridor. They passed through doors marked ‘Intensive Care’ before stopping in front of a large window made from off-world plastic, judging by its clarity. Beyond it, he could see beds with display panels at one end. Two were occupied by men asleep beneath silvery blankets, their panels lit.
“Your men are doing as well as we can hope, Lars. If anything changes for the worst, the duty physician’s assistant will receive a warning from the medical sensors and intervene.”
Fenrir shook his head in awe.
“All this technology is beyond anything we can make or sometimes even imagine.”
“For now. You and I should live long enough to see Hatshepsut regain a lot of what she lost, but it will take time. Our starships can only carry so much and must supply dozens of missions.”
“Provided President Granat’s successor keeps his policies in place. I hear grumblings that several among those who would replace him don’t like off-worlders with your tech level operating at will rather than under government control and plan on making drastic changes. And a president who would impose controls on you will find plenty of support in the senate. Many of our esteemed representatives covet your technology for themselves and aren’t pleased with your generosity, independence, and the fact you’re above anyone’s self-interested influence. We who hear such things fear you might leave rather than continue serving our community under political duress.”
Hermina, whose private and unofficial intelligence service had already reported as much, turned a reassuring smile on Fenrir.
“Then the citizens of the republic must make their voices heard and elect a president and senators who will work with us.”
He grimaced.
“You’ve not yet witnessed our elections, Sister. The republic’s ordinary citizens have little real influence on who governs us. And that’s everything I’ll say on the subject, even in this sanctified place.”
“Fair enough. Can I offer you iced tea in my office before you walk back to your ship?”
He inclined his head.
“With pleasure, thank you.”
Iced drinks were a rare luxury on a planet that was still years away from re-establishing mechanical refrigeration and whose tiny ice caps could only be harvested a few times per year. However, the priory’s field hospital came equipped with a miniature fusion unit which powered, among many other things, a bank of refrigerators.
Hermina used iced tea invitations whenever she wanted more from a Theban than he or she would likely give without feeling an obligation after being treated to something so rare. So far, none declined the invitation, and only a few repaid her hospitality by evading questions.
She led him out of the infirmary and across the broad quadrangle to the main house, which was equally cool, though not as brightly antiseptic. They took winding stairs to the second story and walked along a wood-paneled corridor whose only lighting came from a tall window at the far end.
Fenrir had never visited Hermina’s inner sanctum and was impressed by the view when he entered on her heels. Broad windows overlooked the town and harbor and the shallow inner sea surrounded by the republic’s many islands, most of which were mere shadows in the mist. He noted with amusement that the priory sat on a taller hill than the republic’s senate building and presidential palace, large but unprepossessing stone buildings erected long after the Retribution Fleet scoured Hatshepsut and destroyed most of its cities.
Her office furniture was simple but well crafted by local cabinetmakers, and the glassware on the sideboard was also clearly of Theban manufacture. At her gesture, he sat in one of the chairs facing a wooden desk whose only adornment was a small orb filled with tiny stars floating in a black medium.
No sooner had she settled in across from him that a young man, a local postulating to become a Friar in the Order, entered, carrying an insulated jug of the sort the off-worlders were teaching Thebans to make. He bowed his head at Hermina, then at Fenrir before heading toward the sideboard and filling two glasses. The postulant offered Fenrir one and Hermina the other, then withdrew, closing the door behind him.
“Your health, Lars.”
“And yours, Sister.”
He raised his glass to his lips and took a tentative sip. The surprisingly cold, sweet liquid felt like a balm on his parched tongue and burned an icy path down his throat. A second sip followed the first, and he sighed.
“Here’s hoping the day when ordinary people enjoy access to refrigeration will come soon.”
“In our lifetimes, Lars. In our lifetimes.” Hermina sat back and let a faint smile play on her lips. “So, tell me, did you get interesting merchandise in exchange for your ship’s medical instruments?”