The Pope admitted he was a fool about his bonsai trees, but in his self-imposed lifestyle where he allowed himself limited distractions, he forgave himself such foolishness. Trimming the miniature trees was both a science and an art. Too little, and branches grew where they were not needed. Too much cutting, and he risked murdering the little tree. The Pope was blessed with sufficient self-awareness to understand the bonsai represented his own life and his mode of governance, but there was little he could do to control his obsession with the plant in front of him and its twenty siblings on the shelves in his workshop.
He also admitted the new Captain kept perfect control of his features and limbs. The number of people the Pope allowed into his greenhouse was limited, but nearly all shuffled their feet or coughed into their hands when he took his time with his trimmers. This was his first meeting with Charles Devereaux as equals, and the Captain might as well have been a statue, waiting patiently as he watched the Pope snip away with every evidence of keen interest.
The Pope found himself on unsure ground as he rapidly and silently reassessed the young man. The senior priest heard earlier through his contacts in the village that Captain Devereaux was walking through the village on the way to this meeting, and the Pope was unsure how to gauge this action. Some of the confined mutineers had distant relatives in the village, and to see their jailor (so to speak) walking freely through the streets was certain to cause a strong emotional reaction among them, and possibly a physical one.
He must have known that, yet he walked through the Basilica anyway, and he did it without guards. Was that foolish bravado or thoughtful confidence?
And in my greenhouse, he must know I’m testing him with my dallying, especially since his reputation precedes him. Between his actions in the village and his patience now, my assumptions may be wrong. If so, I must be careful not to underestimate this man. He is young, but he has perfectly assessed the situation, here and in the village, and is reacting accordingly.
Still, he has lost weight since we last saw each other. I can almost see through his skin. Is he healthy?
“You must forgive me, sir,” the Pope said. “Once I start on my little hobby, I find it difficult to tear myself away.”
“You are forgiven, Your Holiness.” Charles knelt to pet the white cat at his feet.
“Good answer,” the Pope said as he chuckled. “One more minute, please.”
“Take two or three, sir.”
Yes, I must be careful. He is not awed. Confident but not cocky, aside from whatever illness he has. Not an immediate disappointment like those before him, especially his father and grandfather.
The Pope set down the scissors sooner than he planned. “I think I’ve done enough damage today.” He gestured to the table and chairs behind him. “Tea?”
“A pleasure.”
“Cream and sugar there.” The Pope wiped his hands on a towel, noting that the Captain waited for him to sit before taking the opposite chair. The cat leapt into the Pope’s lap. “Both are real, I promise.”
“May I pour for us?” the Captain asked.
“Please.” Trying to impress me with these small gestures. Well, they’re working. I must be careful. “Captain, I was expecting the First Officer too.”
“She’ll join us later. I thought it best that you and I have some private time first. If I may jump in, considering your time is valuable and finite—”
“Not for you, sir. In fact, I have been exceptionally rude by not making myself more available to you. If you accept my apologies, I am your humble servant.”
“No, Your Holiness, I could have been more thoughtful in the timing of my appointments, but our respective duties have stretched us thin, sir.”
“Captain, let us agree that we are still works of clay in the hands of Our Lord, and we will work better to shape our days in His service.”
“Agreed, sir.” The Captain sipped his tea, foregoing the cream and sugar. “Sir, this is our first face-to-face meeting with me as your captain. As my father and others before him have said to you and your predecessors, I pledge my fealty and very being to the safety and future of Salvation.”
Interesting choice of words. “Me as your captain.” Deliberate, I think. The Pope made a cross between them. “And I to you, sir.”
“Thank you.”
“Captain, if I have to say it, you have the complete support of the Basilica. The College of Bishops will invite you to attend your father’s Celebration Day in our main chapel, I’m sure. Not exactly tradition, but he is certainly worthy.”
“My family would be honored.”
“Yes, this is a sad time for all of us. His tenure took us safely toward Landfall. Our Celebration Day in his honor must be fitting for his service.”
“Of course, Your Holiness.” Charles looked at the Clock on the greenhouse wall. “The Engineer will be joining us soon, and I appreciate giving me time before then to bring up a serious issue.”
“Should we discuss Landfall without her?”
“Not that. The mutiny.”
The Pope’s heart began to beat rapidly. “A tragic event. Allow me to repeat my condolences on the loss of your brother. He was admirable.”
“Thank you. Very much so.” Charles took a sip of tea. “You’re aware, of course, that the remaining mutineers are being held in the Back’s brig pending the outcome of the investigation and their possible trial. As noted in Section One of the Ship’s Charter, they are innocent until due process has taken its course.”
“A wise passage in the Charter.”
“Except I am not giving you complete information.”
“No?”
“No. In accordance with Section Three of the Charter, my father notified you and the Engineer that he was invoking the Emergency Actions section of the Charter.”
The Pope knew immediately where the young man was heading, and he tried to turn the conversation. “Historically, that has always been the most troublesome part of the Charter. Many of my predecessors requested a charter convention to rewrite it. Would you consider such a request at this time?”
Charles shook his head. “There’s a problem with that. We cannot have a charter convention on emergency actions when we are in a formal state of emergency.”
“Excuse me?”
“My father never ended the state of emergency, and I am not inclined to do so while the investigation into the mutiny is open, pending the trials of the mutineers.”
“I see.” I underestimated this man. He has thoroughly outmaneuvered me. “You said the investigation is pending.”
“Yes. I delegated the investigation to the Engineer to ensure neither the Crew nor Passengers are involved, as members of both were primary parties. She reached out to me to say her investigation team has been stonewalled by some people in the Ring. Key families and friends refuse to meet with the Badges. The parish priest managing the village with the mutineers’ homes has disappeared. The investigation has gone stone cold. The Engineer was hoping that I could appeal to you for assistance.”
I was afraid of this. I can’t prevent their investigation without placing key people at risk, myself included. “I confess to being part of the problem, sir. I ordered that the priest be reassigned for continuing education and training. Had he properly performed his function, there would have been no problems.”
“Or at least we would have received important information in advance about the capability of the mutineers.”
“Granted.”
“Where is he?”
The Pope blinked at the Captain’s bluntness. “I do not know. I do not handle the details, sir.”
“Understandable. Neither do I in the Front. Please have someone contact my office by tomorrow with those details. The Engineer and I want to wrap this up.”
“Yes, sir,” the Pope replied automatically. Cornered!
Charles took a sip of tea. “Until our concerns are addressed, Your Holiness, the state of emergency will remain in place, meaning due process is suspended until further notice.”
“But you just said the accused will be afforded due process.”
“Yes.” The Pope noted the young man’s hands did not shake as he spoke. “This is the first serious judicial action during my tenure,” Charles said. “I do not want to make mistakes, and I do not want to handcuff myself with rash or rapid decisions today if we experience similar issues in the future. But I also want to ensure the safety of all those aboard the ship. The state of emergency will stay in place.”
“I see your point, but I still do not see the necessity. Are you sure?”
The Captain did not change his expression or voice, but the Pope immediately felt the wave of volcanic anger emanating from the man. “I think so. Four people died in the airlock, including my brother. The mutineers could have destroyed the ship or, at a minimum, damaged it to the point of hindering our journey. All of this created a chain of events that resulted in my father’s death. So yes, I think it’s necessary.”
“When you explain it like that, it’s difficult to say otherwise.”
Charles tilted his head. “Please don’t misunderstand, Your Holiness. I didn’t want this job. I did everything I could to promote more worthy candidates, but here I am, wearing the golden eagles. I will do my job. And I have no desire to be a dictator, but I will not hesitate to take the needed steps to protect my ship and all those who live in her.”
“Your passion speaks well of you, sir.”
“As long as we understand each other.” The Captain set down his cup and stood. “We have a meeting to attend.”
“I need to gather my things.” The Pope levered himself from his chair, ignoring the cat’s meow as it landed on its feet, and pushed a button on the table. A priest in a long robe appeared at the greenhouse door. “Captain, this is my senior aide, Father Joseph. If you have a few minutes, he will guide you through to our meeting, and he can explain the art pieces along the way. Joseph gives a masterful tour. Please, as a gift from me.”
The Captain leaned forward at the waist in a bow. “The honor is mine. Thank you, Your Holiness.” He followed Joseph, and their footsteps faded away.
The old man contemplated their conversation as he picked up his cup and sipped his tea. With the Captain, the Pope did not offer his ring to be kissed as he customarily did with the Passengers. The Engineer was also excused from the same gesture. The three of them were equals, though the Pope wondered if the Captain would have done so simply out of politeness.
I must not test this man. He may have played the fool before, but those days are over. He will see through ridiculous ruses now. Does he have a confessor? I cannot break the sacrament, of course, but I must gain insight on this new player on the ship.
He thought of what he knew already. Ah, Maximilian Deidel is his doctor. A good Catholic. Maybe he knows why the Captain looks sickly.
His thoughts returned to his demand for the priest.
I am sorry, Captain, but your investigators will not be speaking to him now or in the future if I have any say in the matter.
Months ago, the Pope heard gossip of the farmers’ complaints about Landfall through his various sources and, secretly agreeing with them, decided to help them and see where their energies would take them. Through Father Joseph’s predecessor, he directed the placement of the young priest in their village, knowing the young man was too inexperienced to resolve the farmers’ grievances or temper their righteous fury.
I never dreamt events would fall as they would, especially leading to the First Officer’s tragic death, but here we are: a direct line from the mutineers to this office through the young priest.
No, Captain, you will not be speaking to him.
He barely heard her heels against the floor. “You carry yourself lightly, Mirriam.”
“A habit, Uncle. ‘Children should be seen and not heard,’ a wise man said once. That person looked like you.”
“You have the memory of an elephant, child.”
Mirriam took the seat vacated by the Captain. “Are there elephants on Salvation, Uncle?”
“Perhaps in the genetic library in the Back, but I’ve never seen an actual one myself.” Charles Devereaux may or may not have a confessor, but we have other ways to learn more about him. “Tell me, what do you think of our captain?”
“Younger than I thought he would be, but he is mature for his age.”
“Yes, good. I saw that too.”
“Is he sick?”
“I don’t know.”
“He doesn’t look well.” She tapped the Captain’s empty cup. “He is deeply aware of his responsibilities, and he is also lonely because of them.”
“I saw the first, missed the second. Perhaps he sees his duty as his companion.”
“Perhaps, but I think he’s lonely.” She turned the cup around. “Thank you for telling me his birth name before I met him. It was useful.”
“I’m glad, but…”
“Yes, Uncle?”
“I admit I made a mistake. I did not take him seriously in our previous meetings, and I may have considered him akin to a drunken dilettante in a penny opera about sailors and such. I am seeing a different person now. Mature. Thoughtful. He is still young, but he is not stupid.”
“That’s quite a bit of change in what? Fifteen minutes of sitting with him?” Her skepticism was clear.
“I have a few years of practice in reading people, and he is my fourth or fifth captain. Some were reprobates and fools. He is not.” Plus, he masterfully and tactfully addressed the mutiny without accusing me or my priests. Not that we were directly involved, but still.
“Fine.” She crossed her arms over her gold robe. “The next time we ‘accidentally’ meet?”
“Consider your task to be confirming our mutual impressions. Is he a deceiver with a carefully built facade that will fall? Or is he the savior of our race? I will pray for the second but must plan for the first.”
“That’s quite the assignment, Uncle.” Mirriam turned the cup over and placed it in its saucer. “And what do you think he is?”
“As I said, I will pray he is our savior. And who knows? It may even turn out to be true.”