the crowds in the village of the Basilica, shaking hands and slapping backs with a smile on his face. He thoroughly enjoyed getting out of his compound and working the crowds like this, thinking of himself as a leader who remembered his own humble beginnings. Like Father Joseph, who hovered behind him, the man once known as Piotr was raised in the Ring’s orphanage, where his youthful piousness and passionate devotion to religious rituals garnered the attention of the right people.
The elder priest considered himself fortunate to be elevated by his former peers in the College of Bishops to his current position, and he felt he fully earned the privileges that came with the responsibilities of being one of the three most important people on Salvation.
Really, one could even argue, the most important person on the ship.
He tried not to listen to those small voices, but they persisted.
“‘And Jesus answered and said unto him, Get thee behind me, Satan: for it is written, Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and him only shalt thou serve.’”
Try as he might, his prayers failed to drown out those voices.
He and Father Joseph stopped at a small pub, and the Pope allowed the owner to serve him hot tea in exchange for a blessing on the humble establishment. Father Joseph declined the offered cup as he sat across from the Pope.
“Are you well, my son? I don’t remember you ever turning down a good cup.” The Pope took a sip. “I must admit this is not up to your standards, but it does do a soul good.”
“Thank you, sir. I am fine.”
“If you’re sure.” He examined his aide over the brim of the teacup, and he saw that Joseph was pale with wrinkles lining his face that hadn’t been there a month ago. “Father, would you like me to hear your confession?”
“I met with my confessor this morning, sir, thank you.”
“Then would you like to vent?” The young priest nodded and touched his ear, and the Pope correctly understood the meaning. “Give me a minute to enjoy this, and we’ll be on our way.”
“Of course, sir.” Joseph held up a pad. “May I?”
“Certainly.” The Pope never got into the electronic habit, relying on his encyclopedic memory to remember a host of facts and figures. But he was also honest with himself when he knew his short-term memory wasn’t what it used to be. There was a time he could recite the names of the ten or twenty people he met on the path from his compound to this café, but those days were gone.
He set the empty cup down. “I think we dallied enough of the day away. Shall we?” He magnanimously gestured to Father Joseph to take the lead out of the building. When they were finally able to put the crowds behind them, he whispered, “What is on your mind, my son?”
“Sir, we should get inside.”
“We’re fine. Please.”
“Sir, I learned something most disturbing through our friends.”
The Pope knew he meant the Walsingham Channel. “Yes?”
“The explosion may not have been insurgents. Some believe it may have been an assassination attempt.” Father Joseph went on to explain that the targeted shuttle bay housed the Captain’s skiff and that the Captain and the Engineer scheduled a private meeting at the same time as the explosion.
“Oh, my.” The Pope crossed himself. “Do you think it is true?”
“That they were to meet in his skiff that day? Yes, sir. I received confirmation from three independent sources. Whether it was an assassination attempt, I cannot say, but the Engineer keeps a bodyguard with her now, I’m told.”
“Heavens.” The Pope wondered briefly if there was more to the proposed meeting in the shuttle but quickly discounted it as an unbelievable possibility. He had a more urgent concern. “Perhaps that is why the Captain and the Engineer have not responded to our formal complaint about postponing Landfall.”
“It’s possible, sir. Even probable.”
“Yes. Time is of the essence, if I understand the space mechanics of our situation, correct?”
Joseph nodded. “If you mean about the orbital insertion and Landfall, yes. The closer we are to the solar system, the greater the pull of gravity. There will be a point of no return when a simple redirection of our trajectory will no longer be possible, and we will have to enter the system.”
The Pope mulled the situation and decided that drastic action was necessary. “I feel another meeting with the Captain and the Engineer would be fruitless. Time is on their side.”
“Yes, sir. I would agree, on both points.”
“Can we enlist our friends to help guide the discussion in the Back?”
“Of course. We can always petition them to speak and act within the limits of their good consciences. We cannot hold them by the scruffs of their necks and speak words against their beliefs, but we can guide them.”
“I leave it to your expert hands.” The Pope laid his hand on the priest’s arm, knowing he was about to trigger the young man. “Do any of our friends have navigation training?”
Joseph froze. “Sir, if I understand what you’re saying, we would be treading into dangerous territory. From the outside looking in, someone could even say we’re discussing a mutiny.”
“No, no.” His Holiness patted his arm. “Nothing like that. Let’s us say I would like an independent resource of my own to confirm the complex discussions ahead.”
“That being the case, sir, we have one or two people I can talk to. But… sir?”
“Yes?”
“I feel I must remind you again that these kinds of questions threaten the existence of the channel. It only takes one person to have a change of heart, and we may find ourselves answering difficult questions.”
The Pope patted Joseph’s arm. “If you’re worried, I’m more than willing to assume that responsibility. And I repeat, I just want an independent expert to talk to. Please proceed at your earliest convenience, my son.”
“Certainly, sir.”
The Pope was pleased to see that Joseph understood the order as well as his harmless lie. He did want a navigator in his figurative back pocket if things came to a head with the Captain, but he was not about to tell that to Joseph or anyone.
He looked at his personal aide and chief spymaster. I’m working him too hard. “Take some time for yourself over the next few days, my son. ‘All work and no play,’ you know.”
“Thank you, sir.”
They entered the compound to find Mirriam waiting at the main entrance of the building inside the barrier.
“If it is not my favorite niece!” the Pope exclaimed.
“I’m your only niece, Uncle.”
“Even so.”
Her eyes flicked to Joseph, who got the hint.
“I’ll set things in motion immediately, sir,” he said. “With your permission?”
“Off with you. Go do good deeds.” The Pope held out his arm. “Child, I am not ready to return to my desk. Shall we wander the gardens?”
“Reading my mind, Uncle.” She took his arm. “You seem in good spirits.”
“The Lord’s work is a self-fulfilling promise for a good mood.” He peered over his shoulder to confirm that they were alone. “You do not seem as happy. I assume you heard back on your request to the Front?”
“‘The Captain sends his regrets and cannot meet with you at this time, citing the full-time nature of his responsibilities.’”
“Cannot or will not?” he asked rhetorically. “Sounds like the perfect bureaucrat.”
She sighed. “I brought this on myself. I underestimated him, and he is right. I tried to manipulate him.” She stopped and turned toward him. “Your formal protest did not help. He can only view me as the opposition now.”
“You’re not wrong. Let us walk while I ponder the conundrum.” The Pope turned over the possibilities in his head. “How about this? Joseph will get you the contact information for another underling in the Front. You will reach out and offer to do a recital for the ship’s company. The Captain will attend out of a sense of duty. You find a way to spend time together alone, and as they say, nature will take its course.”
Mirriam stopped. “I don’t like what you’re implying, Uncle. I’m not your jezebel.”
“I know, and I’m not saying that at all.” He took her hand. “I’m proud of the person you’ve become. No one is worthy of you, in my mind. But if there must be one person, let it be the best man that the ship has to offer.”
“And let nature take its course, like you said?”
“I ask nothing more.”
“Fine.” She stepped from his grasp. “Nothing may happen. The bridge between us may be thoroughly burned and have collapsed into the water below.”
”’Audentem Forsque Venusque iuvat.’”
“Pardon me?”
“Forgive me, my child.” He smiled and put her hand back on his arm. “Old men like to show off to beautiful women. It’s a quote from an ancient poem. ‘Venus, like Fortune, favors the bold.’ I may be misusing it for my own purposes, but perhaps the poet meant ‘Love favors the strong.’”
“I think we’re wasting our time. Either way, time for practice.” She kissed his cheek. “You’re a scoundrel.”
“No argument. Off with you.”
She went in one direction, while the Pope turned and went the other as he considered his actions in the last hour.
I could hear the ice cracking under my feet while I spoke to Joseph and Mirriam, yet I couldn’t stop myself from happily spinning my webs with the blissful ignorance of the innocent on a mission. The Lord’s work or those little voices again?
Is there even a difference?