Sullivan Saga 2: Sullivan's Wrath (5 page)

“You think he’s going to do anything to himself?”

Sullivan shook his head. “He could have done that anytime, anywhere. He’s going to try to use the ship for some purpose, I’m sure of that. I just wish I knew what.”

Kate kissed him on the side of the neck then put her hands on his shoulders. “You’re so tense, Rick. Let me give you a massage.”

“No. I need to be tense right now. I need to stay awake to monitor the ship, and I need to think.”

Kate nodded. “I’m going to get some sleep, then.”

“All right. I’ll join you in six hours.”

Sullivan watched her go then finished clearing the table. He made his way forward to the cockpit and checked the displays. Nothing seemed amiss. He pulled up the latest news from Edaline. It would have already been a month old by the time it reached Silvanus, but he wanted to be as informed as possible before they reached his home planet.

He scanned the most recent headlines. The government, led by Steve Hall, was slowly rebuilding the economy and those areas that had been destroyed during the civil war. Thousands were still homeless, however, and nearly a million were without jobs.

Every few weeks, an act of sabotage or an assassination would be attempted. There were still many from the former military and government who were loyal to the old regime. James Miller, as commander of Edaline’s armed forces, was busy not only dealing with hostile elements within the military but also with policing the streets.

Crime was at an all-time high due to the lack of jobs and the large number of people left homeless. The people of Edaline were desperate. Few went out after dark because of the roaming gangs who preyed on those weaker than them. In some parts of Agrona, Edaline’s capital, sporadic turf wars were fought between gangs trying to control their neighborhoods. A lot of military equipment had gone missing during the civil war; these gang battles were often deadly and destructive.

Sullivan sighed. It would take a long time for Edaline to recover. He flipped over to another article. Here, at last, was some positive news. A biologist from the University of Agrona named Vijay Bhargava had made an expedition into the cave networks in the jungle surrounding the city and had determined that the Squamata population was beginning to recover. The large, reptilian creatures had been nearly wiped out by Edaline’s previous government, but the new administration had taken a position of strict non-interference. Much of the jungle had been set aside as a nature preserve, restricting development on Edaline but preserving the planet’s biological diversity.

As he read, Sullivan learned that, not surprisingly, some had opposed this decision, stating that now more than ever, Edaline needed development if the planet’s economy was to recover. Prime Minister Hall had pointed to Faris as an example of a planet with both a thriving economy and strong environmental protections. It was Faris, Hall argued, that Edaline should look to as a model. His plan, called Edaline’s Dawn, was highly ambitious. Despite his personal differences with Steve Hall, Sullivan knew that he was right. As he read over the plan, he could find little to argue with.

Sullivan closed the news feed and looked out into the blackness of hyperspace. He’d had six months of rest on Silvanus, six months to be with Kate. He’d known that the Alexander family’s friends wouldn’t be able to keep the Bureau at bay forever; he’d know that he was still a wanted man. But for six months, he’d been able to rest physically, if not mentally or emotionally. But now, with Frank lying and stealing away to Edaline, all of Sullivan’s old rage had bubbled back to the surface. He felt like the lost, angry man he’d been when he’d killed Representative Palmer back on Earth. He felt like he could break at any moment, and he didn’t know how much more strain he could take. If it continued for much longer, he was afraid he would begin lashing out at Kate.

He thought about what Kate had said to him. Should he just let Allen go? Should he have Hammond reroute the ship for Faris? No. The hyperspace entities were using Allen to lure Sullivan, he was sure of it. He had to play their game for the time being, if only to keep Kate safe. It was possible they could do something to her if he didn’t cooperate. But there was more than that. He owed Frank Allen his life. And despite Allen’s deception, Sullivan owed him his loyalty. It would mean letting the old Rick Sullivan loose again, to do what he did best. And even if doing that ended up costing him dearly, Sullivan would not abandon his friend.

II: BETRAYAL

BROTHER PETER HADN’T told Brother Mark about his vision that day. But now a week had passed, and he found himself growing anxious. Every night, as he closed his eyes to go to sleep, the same image of a crucified Jesus flashed into his mind.

He of course realized that his obsessive focus on the vision could be causing him to see it in his mind’s eye. But when he found himself sitting across from Brother Mark, playing another game of chess, he felt the desire to seek his fellow monk’s advice.

As Peter waited for Mark to move, he picked up a captured knight and studied it. The detail was exquisite. The set had been hand carved by one of the founders of the monastery. Father Warren had spent years carving piece after piece out of oak, pine or any other inexpensive wood he could get ahold of. It wasn’t until he was satisfied that he had the necessary skill that he brought out the ebony and boxwood he had set aside and began carving the pieces that Peter would eventually play with a hundred years later.

Every brother who was inclined to play with the set was first told this story and given to understand that the pieces were irreplaceable. After every game, each piece was carefully returned to its slot in the box Father Warren had also carved. Blitz chess, of course, was completely out of the question.

The story of Father Warren’s chess set was also used to help new arrivals become comfortable with their new way of life. Like Father Warren carving his pieces, they could expect to find life in the monastery difficult at first. The rules, the schedules, would all seem overwhelming. But they would be taken to the lounge where a glass display case stood in the corner. Inside were five shelves, each containing at least twenty chess pieces. The top shelf held the very first pieces Father Warren had carved. The next shelf down held the pieces from his next year of carving, and so on. New arrivals would be shown those practice pieces that Father Warren had carved and could see how they improved from one shelf—one year—to the next. So it was with monastic life. The first days and months would be the most difficult. A new monk would find his tasks overwhelming; he was bound to make mistakes. But as time went on, a brother would find things just a bit easier. Before long, the analogy went, pawns would be no problem at all, and he could move on to carving the more complex rooks and bishops. A new monk would then be shown Father Warren’s final set of chess pieces. They would be told how he’d spent hours on each piece, carefully carving it, hollowing out the base so metal weights could be added, lacquering it, polishing it.

But that wasn’t enough. Once one had created something so precious, one had to protect it, keep it beautiful. So it was with monastic life. Devotion to God required daily maintenance. The monks were told to never become complacent about their calling, to never let their chess pieces get broken, scratched or dented by careless handling.

Every year there were a few brothers who took this analogy to heart and began carving chess sets of their own. The monastery now possessed nearly forty hand-carved chess sets, some of them quite good, and as a result most of the brothers ended up taking up the game. Peter himself had played little before coming to the monastery, but had soon become a skilled and enthusiastic player. Brother Mark, on the other hand, had seen some tournament play before entering the monastery and won a good ninety percent of the games he played against Peter.

Peter glanced around the lounge. When they’d begun their game, a group of brothers had been quietly chatting by the window, but he was relieved to see that he and Brother Mark were now alone.

Brother Mark made his move, sliding a bishop to Peter’s back rank—which he had carelessly left unprotected by moving his rook forward—and threatening the anchor in one of Peter’s pawn chains. Peter pretended to study the board for a few minutes. Finally he looked up. “Brother,” he said, “may we pause the game for a moment? There’s something I wish to discuss with you.”

Mark smiled. “Of course.”

Peter cleared his throat. He took a sip of water from his glass. Why was he stalling? Why was he reluctant to share his experience with Brother Mark?

“About a week ago,” he said after taking another sip and wiping his mouth, “I woke up during the night. I turned over onto my side, and against the wall of my room I saw a vision of Christ being crucified.”

Mark nodded. “Are you sure you weren’t dreaming?”

“Yes. I had already been awake for a few minutes.” Peter paused. He decided not to tell Mark about his erotic dreams. “I had been actively praying during that time,” he said. “I was certainly awake.”

Peter waited to see if Mark would respond. When he didn’t, Peter continued. “And now, every night since then, I see the same scene when I close my eyes, as though it’s etched on the back of my eyelids. As long as my eyes are closed, it never fades, never goes away. It takes a great deal of concentration for me to ignore it and try to fall asleep. And I’m afraid I haven’t been sleeping too well because of it.”

Mark put his elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand. “I’m sorry to say I don’t have much experience with that sort of thing. Have you told Father Curtis?”

“No, not yet.”

“Why not?”

Peter picked up another chess piece and turned it around in his hands. “To be honest? I’m afraid to.”

“Why?”

“I’m afraid that… that I’m not supposed to see those sorts of things.”

“Brother Peter, I’m new here. I don’t know what the official Cenobian position is on visions. But if you believe that it
is
genuine—if you’re certain that it’s not your mind playing tricks on you—I don’t see how Father Curtis or anyone else could deny that you are having a religious experience. He certainly can’t prove that you
aren’t
, and I don’t think he would take that tack anyway. As far as I know, you’ve never... caused any trouble, so to speak. I think that Father Curtis will take your visions seriously.”

Peter smiled. “So you don’t think I’m just letting my imagination run rampant?”

“No. If you’re sure that you are having a genuine experience, I believe you.”

Peter set down the chess piece and looked back at the board. “Thank you, Brother Mark,” he said without looking up.

“Not at all.” Mark tapped the board. “Now I believe you have a bishop to deal with.”

FRANK ALLEN TURNED the corner and glanced up the street. Now that he was out of the city center, the effects of the war were more pronounced. The cleanup had been focused on the residential areas. The industrial sections of the city, like the neighborhood he was entering, were still littered with rubble, and some of the buildings were taped off and marked as unsafe due to the damage they’d received from aerial bombardment.

Allen had a basic idea of the layout of Agrona, Edaline’s capital, but he didn’t need it. He was being told exactly where to go.

“Keep going down this road until I tell you to turn,” said the voice, Liz’s voice. Allen nodded and kept walking. He’d been assured by her that no one else could hear it. Still, every time she spoke, he looked around to see if anyone else had reacted to it.

Allen studied each building that he passed. From what he’d seen of the city so far, life on Edaline was still rough. The war had left the planet essentially without a government for several months. The rebellion’s leaders had arrived from Faris as soon as they could, but it wasn’t soon enough to prevent a loss of stability. The predictable economic collapse that followed was still in effect. All across the city were empty offices and closed-up storefronts. Traffic was light. There was a strong military presence in the city, but Agrona still had a sinister, threatening feel to it.

“Cross the street at this corner,” Liz said.

Allen checked for traffic then jogged across the road. He passed a homeless man sitting on the corner.

“Do you have any food?” the man asked, meeting Allen’s eye.

“No,” said Allen. “Sorry.”

Allen felt a twinge of guilt, but he really didn’t have anything on him. He didn’t even have a way to give the man some money. He recalled that before all financial transactions were conducted electronically, beggars would ask for small amounts of physical money. He’d read that some planets still made physical currency and that on those planets there were many more beggars than on others. He’d also read about what were called “helping hands.” These were hand-shaped credit cards onto which a person could load a small amount of credits. These could be given out if physical money was not available. If he wasn’t being so carefully ordered by Liz, he would have taken a moment to find a way to get the man some assistance.

“Keep going straight,” said the voice, as though she had sensed his desire to stop and help the man.

Allen turned his attention back to the street. The northern part of Agrona was dominated by factories and warehouses. Beyond them, the city thinned until it finally gave way to the agricultural area, with fields stretching away toward the horizon.

This part of the city was nearly empty, devoid of activity. Some of the stores in the city were still open, still selling goods, but manufacturing had almost completely ceased.

“Slow down, but don’t stop walking.”

Allen complied.

“Notice anything strange about the warehouse across the street?”

“There are signs of activity. And it’s being guarded. Too many cameras for a standard warehouse. A man on the roof. He has a weapon.”

“Exactly. That’s where the ship is being kept.”

“Is it operational?”