Last updated on July 21, 2024
Part 1: I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, but I fear no evil
When they took him to his new cell, nearer the seat of government, Elias was surprised to find it overlooked the Square of Lost Heroes, a place, his studies revealed, which was dedicated to the contemplation of peace. Perhaps they were sending him a signal. Although he was getting used to their arcane way of thinking and doubted such a signal was as superficial as face-value would suggest. Defining the meaning of their message would require much thought.
He sat on the edge of his bunk swatting at the M’lee flies buzzing around in his cell’s thick air, his mind turning in circles of worry, trying to clarify the Moaik’s intent. Peace and acceptance of the misunderstanding would be preferable, but if needs be, he would be the Sword of God.
“I don’t need much,” he had said to Cimvric Ah-Mah when the invitation to attend the court of the Imperatorin came through. “Just a place to sleep, pray, and study.”
Ah-Mah just nodded and left, presumably to make arrangements.
It seems he had taken Elias at his word. His cell was, despite its august position, quite basic. Just a single handwoven rug depicting a famous landscape adorned the floor. A small, wall-mounted writing desk, and a specially made stool, compatible with his human shape were the only furniture apart from his bunk, which was little more than a few pallets fixed together, topped by a foam-like mattress, a flat sack of dried lichen for a duvet and another, smaller one, for a pillow. A small chamber for toilet and bathing looked recently plumbed, its newness a contrast with the other furnishings.
The Moaik were excited and curious about his sleeping arrangements – they slept standing up – and talked about it endlessly, mostly concerned at how vulnerable he was when sleeping. They took a lot of persuading not to post a guard right next to his bed, arguing such proximity would deter all but the keenest assassins, which in itself was food for thought for Elias. He could, of course, deal with any assassins sent for him, but why, in a monoculture such as the Moaik, would there be ANY assassins? The extremists who had attacked Earth, perhaps. Although his hosts had led him to believe that they had either been dealt with or accepted the error of their ways. Maybe there was more to this than met the eye. Elias decided he would put his faith in God, leading him along the right path.
On one wall was a carved wooden crucifix stuck to the plaster by feather wax donated by one novitiate assigned to look after him. He was looking at it and praying for guidance when the heavy wooden door burst open and a distressed Cimvric La-ae hurried in, slamming it behind her.
The Cimvric smoothed her crown feathers down, and stood before Elias, her head bobbing and her wattles inflating and deflating incessantly.
“Father Elias, have you gone utterly mad?” She demanded, waving both hands in a complicated pattern before Elias’s face.
“I’m sorry, La-ae,” Elias backed away further onto his bunk reflexively. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You do not know of sorrow,” she said, her words tumbling urgently from her toothy mouth, “until you have made ill with Imperatorin Ceé.”
“Made ill?” Elias looked genuinely dumfounded.
“The feast,” she hissed. “You have been commanded to attend.”
“And so I shall,” Elias smiled. He reached for his bible and opened it to a page he bookmarked before landing. “I would not miss this for anything.”
“Then why are you sitting on your bunk?” The young Cimvric hopped from one plas-silk covered talon to the other, her eyes blinking with each step.
“I have my devotions to make at the appointed hour, and then I will attend,” said Elias. He glanced at his watch. In less than ten minutes, the asteroid, behind which his Xhimp, Cando, was hiding, would come into the line of sight, just above the horizon. He would remain in the sky for a further thirty minutes, during which Elias could securely communicate with him.
“When will that be?” La-ae’s dance of agitation increased in both frequency and amplitude until she was bobbing her way around the small floor-space.
“About ten minutes, which is approximately four nubyrw, just a bit less,” Elias replied, pointing at his watch.
La-ae stopped her bobbing, threw her arms wide, fingers splayed and threw back her head, “Four nubyrw, FOUR nubyrw! The Imperatorin Guard will feast on your entrails by then.”
“Why? What time does it start?” Elias threaded his eyebrows together. Moaik were notoriously lax with timekeeping, marking most events by the rising and falling of the sun, with little in-between. They had a formal time system, but few took heed of it, and most adhered to the homily, “If there is enough time for your task, there is enough time.”
“It starts,” La-ae leaned forward, her eyes glaring, “when the guest of honour arrives and pays homage to the Imperatorin.”
“And I take it that’s me?” Elias chuckled at the thought of dozens of Moaik aristocracy standing around in front of heaps of Bicrub carcasses, talons twitching, waiting for him to tuck into his vegetable stew. “We’d better get a wriggle on then, old girl. I can make my devotions before we go in the hall.”
“Yes, yes, good, good,” La-ae yanked the door open and hopped out, leaving Elias to gather up his bible and don a cape.
The walk to the banquet hall through the Gardens of Contemplation, bordering the square, was less than the ten minutes needed, but Elias managed to drag it out, much to the distress of La-ae. Elias paused under the shade of a large tree reminiscent of a Terran tropical palm and waited for the pinprick of his watch.
“Hurry, hurry,” the Cimvric urged. “The Imperatorin is preparing to leave the palace.”
“How long will he take?” Elias asked.
“About ten nubyrw, once he leaves,” La-ae said. “But it will take as long as it takes.”
“I must pray now,” Elias replied. “I will not take much time, certainly less than ten nubyrw.”
“Please let it be so,” La-ae took several steps away from Elias, to give him privacy, and held up a hand to the guard following them, cautioning him not to approach. Elias knelt and held up his crucifix, kissed it and switched on his internal communications array. He waited, and soon the locking ping of Cando’s comms synced with Elias’s.
“Hey boss,” came the Xhimp’s familiar voice. “Anything changed?”
“No,” subvocalised Elias, “but keep a lock on me. I have a feeling that things are coming to a head.”
“Sure boss,” the Xhimp said. “Should I arm the device?”
“Yes, up to the tertiary stage, but leave final arming until you hear my code, or if you are certain I have been killed,” Elias said. “Then you know what to do.”
“Boss,” the Xhimp said. “I’m scared.”
“I know Cando, I’m scared too,” Elias soothed. “But it’s up to us to make sure your family back on Earth remains safe.”
“I know,” the Xhimp replied slowly. “I just fear the end. Not existing.”
“We’re shared consciousnesses,” Elias stated flatly. “Our beings will snap back to our minds on Earth once these vessels are gone. Otherwise, I could not sacrifice myself by my hand.”
“That comforts me, boss,” Cando conceded. “But it doesn’t stop me worrying. Will you take my confession?”
“Yes,” Elias replied.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” began the Xhimp. His confession was short. There was not much opportunity for mortal sin while clinging to a rock orbiting in the Moaik asteroid belt. Elias blessed him and said no penance was necessary. It seemed churlish to do otherwise, given the Xhimp’s impending sacrifice.
Father Elias Banks rose to his feet, nodded to his Cimvric companion, and strode into the banqueting hall, while setting up a series of internal changes that would convert his android body into a low yield nuclear weapon.
Part 2: And His dominion will be forever. TBC.
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