This is a private blog
When the dust of the universe finally settled, Father Vincente Mariani looked back at this day and realised he was mistaken. What mattered to him at the time would prove trivial, and what seemed trivial would in fact be a harbinger of peractum est. And the events of the day, as devastating as they seemed, were just the beginning of a long trail through the Valley of the Shadow of Death.
The day began brightly enough, with sun and fried eggs on the small patio at the rear of his cottage, a bracing walk around the shops; chatting and blessing as he wove through the women in their faded best, laughing with the men and artists in frock coats and football shirts; and penultimately, but gloriously, a celebration of Mass in his small church high in the Italian hills, just fifty kilometres north of Rome.
Chapter 1 – Part 1
S’tan, the Lord of Darkness, removed his cans and in a voice like lava flowing over a geology professor – smooth but with a shriek in the background – said, “What does ‘Smack my bitch up, like a pimp’ mean?”
Shadows flickered in the light of a thousand fires, as dark, rodent-like figures scurried through labyrinthine passageways to the Books of All Knowledge chained to serried ranks of desks stacked high with ancient tomes in the high galleries above the Hall of Kur. Trails of sulphur billowing in their wake as they ran, their red eyes flashing as they flicked through whispering folios of arcane script, the Librarians of Perdition sought the answer to their master’s query in a flurry of searching, their bladders weakening with every turn of a page.
In this part, I’ve updated Captain Alois to Captain Cloutier. MW
S. Maribel’s mess, typically filled with animated conversations, was eerily muted that night. The off-duty crew, jaw muscles stretched tight, reflecting their anticipation of a critical day in prospect, ate their meals with their eyes fixed on the surface of the small grey table, folded out from the deck, midway between the processor stripes on the aft wall, and the forward console, which controlled the level of magnification available to viewers in what doubled, in the limited space of the craft, as an observatory.
It was Elias’s first time there, and he spent most of his time gazing, mouth open, at the vista he saw through the bubble of stretched-diamond composite which sat atop the ship. The scene on which his eyes rested was the wide band of the debris ring, set against the backdrop of the galactic star field, and intersected by the slow, tumbling comets, rich in blues and greens reflecting in Maribel’s lights, preparing for their descent into the gravity well like icy migratory whales readying for their swim to the calving grounds. Its magnificence almost caused him to break out into songs of praise, and he wondered if perhaps he should, if only to lighten the mood. Before he could, the compartment door swung open and Lieutenant Bright, followed by Doctor Wildbird, climbed through.
In this scene, our protagonist sees the Redlines for the first time, and gains understanding of Dr Jane Wildbird’s name. I’ve also changed him from Fr Ellis Simpson to Fr Elias Banks. Part 4 Let there be light “Elias is here to see the Redlines,” Bright said, interrupting Banks’ thoughts. Alois nodded and tapped at the console adjacent to his chair, bringing the forward screen into glowing life. Elias stepped forward, peering at the displayed star-scape. As a child he would often run up the hill at the back of his parents’ farm after dinner and chores, and lie, spreadeagled,…
Father Ellis arrived at the bridge hatch before Bright and Wildbird, who were still pulling themselves along the two hundred metre length of the axial corridor. The door, to his surprise, would not open when he tried.
“Maribel,” he said, reflexively touching his e-Go, a small comms bud behind his right ear. “Open the bridge door, please.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Dave,” she giggled.
I’ve rewritten Part 2, particularly the corridor paragraph – please read from there. Mart
Father Ellis Simpson woke to the sound of nothing other than his laboured breathing, a state of quietude which lasted only a few seconds before a soul shattering agony leapt at him like an avenging demon, invading every muscle, sinew, and bone in his body. He could feel a grand mal tinkering with his cognition right at the edge of his perception and he reflexively glanded Kopiramate 11 to suppress it, but his system had nothing for pain.
A green light flashed on a panel in front of him. It was so bright he could glimpse it through his tightly closed eyes. Forcing one eye open, he saw it was more than one light. A series of letters in a readout panel read: “Hibo capsule opening in:” The numbers next to the message were counting down in seconds and showed just over two minutes to go.
Tentatively moving one emaciated arm to test the lid of his capsule, Ellis sucked in air tasting of chlorinated faecal droplets as the grinding of unused joints added to his distress. He gagged.
“Good morning, Father Ellis,” said a soft, female-sounding voice. “I am Maribel, your ship’s intelligence. I observe you are in some pain, so I will administer some aid for that.”
“Please,” grunted Ellis. He tried to turn his head to the speaker on the left wall of the capsule, but stiffness forbade more than a few millimetres of movement. A faint hum preceded a growing glow of relief, and he relaxed in his cocoon.
“You have been hydrating for four hours, so with analgesics you should be able to function once your capsule opens,” Maribel informed him in her gentle, sing-song voice. “However, I should caution you not to make any rapid movements until you have fully acclimatised in about ten hours.”
“How long have I been under?” Ellis asked.
“One year and nine days,” Maribel said.
“A year!” Ellis jerked forward and winced, instantly regretting it as his body complained. “We were supposed to be travelling for five months.”
The original mission parameters were for the ship to accelerate at one gravity for two months, then decelerate to their destination for a further three months. Five months in total. A year must have taken them beyond the Oort Cloud into interstellar space.
“The mission has changed,” Maribel said. “We are no longer looking for mining opportunities.”
Before Ellis could reply, the capsule in which he was encased made a muted clank. The top split in two and slid back to leave him lying on a gurney. Two figures stepped into view.
“Easy Father,” said the first, a short woman dressed in a white lab coat, her face a blend of three or four ethnicities arranged with easy symmetry, as if by diplomatic agreement. Ellis recognised her as the ship’s doctor, Eloise Mugangwe. “You look rough. These damn old-fashioned V6 Hibo-caps are useless for anything over six months. We’re going to give you a sedative, and then pump some fast-nutrients into you.”
“Wait,” Ellis croaked. “Before you knock me out. Who authorised the extension of this mission? This is Vatican funded, and I should have been consulted.”
“Father, the Vatican has gone. Earth was raided by an alien task force after you went into hibo,” said the second, a thickset man in a military flight suit, whom Ellis did not know. “The whole of Rome was levelled before we fought them off and I was despatched by fast picket from Jupiter Station to intercept you. This is a military mission now.”
“If the Vatican has gone, who authorised it?” Ellis asked, his mind racing with the implications of the Vatican being destroyed and by aliens no less.
“New Rome has been established in Compton, Maryland, USA,” the military officer said. “There has been a convocation of the remaining cardinals and a new Pontiff elected.”
Ellis squinted at his name tag. It said, “Lieutenant Bright.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Ellis said, feeling relief in the knowledge the church had continued. “Who is the new Pope?”
“Cardinal Skaunce from New York. He hasn’t chosen a papal name yet, or at least he hadn’t when I got my orders. I haven’t had chance to make further enquiries.” said Bright. “My briefing notes say you know each other.”
Ellis did indeed know Pierre Skaunce, they lodged together in London when they were jointly assigned to the diocese. Skaunce was a moderniser, a man with his eyes on the future. He was a proponent of women priests, ending ecclesiastical celibacy, and an open celebration of non-binary love. Things were about to be shaken up.
Cardinal Skaunce once told him sex wouldn’t exist in the future. “It’ll all be sanctified steel onanist basins and long-distance frontal lobe stimulation. If you ever meet your significant other in the street, you probably won’t recognise them.”
This convinced him the church should cast aside Episcopal celibacy and follow the Eastern Orthodox and Catholic Churches who required married clergy to abstain from sexual relations only for a limited period before celebrating the Eucharist. He was of the view that protecting God’s gift of procreation might become the ironic preserve of the priesthood.
“How bad was the destruction?” Ellis asked, saying a silent prayer for the dead.
“About a billion dead. Most major cities damaged or destroyed.” Bright’s features tightened, as if some memory attached itself to the statistics, and Ellis added a prayer for the man’s peace. “Infrastructure is shot, but thankfully repairs are underway and the whole thing has brought humanity together.”
Unity in adversity, thought Ellis, it is always the way with humans. If you want to bring people together, find a common enemy.
“How did they get here?” Ellis was a geologist by training, but he knew enough about physics to understand interstellar travel was more or less impossible.
“Ah, yes,” said Bright. “That’s why I’m here. When you’re sufficiently recovered, I’ll brief you.”
The man stepped back, allowing Mugangwe to administer a sedative, and Ellis dropped off the edge of consciousness into a world of nightmares.
Session Three. Read from Part 2 – In the beginning
Father Ellis Simpson woke to the sound of nothing other than his laboured breathing, a state of quietude which lasted only a few seconds before a soul shattering agony leapt at him like an avenging demon, invading every muscle, sinew, and bone in his body. He could feel a grand mal tinkering with his cognition right at the edge of his perception and he reflexively glanded Topiramate 11 to suppress it, but his system had nothing for pain.
A green light flashed on a panel in front of him. It was so bright he could glimpse it through his tightly closed eyes. Forcing one eye open, he saw it was more than one light. A series of letters in a readout panel read: “Hibo capsule opening in:” The numbers next to the message were counting down in seconds and showed just over two minutes to go.
Tentatively moving one emaciated arm to test the lid of his capsule, Ellis sucked in air tasting of chlorinated faecal droplets as the grinding of unused joints added to his distress. He gagged.
“Good morning, Father Ellis,” said a soft, female-sounding voice. “I am Maribel, your ship’s intelligence. I observe you are in some pain, so I will administer some aid for that.”
“Please,” grunted Ellis. He tried to turn his head to the speaker on the left wall of the capsule, but stiffness forbade more than a few millimetres of movement. A faint hum preceded a growing glow of relief, and he relaxed in his cocoon.
“You have been hydrating for four hours, so with analgesics you should be able to function once your capsule opens,” Maribel informed him in her gentle, sing-song voice. “However, I should caution you not to make any rapid movements until you have fully acclimatised in about ten hours.”
“How long have I been under?” Ellis asked.
“One year and nine days,” Maribel said.
“A year!” Ellis jerked forward and winced, instantly regretting it as his body complained. “We were supposed to be travelling for five months.”
The original mission parameters were for the ship to accelerate at one gravity for two months, then decelerate to their destination for a further three months. Five months in total. A year must have taken them beyond the Oort Cloud into interstellar space.
Father Ellis Simpson woke to the sound of nothing other than his laboured breathing, a state of quietude which lasted only a few seconds before a soul shattering agony leapt at him like an avenging tiger, invading every muscle, sinew, and bone in his body. He could feel a grand mal tinkering with his cognition right at the edge of his perception and he reflexively glanded Topiramate 11 to suppress it, but had nothing for the pain.
A green light flashed on a panel in front of him. It was so bright he could glimpse it through his tightly closed eyes. Forcing one eye open, he saw it was more than one light. A series of letters in a readout panel read: “Hibo capsule opening in:” The numbers next to the message were counting down in seconds and showed just over two minutes to go.
Tentatively moving one emaciated arm to test the lid of his capsule, Ellis sucked in air tasting of chlorinated faecal droplets as the grinding of unused joints added to his distress. He gagged.
California Institute of Technology, LIGO2 facility, Hanford site, Washington State“Oh, my giddy aunt, waaay-ting,” Doctor Aurélie Amadi sang at her screen while drumming her fingers on her desk. While she waited for her results, she was watching the sailboats far below on the lake made by a Moaik Kinetic Energy Weapon when it ploughed into the Hanford Campus of Caltech’s Laser Interferometer Gravitational Observatory – LIGO – fifty-five years earlier and wishing she could be there in her tiny dinghy, cares left behind, just her, the wind, and the waves.As lead researcher of the LIGO2 project, Aurélie was familiar with…
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