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The Rose by Chris Cook, Part 1 @->--
So this was how I was going to die.
It was cold in the chapel, not really because of the weather,
but just because the old building was of stone, and no-one came in here
during the week. It was the cold of a place that wasn't being lived in.
On other days I had been in such places they had seemed welcoming, warm
light streaming through the stained windows, lighting up the scenes of
saints and miracles with bright colour, like a child's painting, all
fresh and new. There had been voices, talking or singing, and movement.
They had been alive. The statue of the Emperor standing at the end of
the aisle between the low benches had always, to me, seemed to be
smiling faintly.
Now it was night, and although this place was in every way
identical to those I knew, the colour was gone. The images in the
windows were only patterns, etched into grey glass, the saints and
miracles nothing but stories, relics from too long ago. No sound but
the wind brushing the branches of an old tree against each other
outside. Now the statue seemed stern, displeased to see His holy place
so empty, devoid of happiness. He had only me to look upon, and I had
no joy to offer. Only a few hours, now, before dawn. Then I would be
escorted out of the chapel, away from His sight, and moments later my
life would end. My only comfort would be that it would be my own hand
around the hilt of the blade - my judge had allowed me that small
honour. But, somehow, in the cold of night not even that made any
difference.
All I could do was wonder what I had done wrong. I had always
tried to serve Him as well as I could. What had I done, to make Him
turn His back on me?
@->--
I was nearing the end of my fourteenth year when I last saw my
family. For the last three years, coincidentally from my eleventh
birthday, I had dutifully attended the school run by the Missionary,
Father Deacis. He was an old man, but he had seemingly boundless
reserves of energy. He was never late, never tired. It was rumoured he
had been a great warrior in his day - he had a scar running down his
face, from just below his left eye right down to the point of his chin,
just touching his lips on that side. He had a limp, as well - actually
not a limp, but a curious sort of stoop whenever he rested his weight on
his right leg, as if he couldn't quite straighten his knee. Rumours
abounded among us, the children who were gathered together three days
every week to learn from him, about how he had acquired these features.
A popular one was that he had once fought a war droid with his bare
hands. He had once taken us to Clearsky City to see some of the relics
of the Liberation, and one of them was a droid. He talked, at the time,
about how such machines had helped bring hundreds of worlds like ours
back to the Imperium. The rumour surfaced after that, and some of the
new kids were told that he looked at that droid with a funny expression.
I was there, and I don't remember that. Father Deacis himself never
talked about his personal experiences, in battle or otherwise. For all
I know, he used to be a farmer.
The Adepts of our town's Shrine had told all our parents that we
would be instructed in the proper ways of the Faith - reading and so
forth had been taken care of earlier, although some of us children were
still a little rusty on math. Our attendance was compulsory, of course,
but allowances were made for the harvest, so no-one really had any
complaints. A few parents were heard to remark that it was good we were
being taught something useful, instead of lounging around making
nuisances of ourselves. I'm not sure if we got exactly what the Adepts
had intended - Father Deacis tended to go off on great tangents,
sometimes for days at a time, discussing all sorts of things besides the
correct prayers and hymns.
"You!" he said one day, when Emile was gazing into the middle
distance in the middle of a speech on galactic exploration. He knew
each of us by name, but tended to use 'you' as an equivalent of 'wake
up' - it meant the recipient was going to be criticised for something.
"Why do the great Lords of Terra send out Explorator fleets?"
"Huh?" answered Emile. "I mean," he corrected, as his brain
caught up with his mouth, "to bring the light of the Emperor to the
lost
worlds."
"Young man," Father Deacis said, "do you have any idea how much
effort goes into a voyage of exploration? Do you think this is done
purely because the Emperor likes having a statue of himself in every
city where humans live?" Emile was at a loss, so he went on. "We have
enemies in this galaxy," he said, his gaze leaving Emile to sweep over
all of us, "even though we sometimes may not realise it. All of you are
too young to remember the last time this world was threatened. Some of
your parents may not have been born then. It doesn't matter, I don't
expect you to truly understand what it means for a world to struggle
simply to live." He paused for a moment, then went on.
"We have enemies, and they are many. Some of you have heard
of the Eldar? Or the Orks? Let me tell you that, if either of these foes
appeared on this world right now, we would die. Yes, I know the Guard
would defend us," he said, pre-empting by half a second a rebuttal from
a boy whose father was a lance-corporal of the planetary defence force,
known simply as the Guard. "It would not be enough. Have any of you
ever kicked over an anthill? Did you know, there are such things as
soldier ants? There are indeed, fighters whose job it is to protect
their brothers, the workers. Did those soldiers stop you from kicking
over their hill? No, they didn't.
"And so it would be, if the Orks were to suddenly appear in our
skies, landing their ships, charging out, howling battle-cries and
laying waste to all before them. Do any of you know why they don't do
this? I know you've heard a few things about Orks, surely you know they
enjoy fighting? Why don't they come and take this vulnerable little
world, if it would be so easy? I'll tell you why they don't. The
nearest Ork force to this world is distanced from us by several months'
travel at best speed. Suppose they set off towards us right now. That
would mean they would arrive here a few weeks before Emperor's
Ascension. By that time this world would be ringed by Imperial Navy
warships, and its soil would be protected by the Imperial Guard,
alongside our own Guard of course. Any greenskin that makes it past the
Navy would be so much target practice for the guardsmen." He allowed us
a moment to chuckle at the image.
"Now, let me ask you something: could this world, alone, have
produced the defences I have just described? Let's assume our invaders
were repelled by half a dozen cruisers and their escorts, and one full
regiment of guardsmen with their tanks and support vehicles. Manpower?
Certainly, it was only five years ago that the Guard provided its best
to form the eighty-seventh Brightwater regiment. Tomas, your uncle was
one of those who was recruited, was he not? But what will they fight
with? The Guard has barely enough lasguns to equip itself, all produced
off-world. Those of you who have parents or relatives in the Guard will
know that during day-to-day operations they use autorifles. This world
can't manufacture heavy weapons, or tanks, or transports. And it has
been two millennia since Brightwater had a functioning spacedock, and
even then we only built escorts, not cruisers and battleships." He gave
us a moment to absorb this.
"We rely on other worlds for our protection. We rely, in the
grand scheme of things, on the Imperium. And, lest you be thinking that
Brightwater is some sort of drain on the Imperium's collective might,
the Imperium relies on us just as much. How many worlds does
Brightwater export foodstuffs to? Bri?" he asked one of the older
girls.
"Seven," she answered confidently - it had only been last week
we had diverged from holy crusades to the distribution of food and raw
materials throughout the sector.
"Correct. We could not fight off an Ork invasion on our own,
not if we had all of eternity to prepare. And if we, and worlds like
us, stopped filling the freighters that come to us with grain and so on,
every hive world would starve in a week. This is the essence of the
Imperium - together we are strong. This is why we strive to bring the
Emperor's light to every lost world. If, tomorrow, an explorer in the
Ultima Segmentum, clear across the other side of the galaxy, sets foot
on a new world and begins the process of making that world one of the
Emperor's again, Brightwater is a stronger world. One day, Emperor
willing, every human world will be part of the Imperium, and then," he
paused to make sure we were listening, "only then, will we be able to
look out at the myriad enemies of mankind confident that we have done
our best to prepare for their coming."
He glanced at the chronometer at the back of the hall the Shrine
had secured as our schoolroom. "Time to go home," he said, "tomorrow we
will examine the wars of faith that occasionally arise from Explorator
missions. Dismissed."
It was after three years of this that we were assessed by the
Adepts. At the time we thought it was some sort of final examination,
to ensure we had been paying attention to what we had been taught.
Father Deacis seemed mildly amused to see some of the more ambivalent
children suddenly start sitting up and paying attention. But as it
turned out we weren't examined, at least not in that sense. The Adepts
came to our town, and watched us for a full week, in our lessons,
outside during the short breaks, on the weekends when we went to
service at the chapel, and when we trained at dodge and highball. They didn't
want to know what we had learned - they were interested in what we
might, possibly, be of use for in the future.
"Ant, you're next," said Myles, re-entering the schoolroom where
the rest of us were reading our texts. He was talking to me - initially
the nickname had annoyed me, but after three years it was just a name.
One by one we had been called into the small room that served as Father
Deacis' office. I heard Myles telling one of his friends as I left that
he'd been told he should enlist in the Guards when he was of age. I
found Father Deacis not in his usual chair - well, I assume it was
usual, I had only once before been in the office - that was when he had
taken us all to the City to see the relics, he had told our parents
individually of the arrangements for our accommodation so far from home,
and they took me along when they met him. Now he was standing in the
far corner of the room, among the cabinets which were presumably filled
with files and books, as these were also stacked on top of them. In the
chair was the apparent leader of the Adepts, a thin man who had been
introduced to us a week earlier as Adept Peersan. On his right side was
a middle-aged woman with a sharp face who I had noticed among the
group.
"Please, take a seat child," said Peersan. I did so, after
bowing quickly to the Adept and the woman. I noticed Deacis smiled
slightly - some of us had had a hard time getting etiquette right, when
he taught it for a week two years earlier, when to bow, when to make the
eagle sign, when to lower our eyes and so forth. I had always had a
good memory, so this wasn't much of a challenge.
"You are of the Juno family, correct?" asked Peersan.
"Yes sir," I answered quickly. It wasn't often that our family
names were referred to in the proper form - usually it would have been
simply 'Jun', but presumably the Adept had gotten his information from
official sources.
"Jun, Antonia," he went on, "born on the fifth day of Nis
Thamar, nearing fourteen years ago." This didn't seem to be a question,
so I remained silent. "Well, you're older than the Sisterhood would
usually consider, but first lieutenant Deacis tells us your knowledge of
the Faith is excellent." First lieutenant? None of us had known Father
Deacis had held rank. Then this detail vanished from my mind in the
face of what else had been said: the Sisterhood! "You perform well in
physical contests, too, and tests of endurance," Peersan went on. This
was true - having three older brothers will do that for you. I had been
vice-captain of the highball team for the last two summers, second to
Myles who was tall and fast, and unstoppable once he had the ball in
his
hands and had got up some speed. I liked the game, but preferred
cross-country. I liked letting my mind wander on the long runs.
"You will be trained in the Convent on Delva Four," said the
woman, who I later discovered was a Sister Superior. "You will be
required to be ready to leave your home tomorrow morning at dawn. Your
family has been informed."
@->--
To be continued...
--
TRANSLATOR: Chris Cook
TRANSMITTED: Alliance Heavy Cruiser Artemis
CROSSFILE: http://www.netspace.net.au/~alia/
AUTHOR: Sister Antonia
THOUGHT: To every life a light that shines.
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