THE COUNCIL OF FATHERS
Father Huber spiraled down the glittering stalactite like a great dark serpent, slowly arranging and rearranging his disparate parts until he reached his desired humanoid form just as his booted heels touched the floor.
He was early and had time to shuffle molecules around to create the look he desired for the meeting of the Fathers. He was tall, well-formed and wore a long black cloak that billowed when he moved, showing off flashes of red velvet.
His face was long and sharp with a beaked nose and looked vaguely like that of a predatory insect, the effect heightened by his dark, overly large eyes. Large hands with tapered fingers and sharp nails were almost clawlike when he flexed them. His face was a translucent green.
Father Huber moved gracefully to a long, highly polished mahogany table set up in the center of the immense cavern. There were a dozen high-backed chairs, with soft red-leather upholstery arranged around the table. One chair was larger and more regal than the others.
A golden tray with twelve golden goblets was set in front of that chair, the goblets were arranged around a large golden pitcher that was artfully carved with exotic forms that seemed to move in the dim flickering light that appeared to have no center. The light came from nowhere and everywhere.
The only sound in the room was water slowly dripping in some distant corner of the chamber. That, and the constant low insect-like buzz which emanated from a ceiling so high that it was nearly invisible in the gloom. Although it seemed to be in constant motion as if millions of small things were moving about.
Huber went around the table, stopping behind the tallest chair. He put his hands on the back, fingers clawing to get a grip and he pulled it back with a loud, scraping sound that made his internal fluids run cold.
A harsh voice came from the shadows: “You’re early, Father Huber.”
A shuffle of boots and a broad, squat shape followed the voice and Father Raggio stepped from behind a crystalline stalagmite.
Raggio’s fleshy mouth made what Huber assumed was an attempt at a smile as he added: “Here to vie for the Emanator’s Chair, I presume?”
“Presume what you like, Raggio,” Huber said, noisily dragging the chair the rest of the way and sliding into it.
Raggio winced at the sound. “Must you?” he said.
He took a seat on the far side of the table. Why Raggio chose such an ugly form, then draped it in a less than stylish Roman tunic over baggy cotton trousers was beyond Huber’s understanding.
His oily green face was streaked with red, as if it belonged to a heavy drinker. Like Father Huber, his hemolymph was yellow, not red. And, unlike Huber, Raggio wasn’t a heavy imbiber so the broken blood vessels were purely for effect. Huber supposed he wanted to give the appearance of a jolly fat man, rather than a member of the dour, bitter Cyndarian race who hid themselves well out of the view of the Emperor and his legion of spies.
That the Cyndarians were few in number made the subterfuge much easier. Of even greater help was their mastery of the camouflage sciences. They could take the form of practically any being in the Empire—including a few that never existed.
They had three things going for them: high intelligence, the ability to disguise themselves from their enemies, and the ability to reproduce by cloning.
The Cyndarians hailed from a planet where they were at the bottom of the predator totem pole. And yet over time, they were able to take charge of the mechanics of evolution to win the mantle of Top Predator.
Little by little they eliminated the competition by simply outfoxing them—changing their colors and shape, and then ambushing their enemies and making a meal of them. Over the eons they progressed to the point where they could take the first hesitant steps off their homeworld.
And that was nearly the end of Cyndarian race.
The first intelligent beings they met were the Gulos—a race far more technically superior and avaricious than the Cyndarians. They were nearly wiped out as the Gulos swarmed their homeworld, hunting down and killing every Cyndarian they could find.
The Gulos drove the numbers down so low that only a handful of Cyndarians were left. And that was when the group known as “The Fathers” began. They weren’t real fathers, of course. There were no male and female Cyndarians. Or any other sex.
To ensure their survival the Fathers determined to create an entirely new race. They would take the best genetic material from other life forms and mix and match until they had an unbeatable species of warriors who would drive the Gulos from the planet and then reach beyond.
And that was when Himmenops came into being. It was a species consisting entirely of females gathered in enormous hives. And at their center of these females there was a queen who ruled over her sisters and daughters with an iron hand and the ability to produce powerful pheromones that bent her subjects to her will.
Self cloning was no longer desirable—new genetic material was constantly required to keep the Himmenops from hitting an evolutionary dead end. And so the Fathers were always on the hunt for suitable males from different life forms to supercharge the new species.
Naturally, the Fathers intended to rule over all—but behind the scenes. Manipulating the Queen and her elite personal handmaidens—the Zabanya guardswomen. They also intended to keep their own Cyndarian genes in reserve, waiting for the day when they could safely emerge again—shedding the Himmenops chrysalis like a metamorphosing butterfly.
There were only two dozen or so Fathers in existence at one time. Periodically they induced the Himmenops to produce a special fetus, who would then be taken away to be raised and educated by the other Fathers.
The underlying problem with all this—the great weakness—was that it all had to be accomplished slowly and in great secrecy. To begin with, they had to deal with Gulos. Several centuries were required to not just defeat, but to eliminate the entire species.
Then, when the Fathers came blinking into the cold reality of the Empire and the Eternal Emperor they immediately saw that their genetic dreams of achieving the crown of Top Predator for once and forever were impossible against the forces of the Emperor—and his stranglehold over the ultimate energy source—AM2.
Once again the Fathers went underground. Setting up shop in shattered ruins that made up the center of the Possnet Sector, where an ancient cosmic disaster had destroyed a dozen planetary bodies or more.
Here they bided their time while the number of Himmenops grew. This worked well under several queens, but their latest queen—Venatora—had been so successful that birth rates had soared. Population pressures were such that the Fathers were considering bringing a new queen online to rule over a new colony.
This had only happened one time before and instead of becoming like-minded royal sisters ruling side by side, a civil war had erupted. Countless Himmenops were killed, driving the population back down to dangerous levels.
And now it was about to happen again. Princess Anthofelia had come to the fore. In Raggio’s view she was the worst possible person to set up shop in a neighboring colony. She was too greedy, too egocentric and if truth be told, not very intelligent. Raggio had no idea what had gone wrong when she had been snipped and pasted together.
But she had been Father Huber’s project since the beginning and it was Raggio’s opinion that he had made a hash of it. Her cell should have been broken into long before she reached attainment and the mewling worm inside killed and thrown out with the other genetic trash.
Raggio suspected Huber was sticking with his princess because he didn’t want to admit weakness or error to the other Fathers. The Fathers were not a forgiving, brotherly group. Just the opposite. There were always candidates—with supporters—waiting in the wings and the slightest hint of weakness and the knives would come out.
This had also happened before.
Raggio shuddered at the memory.
That time only sheer luck and betrayal had kept him wary enough so that he’d turned, just as the blow was struck. The knife scraping along his ribs.
And he’d turned… and kept turning… capturing the knife hand.
Turning it inward.
Then upward.
And a minute later his foe had been lying on the deck of Raggio’s stateroom, breathing his last while his life’s blood spilled out on the floor.
The sound of a distant gong brought him out of his reverie. And then the other Fathers entered the chamber. Drifting down from on high, or slipping from dark corners.
They moved toward the big table, each taking on the form they favored for meetings like this. Some chatting amicably. Others maintaining a grim silence.
But they all had one thing in common: glittering eyes that were constantly on the move, sweeping left to right and back again.
Watching for the knife.
When they were all seated, Raggio lifted the pitcher of wine and filled a goblet to the brim. He passed it to his right and filled another.
When all had been served he raised his goblet.
“Blessings upon us all brothers,” he said. “And let the emanations begin.”
“Blessings,” the others murmured, and they all drank deeply.
Huber made a face as he finished. “Really, Raggio,” he said, “we must do something about the quality of the sacramental wine.”
He ostentatiously gulped water, swished it around his mouth and swallowed. “Tastes like old blood,” he said.
Next to him, Jesop, the clown of the group, laughed.
“Good going, Huber,” he said. “The meeting hasn’t even started and we’re already arguing over the wine. This ought to be fun.”
The other Fathers laughed. Raggio saw his enemy wince.
With growing confidence, and no little pleasure, he brought the meeting to order.
“The first order of business is rather urgent,” he said. “We need to end this rebellion Princess Anthofelia has launched. It not only endangers our long range plans, but in the short run it may ruin our chances to capture a vital asset.”
“You are making some rather large assumptions, Brother mine,” Huber said. “To begin with, you are assuming we all see the princess as an upstart. That she’s calling for rebellion, when to some of us her actions are the natural order of things.”
“Natural?” Jesop said, his face twisted in mock outrage. “There’s nothing natural about this whole shebang. Anthofelia—like all the other women—is a compilation of snips and bits of DNA from so many sources only our best computers can keep track of them.”
Huber looked so outraged, that for a moment Raggio thought it was sincere, and not an act.
“I’m shocked our brother should feel this way about our creations,” Huber said. “True, the bodies they walk around in were not achieved through recognized biological practices. But at the heart of every Himmenops is a kernel that is pure Cyndarian. Our true species.”
He leaned forward for effect, his voice rising dramatically.
“I, for one, am sick to my heart at the cynicism displayed by our brother. When the Fathers before us launched this holy mission, they pledged that someday there will be a holy metamorphosis and the great Cyndarian race would throw off their fleshy bonds and emerge onto the Galaxy’s stage as the greatest race that has ever existed.”
Father Raggio was stunned when several Fathers responded with “Hear Hear.” And “Well said.”
He looked around the table. Only Jesop seemed to be unmoved by Huber’s little speech.
“There’s no arguing with a man on a holy mission,” Raggio said in his most mocking tones. “But we are dealing with practicalities here. Not sanctified speech. If we allow this rebellion to continue it will dangerously divide our Himmenops daughters.
“We’ve seen it happen before. The palace intrigue will quicken. The knives will come out. And soon it will be sister against sister.
“In Queen Venatora we have a wise and stable leader. Under her we have experienced slow, but steady growth. And we have all become stronger and richer without rousing the suspicions or attention of the Eternal Emperor.”
There were mutters of agreement, but to Raggio’s dismay, they lacked conviction.
Huber caught this and rushed in to say, “I think we should call for a vote of confidence. It’s clear to me that our dear Raggio has lost his way. There is a great opportunity just before us and strong action is needed.
“Captain Skink and his colleagues have chosen to support Princess Anthofelia. And she in turn has the strong support of the Tahn’s own Lord Fehrle. If we help them snatch Demeter from under the very nose of the Emperor and hand it over to the Tahn they will be forever in our debt.”
Jesop laughed. “Pirates in our debt?” he said. “An oxymoron if I heard one. As for the Tahn—” Jesop made a rude noise. “With that and a pot of beans all we’ll get is a blast of very smelly hot air.”
“Brothers, brothers,” Raggio pleaded. “We mustn’t divide ourselves over this. A great war is coming. Perhaps the bloodiest and most costly war in centuries. The Eternal Emperor versus the Tahn. And any being foolish enough to stand between them will be destroyed.
“Like Father Huber I see great opportunity. But not in the way he portrays it. When this is over the Empire will be on its knees. With millions, perhaps billions dead. Starvation and disease will rule then. Beings will be looking for leaders. Begging for help.
“It is then that the great metamorphosis will begin. And the time of the Cyndarians will begin, just as it was foretold.”
Silence.
Father Raggio’s eyes swept the table, looking for signs of support. Which way was the wind blowing? It was difficult to tell.
Seeking a compromise, he said, “Perhaps there is a kernel of truth to Father Huber’s complaints. Perhaps Venatora’s time has passed.”
There were murmurs of surprise. No one had expected Raggio to retreat one centimeter. Of course, retreat, was not what Raggio had in mind.
“Venatora has become more independent lately,” he said. “Sometimes dangerously so. I’d be willing to contemplate installing a new queen. Someone more biddable. Someone willing to follow our every order.
“In my view Anthofelia is not that woman. She is not fit to be queen. If we are to keep the Himmenops under our thumbs, we need someone the women will follow even without the aid of our pheromone treatments. To find someone like that will take time and training. And it will have to be carried out in complete secrecy so Venatora doesn’t get wind of it and put paid to our plans.”
Jesop said, “That sounds reasonable to me. All of us agree we must have a strong queen. And all of us also agree that queen must be willing to follow our every order without question.”
Huber said, “We have that queen in Anthofelia. There’s no need for a search or for training. I’ve trained Anthofelia myself. If I say ‘Jump’ the only question she’ll ask is ‘How high.”
Raggio snorted. “How kind of you to sacrifice your valuable time to train a new queen without troubling the rest of us.”
Huber got his back up. “I say we should rid ourselves of Venatora right this minute and install Anthofelia to the throne.”
Raggio started to argue, but Jesop raised a hand. “Brothers. Brothers. There is no need to quarrel. Besides, what is the great hurry? Why must a decision be made now? Why not wait a small while and see how the game plays out?
“What was it that great human bard said about being too hasty? ‘They stumble that run fast.’”
Huber snorted derision. “Must you always play the clown, Father Jesop? Speak plainly, man. I have a motion on the table. I called for a yea or nay vote. Which shall it be? Anthofelia? Or Venatora?”
“I move that we vote to delay the vote,” Jesop said.
Huber laughed. “That’s nonsense.”
Raggio said, “I second Father Jesop’s motion.”
A few minutes later he banged the gavel and brought the meeting to a close.
* * * *
Venatora paced the deck of the Takeo waiting to hear from Father Raggio.
She glanced up at the monitor and saw Skink’s little fleet poised at the edge of the jump point.
Next stop: Punta Royal.
Should she stay or should she follow?
There was a crackling sound in her ear. And then came the voice.
“I bought us time,” Raggio said. “It’s all up to you, now, daughter mine.”