Shaped like a sun with stylized corona and prominences jutting out from the circular nave, the Palace Cathedral stood two hundred feet high, a glitter of gold-coloured plastocrete. Around its circumference lay ‘sunspots’, actually portals into the Gaze, which stood open night and day. Inside, dim light played in the immense round room. The scent of old incense seemed to ooze out of the white walls and the wooden benches standing under the high dome of the ceiling, which glittered with a hologram that Roha had commissioned upon his assumption of the cardinal’s robes.
As he did nightly, Roha sat down on a bench to lean back and contemplate his artificial sky. All the close stars and nebulae shone in their correct places, but the view centred on the streak of light that represented the edge of the galaxy, the fabled Rim. While the settled worlds of the Rim did indeed lie far-off, some thousands of light years away, the artist had portrayed the galactic edge as if it lay a million LYs away, where it would seem a mere lambent wisp, an unreachable promise of better times and holy things, an apt symbol for the doctrines Roha preached. He was a firm believer in the doctrine of Perfect Separation, that is, the belief that the closing of the macroshunt had been part of a divine plan. Here, separated from the hordes of unbelievers in the Rim, the Lifegivers could clarify their teaching and hone their faith for the eventual reuniting with the Rim, where they would become holy prophets in the church of the Eye of God.
Of course, Roha had added a few new twists to this ancient belief, twists that lesser minds might term heresies. And was that why the Papal Itinerant was favouring him with a visit?
With a little shudder at the thought of Sister Romero, Roha got up and strode out. Behind the cathedral stood the Chapter House, a square building of plain tan stuccocrete. On the ground floor lay the offices of the diocese, while on the floors above were various residences, a library, and the central Mapstations and storage archives of the order. The cardinal’s quarters occupied the top floor, behind a triple series of specially configured autogates. At the outer office, Roha paused for a word with Dav, who was studying a report from the laboratories.
‘It’s getting late,’ Roha said. ‘You can leave any time you’d like.’
‘Thank you, Your Eminence, but I wanted to get through this.’ He waved a fleshy hand at the vidscreen of his Mapstation. ‘Test results from the novitiates. This is a pretty weak batch when it comes to microgenetics, I’m afraid.’
‘If you have to flunk the lot, do it. They have all the time in the world to repeat the course, after all.’
Dav grinned.
‘Hold all my incoming calls here, will you?’ Roha said. ‘I’ll answer them tomorrow.’
The cardinal’s inner office was spartan, with a simple desk positioned before a wall that consisted of a small, flattened version of the hologrammatic sky of the Gaze. Waiting on his vidscreen hung a long queue of details requiring his attention and approval - every new parish proposal, complex genetic alteration requests, each budget submission from every Gaze of Palace, invitations to important social events, and even a few letters from children from all over Palace. When he had the time, Roha enjoyed clarifying difficult questions of theology for young people. He could remember back to his childhood when he’d written a letter himself to the Pope on Retreat. Getting a real answer had been the highlight of his young life. Perhaps it had even set him on the path he now walked.
After an hour or so of work, Roha caught himself yawning. Nothing left on the queue had to be dealt with immediately, he reminded himself. The morning would be time enough. He was just getting up to leave when an obsidian disk on his desktop chimed, turning pale blue.
‘Blast you, Dav! I told you to hold my calls.’ A hologram of Sister Romero’s unsmiling face formed upon the disk.
‘I’m afraid I pulled rank on your factor,’ the holo said. ‘I apologize for the intrusion, Your Eminence.’
Roha felt himself sweating. Damn the woman!
‘Oh, Sister Romero, it’s always a pleasure -’
When the holo raised one dark eyebrow, Roha ran out of words.
‘Let me get right to the point,’ she said. ‘I promised you that I’d let you know as soon as I heard from the Papal Offices about my posting here.’
‘Ah, yes.’
‘His Holiness has ordered me to remain on Palace for some time, as much as several years if necessary. He found certain aspects of my report worthy of a little further study.’
‘Well, um, yes, no doubt.’
‘The main focus of my work, of course, will be the saccule study. Apparently he’s received a number of independent reports about them, reports that indicate grounds for classifying them sapient.’
‘You must be joking! Reports from whom?’
‘Well, there was one from me, for starters.’ Romero smiled in an unpleasantly mirthless way.
‘And then several independent scientists from the Lep community have filed briefs.’
‘Leps? Oh, well, then, that doesn’t amount to much. No doubt they’re only trying to stir up trouble, you see, to get back at us for the Peronida’s new laws. They’re a vengeful people, you know, very much so, and-’
Suddenly Roha realized that Romero might be recording this conversation.
‘-and no doubt they really do have serious grounds for their grievances,’ he went on. ‘I’m afraid that Peronida is as vengeful as they are. No-one could council him toward moderation, not even his current marriage partner, though certainly she tried, just as I did.’
‘I see,’ Romero said. ‘Well, I’ll bring that point to His Holiness’s attention in my next report.’
Yes, damn her, she was recording, then!
‘Thank you, yes,’ he said aloud. ‘And of course, we always must differentiate between the gendered saccules and their genetic aberrations, the neuters. There’s no doubt in my mind that the neuters are particularly lacking in sapient traits. Since I’ve never spent any time out in the swamps, the gendered individuals might be different, for all I know, but the neuters are most definitely mere animals.’
Romero’s hologram floated silently, her dark eyes considering -whether him or his opinions, he couldn’t tell.
‘By the way,’ she said at last, ‘I understand that you’ve waived the L’Var girl’s full genetic screen. Why?’
‘Well, it seemed unnecessary in light of the circum’
‘A full genetic screen is mandatory before marriage, Cardinal. By the laws of our own Order. With your permission, I’ll take care of it. We already have the blood sample.’
‘Uh, of course, Sister. But you’re so busy, wouldn’t it be better -’
‘Oh, please don’t bother to concern yourself with my workload, Cardinal, not when you’re so busy with your own. I’ll expect the girl in my office tomorrow at the tens to discuss the results.’
‘I’ll have Dav notify her, unless your factor would -’
‘Thiralo will handle that, yes. One last thing before I power off. Several citizens have mentioned to me that you’ve been preaching the theology of Perfect Separation.’
‘I have, yes. Why not? It’s not standard doctrine, but it certainly doesn’t fall under the heading of heresy.’
‘No, that’s true. Not in its usual form.’
Roha hesitated, wondering just what she’d been told. Romero’s image merely watched him and waited.
‘Ah well,’ Roha said at last. ‘Have any objections been raised to my use of the doctrine?’
‘I wouldn’t call the comments objections.’
‘Indeed? May I ask who put these comments forward?’
‘Merely some of your parishioners who considered your emphasis on
human
perfectibility a little ... shall we say, shrill.’
‘It’s a pity they didn’t come to me with their doubts. I tend to use human examples and analogies in my sermons, yes, but that’s because there are so few aliens in my congregation.’
‘Indeed? Perhaps our Lep and Hirrel brethren feel less than fully welcome in the Gaze.’
‘Well, if so, then I’ll certainly devote some attention to the matter. The Holy Church teaches that all are equal in the sight of God.’
‘Yes, exactly. I’m sure you know the origins of the doctrine of Perfect Separation as well as I do. Some would say it was an adjunct to one of the Schismatic heresies.’
‘The belief that the separation is God’s way of testing the various races, you mean? To see which will be given the rulership over the others? Heavens! That was declared heretical centuries ago. A very outmoded set of beliefs.’
‘Precisely.’ She paused for her brief, cold smile. ‘I’d merely like to ask you to be very careful with ideas of separation and purity. His Holiness agrees that they can be very dangerous.’
‘As indeed, I agree. I’ve been giving my little talks only to well-educated congregations, you see, and only when I can be sure they won’t reach the general vidscreens.’
‘No doubt a wise policy for any number of reasons. Let’s see, I have on my schedule that we dine together tomorrow?’
‘At the nineteens, yes.’
‘Splendid. We can have a nice long talk then.’
Romero blanked off without a word of farewell.
Well, now you know, Roha told himself. Yes, the Pope is displeased with your activities, and yes, she’s his little spy. Weary and unsettled, the cardinal powered off his vidscreen and locked his desk. Walking through the wall holo brought him to the autogate, self-contained and buffered from the Map, that led to his apartments. Roha had had it installed after word came of that customs gate crash, all those long days ago now. No-one must ever be able to break into his private apartments. No-one must be allowed in for any reason without his being there as well. No-one.
His pale blue and gold sitting room stood ready for him in softly shadowed light. Quiet music played. By his favourite armchair, the small marble table held a silver tray with an array of glass fingertubes, filled with aromatic liqueurs, green and gold and the darkest red. The cardinal stripped off his heavy black robes and tossed them onto a watered silk divan, then kicked off his shoes. Dressed only in a plain grey tunic he sank into the chair and let his long fingers hover over the liqueurs. Souk amaranth tonight, he decided, and picked up a red tube to drain it straight off.
‘Sweetie!’
A saccule wearing a little smock of pink lace and sheer silk came out of a back room. For a moment it hovered uncertainly, then darted toward the robes on the divan. As it moved, it squeaked, a sound much like a wordless human chatter, and let out a series of smells, musky and spiced. Roha’s perfumed handkerchief lay out of reach, shoved into a pocket of the. robes. I should be strong, he told himself, I should resist this temptation. Damn Romero anyway! It’s her meddling that’s made me so tired, too tired, and that smell! So tired I forgot my handkerchief. All her fault.
‘Come here, Sweetie. Put the robes down.’
Chattering, the saccule dropped the robes on the floor and edged closer. With every breath Roha drew, the musk scent set fire to his blood. He reached out and stroked the saccule’s big front sacs.
‘I know what you want when you make that smell,’ he murmured. Sweetie rubbed itself against his hand and stared up at him through slitted eyes. An animal, no more, with an animal’s lust. How could anyone think this creature sapient?
The cardinal’s breath came fast and short, but he pulled away and gulped down the contents of two more fingertubes. Mustn’t give in to the temptation too soon. Forcing himself to wait made the pleasure better, but it was very hard. He giggled to himself. Yes, very hard indeed.
‘Strip, Sweetie.’
The saccule let out a soft moan and did as it was told.
* * *
Every week Dukayn presented Karlo with something the factor liked to call an ‘internal security report.’ Karlo called it ‘gossip,’ but gossip was a useful commodity on a world where popular opinion controlled the government. All elected officials and the most important civil servants lived in the East Tower, stewing each other’s juices - or so Karlo thought of it. What went on socially in East Tower, therefore, furnished important clues and omens about key votes in the Councils and temporary alliances between factions and personalities. After he left Vida’s rooms, Karlo returned to his private office, where he called up the weekly report on his secured vidscreen: feuds and love-affairs, backbiting and social climbing
- the usual sort of notes that Dukayn thought worth making. One entry stood out:
Ket’s
Ribbon
had left Spacedock. The captain’s filed itinerary included the Belie system as well as Souk, his ultimate destination. Why had Dukayn found this interesting? The factor never commented on the news he collected; he would have considered doing so an insult to Karlo’s intelligence. Karlo could think of one good reason for the entry. He powered off the screen and went to look for Vanna.
He found her in the black marble spa adjoining their bedroom. The spa room sported black tiles, too, though all the fixtures were picked out with gold. In the bubbling cauldron of mineralized water Vanna lounged like some exotic lizard; the blue tattoos stood out all over her body, as shiny and mottled as scales. The steam smelled of roses and musk. When he came in, she smiled at him and stretched out a lazy arm.
‘Come join me,’ she said.
‘Good idea.’
Karlo ran his hand down the front of his shirt, which obligingly opened. While he stripped, tossing his clothes on top of hers on a marble bench, she watched him, her eyes heavy-lidded. He stepped into the spa and eased himself into the water, then sat on the underwater bench opposite her. She stretched out one leg and twined her ankle with his.
‘You look tired,’ she remarked. ‘Were you working late?’
‘Oh, I was just finishing up some details. How was your day?’
‘Busy. I’m bringing up the Fleet appropriation in Council later this week.’
‘Good, good. I suppose it’s too early to tell how that’s going to go?’
‘I wouldn’t be forcing it out of committee if I didn’t think we had a good chance. But you never know with these things. We can’t wait much longer if we’re going to disburse the monies on time.’
‘That’s true. I just worry. If this thing doesn’t pass, we’ll have to drydock half the Fleet.’