Central Administrative Building, Eneah III

  It would have been funny if it weren’t so tragic…

  That was the thought that occupied Patriarch Ilarion of Eneah as he sat in the large chair of the small room. For centuries patriarchs had been viewed as the symbol of power and progress, the guardians of the church, and the highest authority within the United Orthodoxy and possibly all of human space itself. Grumblings and discontent would always be present, lurking in the shadows or seeded in the newfound worlds on the fringes of colonized space, yet no one could deny what the clergy had done to save humanity as a species.

  Back when the unnaturals controlled Earth, it was the clergy that had freed humanity. Since that faithful day, the union of patriarchs had deservedly taken the role of humanity’s custodians. Their word was law, their decisions final, their goal—ensure that humanity never be conquered again, no matter the cost. Sadly, as of late threats were on the rise, reaching dangerous levels.

  Ilarion glanced at the confidential reports on the large screen of the room. What had started as a single unfortunate event, had quickly cascaded into a systematic failure of epic proportions. As of an hour ago, a hundred and eighty-seven similar cases had been confirmed, all involving seeding-ships. Certain institutions had done a very good job hiding the overall picture from the wider audience. Compounding the problem, local bureaucracies had done their best to tweak all reports and statistics for the sake of their careers. As things stood, losing their jobs would be the least of their problems. Representatives of the planetary clergy had already seen to it that everyone involved be anathemized and sent off to penal colonies.

  “Do you have concerns, your holiness?” a priest asked from the corner of the room.

  The patriarch focused on the screen once more, concentrating on the members of the “research team” for this mission. It was impossible not to notice that almost half weren’t human. Undoubtedly there was a valid reason for that, but Ilarion didn’t know what it was. Even worse, he wasn’t consulted on the matter. The orders had come from Earth, which was all he was allowed to know. It wouldn’t be the first time that the Solar system had refused to share details. Time had made the baptized arrogant. Illarion knew that all too well. He, too, had been born on Mars, a fact that he hadn’t missed an opportunity to mention during his formative years. Only now did he see the vanity of it all.

  “You’re assembling lambs for the slaughter,” he said. “An interesting strategy. You’ll have to tell me who came up with it.”

  The priest froze. He had been granted all necessary permissions to conduct the operation as he saw fit. Legally there was nothing anyone in the military, the church, or the system’s administration could do about it. And yet, the old man’s presence made him feel uneasy.

  “The decision was made by the high patriarch himself,” he quickly said. “The members of the team were carefully—"

  “The high patriarch is nothing but a figurehead. If I make it to a hundred-and seventy they’ll probably give me the title.” Ilarion’s tone hardened. “I know full well who’s pulling the strings. I’ve known some of them since they were children. What concerns me, is that I still haven’t been informed as to the real nature of your mission.” He turned his head, giving the priest a cold glance. “And why is your Order involved?”

  “Only as a precautionary measure, your holiness.”

  “A precautionary measure.” The patriarch shook his head. “Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I’ve gone senile. Any idiot can see that your research team was never meant to do any actual research. Does Theodor really think I’ve gone so soft that I’ll scrap the mission out of fear?”

  The priest didn’t respond. In a way, that was the answer that Ilarion expected. They really thought that he had gotten soft.

  “The arrogance of youth.” The old man laughed. “Well, don’t worry. I don’t intend to ruin your carefully crafted plans. You’re still taking a huge risk. What if your special team stumbles upon something? With so many eyes on them, it’ll be impossible to cover things up should they fail.”

  “That’s what Novice Iva is there for. If needed she’ll intervene.”

  A new file opened on the screen, displaying the woman’s personal file.

  “Another interesting choice,” Ilarion noted. “Especially considering what she was sent to the penal monastery for. Baptized, born on Earth, made it all the way to captain… and then turned into a massive stain for her family and her planet.”

  “Her past no longer exists,” the priest said. “She’s a novice now.”

  “A novice of your Order.”

  If the patriarch were in charge of the operation, he wouldn’t even have considered making a psychopath such as Iva part of it. It wasn’t just the things he’d done—more gruesome things happened on the newfound worlds every day. It was the fact that she had made it so far in her career that worried him. To earn the authority she had before her demise, Iva had to have gone through multiple rounds of psychological evaluation. Family connections alone didn’t explain the failure.

  “This isn’t the only team, is it?”

  “No, your holiness,” the priest admitted. “There are two more in different sectors.”

  “Thought so,” Ilairon sounded pleased with himself. “Tell me, how many ships did we really lose?”

  “It’s impossible to be certain, but estimates are anywhere between a hundred and ninety and two hundred and seventy within a timeframe spanning decades.”

  “Two hundred and seventy?” If true, that was catastrophic. “And all of them affect the lead seeder?”

  “Yes, your holiness.”

  That went beyond simple sabotage. Someone was deliberately affecting colonization patterns. It was subtle, devious, and far beyond the scope of a few rogue organizations. Real power stood behind this.

  “I hope you pull it off.” The patriarch stoked his beard. “For all our sakes. The Empire has doubled its expansion efforts. In a few generations they might surpass us.”

  “It will be taken care of. You have the assurances of my Order.”

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  “Ha. As if that ever mattered.”

  The patriarch extended his left hand—an indication that the conversation was over. The priest quickly went up to the seat, then kissed the ring on the old man’s hand. Moments later, he was out of the room.

  All in all, the meeting had gone better than expected. The first time Emanuel learned that he’d be dealing with the old man, he had believed the whole thing to be a cakewalk. Rumors about Ilarion’s mental state had been circulating ever since the patriarch’s hundred-year anniversary. It was said that he had grown soft and detached from his duties. Things couldn’t be further from the truth.

  The first time Emanual had gone to him, the old man had managed to intimidate him into silence, without even raising his voice. From that moment on the priest had always kept his guard up.

  “We have his blessing,” the man said as he continued along the corridor. His words were added to the conversation recorded by his cross.

  From a legal perspective, it was strictly forbidden to record anything said by a patriarch without their explicit permission. Emanuel had long crossed that bridge. The moment he set foot outside the building an encrypted info burst would be transmitted to the network of security satellites in orbit. From them it would jump along a series of relays until reaching its destination.

  Meanwhile, a hundred stories lower, in the very same building, colonel Andrew Likow was facing an impossible task of his own. The officer had been given the unenviable task of sharing the details of a high-classified mission to a rag-tag group of unnaturals and civilians. The former, he could endure. The latter sent chills down his spine. Nothing in the universe was worse than placing a civilian in a military op. Sometimes the man thought that the church was full of idiots. How could they expect he’d be able to pull things off with such a crew? A child, an untrained dryad, a scientific has-been, and a pampered prodigy… that was what he had to work with. He would have very much preferred to be given a squad of actual soldiers.

  “Listen up,” the colonel began. “Our purpose is to investigate and find the cause of a series of seeder malfunctions. Since this is of vital importance for the United Orthodoxy, we need to be fast and thorough about it.”

  Five sets of eyes stared at him. Even Notice Iva didn’t seem remotely content with the explanation.

  “Recently it has come to the Orthodoxy’s attention that a series of dryad seeder ships have suffered fatal malfunctions resulting in their destruction,” the man tried again. “Up to now sabotage had been ruled out. However, the emergence of a pattern has demanded further investigation. You’ve been chosen because…” Andrew paused. “Because you are considered specialists in your respective fields. It’ll be up to you to find the cause of the incidents and provide solutions to rectify it.”

  The dryad and the boy looked at each other. Both of them were so out of place that it wasn’t even funny.

  “My name is Colonel Likow and I’ll be running this operation,” the man continued. “Within a few hours we’ll be flying off world and towards the mothership Clarity. During that time each of you will be handed all available data concerning the incidents. It will be on paper and is not to be copied or discussed with anyone outside this room. Am I clear?” He looked straight at Jillian.

  More confused than afraid, the boy nodded.

  “Two more members of the team will be joining us in due course.” The colonel turned away. “Now, if there aren’t any questions…”

  “I have a question,” Radij asked from the back of the room. “What exactly is the nature of the malfunctions we’ll be analyzing?”

  “Weren’t they briefed at all?” Andrew looked at Iva. The novice calmly looked back, then shook her head. “Perfect… As I said, there have been a series of seeding-ships—"

  “Have been destroyed under strange circumstances,” the fat engineer interrupted. “What I want to know are specifics. Black box data, previous reports… a lot more than can fit on a few sheets of paper. Clearly, you think that it’s more than a software issue or you wouldn’t have brought in a dryad to join the team.”

  “You’ll be given everything necessary once you board the ship,” the colonel replied. “With that I’ll expect you to be ready in two hours.”

  “What about—” Radij attempted to squeeze another question in, but before he could, the colonel and the silent nun had left the room. “Well, thanks for your time,” he said, his words dripping with sarcasm.

  As far as the engineer was concerned, things were off to a terrible start and that was before he even knew the details. A military mission overseen by the church combined the worst of both worlds: the army had the habit of aiming for the impossible, and the church tended to punish every minor flaw along the way.

  “Any chance either of you were told something more?” Radij turned to the children present.

  “I got something,” Acacia said. “If we pull this off, we’ll be made honorary citizens of the Solar System.”

  Hearing that, the man couldn’t help but smile. When she felt like it, Acacia was very good at obtaining pointless concessions. And, as usual, she completely missed the point. Becoming a citizen of the Solar System was a huge career boost, but also pretty useless now that she had gone so far up the corporate ladder.

  “That’s something, I suppose,” the man said. “It’s a safe bet that the issue is related to the seeder’s cargo systems.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “It's obvious. Two top engineers and a dryad.” This almost started as the start of a bad joke. “What else could it be? I suspect we’re the observers and she’ll be the lab rat. Hey, kid—” Radij turned to Jillian “—you work in a hatchery, right?”

  Silently, the boy nodded.

  “There you go.” Radij clapped his hands together.

  “Still taking shortcuts.” Acacia crossed her arms. “And jumping to conclusions. Colonial motherships have thousands of dryads. It would be a lot easier, and cheaper, to use those that are already there.”

  “And all of them will remain unconscious until they crash into a planet,” Radij replied.

  The phrase caused the dryad to tremble.

  Jillian gritted his teeth. It was the worst possible thing to agitate a dryad, especially in a hostile environment such as this. So far, she had successfully endured the artificial surroundings she had been placed in, largely thanks to the cocktail of drugs injected into her. Yet, even those had their limits. That’s why hatcheries didn’t allow visitors. Any seemingly harmless phrase had the power to cause a dryad to lose control. The church had done a good job thoroughly coating the building in countermeasures that severely diminished Silvena’s strength, yet that wouldn’t stop her from attacking the fat man directly.

  “How are you?” Jillian whispered while the engineers continued the conversation. Thank goodness they were on separate sides of the room.

  “It’s not as bad as the box,” Silvena replied. If there was any attempt for her to put on a brave face, it failed. “I think I’ll endure a few more hours.”

  It was a blessing that there were plants in the room. Small, insignificant, and purely decorative, they acted as an anchor to the dryad.

  “It’ll be less,” Jillian lied. The time spent in the hatchery had taught him to know a dryad’s emotions only by looking at her. Right now, Silvena was anxious and afraid. More concerning, he could sense seeds of anger sprouting.

  “Ignore them,” he said. “They’re just outsiders. Techs don’t know anything beyond their field. They’re just scared, that's why they’re talking nonsense.”

  “Will they sedate me?” the dryad asked all of a sudden. “Once we get on the ship, will they sedate me like the others?”

  “They might have to. At least during the trip. They’ll wake you up when we get to the colony ship.”

  “Pity.” Silvena closed her eyes. “I was hoping to be unconscious the entire time.”

  Jillian remained silent. In all honesty, he wasn’t particularly fond of the flying steel coffin they’d be going on. Other than the flight to the capital, the boy had never been in a flying machine, let alone anything that traversed space.

  “I’ll be with you,” he said, placing his hand on her shoulder. “Every step of the way, as always.”

  He could feel the words reassure her. For a moment a faint smile even formed on her face. Sadly, this wasn’t a training exercise. Things wouldn’t get back to normal in a few hours. There was a good chance that Silvena would never return to the hatchery. The only way was for her to accept this new reality. From what Jillian had heard, millions had done just that, some choosing to live as free dryads in human cities. Yet, he also knew that it would be painful… very, very painful.