Vatican Assassin (11 page)

What do I say to that...

“Amen, Mr. Longeux.”

“Amen, Father. All right. I’m going to warm up the engines, so I’m heading this way,” he nods to the right. “You head up that way,” he nods to the left, “and you’ll come to your stateroom. First door on the left. It says ‘one’ on the door, but it’s actually the only one. Can’t miss it.” He turns and heads away from BC.

I hate it when they say, “Can’t miss it.” Usually means you will.
BC walks down the corridor until he comes to the hatch marked “one”.
Hmmph. Couldn’t miss it. Let’s see what we’ve got for accommodations...
The stateroom is small but neat and well kept. It’s a rectangular room, about ten feet deep and five feet across, with the ceiling almost seven feet high. The green and gold theme continues, with green carpet and green covers on the small, folded out bed. The walls are gray with gold and green piping along the borders of each wall. Opposite the bed there’s a small table folded out from the wall, and a chair folded up from a square spot on the floor. BC also notices a seam along the four sides of the back wall of the room.

That wall’s one big door. Probably opens on the cargo bay. And everything in here can be
folded away, so this can become just another cargo space, looks like. A cargo space with nicely
painted walls and carpet. Good use of space. I approve.

BC settles in, sitting down on the bed and collecting his thoughts as he listens to the thrum of the engines growing increasingly louder and higher pitched.

Amen. Yeah, right. And I can say a mass, too, sure. What was I thinking? I’ve never said a
mass in my life! I only pray when my ass is on the line, anyway. Course, then again, prayer might
be appropriate in this case...

Not much of a priest. This is what I get for once thinking it was an easy way to make some
cash. It was, for a while. Good cover for the illegal import/export business. Didn’t elaborate on
that for Edwards, thank you very much. But then the reunification, getting sucked into the OPO,
no choice, kill for Christ or else... Now it’s off to kill someone in the name of Christ who is himself
killing in the name of Christ. What a tangled fucking web...

The intercom buzzes, interrupting his reverie.

“Yeah?”

“Uh, Father, we’re just about to leave. Thought you’d like to know we were getting underway. If you’d like some company, I could come get you and show you the way to the common area and the bridge?”

“Thanks, Mr. Longeux, but I think I’ll stay in for now. I’ve been very busy, and I’m enjoying the quiet here.”

“Fine, Father. Have it your way. But I’ll need to get the details of our trip from you soon. I’ll call you when we’re clear of the Moon.”

“Thanks.”

BC hears the connection click off, and the sound of the engines changes again. The pitch drops, and the thrumming becomes low and bassy and vibrates the floor, the bed, the walls, everything. They lurch slightly.

Must be pulling away from Reagan Station.

BC feels the floor shift as the ship sets out.

There are no windows in his stateroom, but in his mind’s eye BC imagines them pulling up and away from the bunkers, buildings, domes and tunnels of Reagan Station.
Goodnight for now, Moon. Off to kill a killer. This one won’t be easy, I know it already. I
can just feel it. It feels wrong, weird, greasy and dark. Not that any of them are really easy,
though, not really. I always think about them. Their faces all still come back to me. Not easy.
Nothing’s simple, even if you’re doing “the Lord’s work.”

But it’s what I do. And I’m good at it.

And the Pope, the fucking POPE tells me what to do, tells me I’m doing the Lord’s work.
He should know, right? He’d be the one guy who should know, who has the authority to say, “go,
do this for God,” right? Like M’Bekke said, best not to think about it too hard or examine it too
closely.

I will take this guy out efficiently, as quietly as possible, and, hopefully, without a trace of
evidence. Because it’s what I do.

Mr. Longeux buzzes him again in about an hour.

“Hello, Father. We’re out past the Moon’s basic scanner range. I’ll need you to fill me in on our trip. Reagan Station thinks we’re going to the Wentworth Station. Where are we going?”

“I’ll tell you on the bridge, if that’s okay, Mr. Longeux.”

“Sure, Father. I’ll come get you. I made some dinner, so we can eat after we set the course.”

Longeux is at the stateroom door in about a minute. He and BC head down the corridor to the right, towards the front of the ship. They pass through three hatches, winding their way through a twisting section of corridor past several closed hatches. Longeux finally leads BC through one that opens onto a large living space.

A table and four chairs dominates the center of the room. The top of the table and the backs of the chairs are green, piped in gold.

“Oh look, all color coordinated!” Nice look, I guess. Better than red and gold! And there’s
enough gray on the walls and ceilings to remind you you’re on a ship.
Gold and green stripes continue to run waist high around the four gray walls of the room. Also around the edges of the room are two exercise machines, a food prep station, and a small but gaudy shrine.

Wow, this guy’s hardcore. I thought the conspicuous crucifix around the neck was a little much. Wouldya look at that shrine? I’m sure the Cardinal would approve.

“Like my shrine, Father?”

“I was just thinking that the Cardinal would approve.”

“Oh he does! He did, I mean. He’s seen it. I asked him to come on board when I finished it, so he could bless it. He said he’d never seen a finer shrine on any ship, bigger or smaller, and he blessed it himself. I’m kind of proud of it. You don’t think it’s overdone, do you, Father?”

“The colors match your ship. The use of gold is quite striking.”

“That crucifix used to hang over the altar of my town church back on Earth, back where I used to go to mass growing up. UIN terrorists bombed the church and our town about four years ago. The church burned down, but that crucifix was spared. It didn’t melt, even in the middle of the fire. The priests said it was a miracle.”

“Really.”

“I was only visiting at the time. I used to work at the rectory as a kid, I was even an Altar boy, Father.” Longeux laughs to himself as he remembers. “At any rate, I was visiting the priests when the first bomb went off. I helped them best I could. We got the fire put down. That crucifix was preserved. But then the group of terrorists came back. They had guns and Molotov cocktails. The priests asked me to take the crucifix with me. They asked me to save it and escape on my ship as they delayed the terrorists.

“I could hear the shots as I ran to my ship. When I took off and saw the scene from above, it looked like half the town was on fire. There was no one left to give the crucifix back to, so I set up this shrine with it, in their honor.

“I hope it brings me good luck... So, how do you like the gravity?”

“Huh?”

“Most ships this size don’t have artificial G. I rigged up this system myself. It cost me some cargo space but it’s worth it. Must be all right if you didn’t even notice!”

BC bounces on his heels. “Nice job. Everything going smoothly?”

“Absolutely. Let’s head up to the bridge and get going somewhere.”

Longeux leads BC to a ladder in a recessed alcove across the room. There’s a hatch in the seven-foot high ceiling in the alcove. Longeux climbs the ladder, pushes up the hatch and climbs up through. BC follows and finds himself in a small cockpit-style bridge, two flight chairs directly in front of him. There’s barely enough room to walk between them. Longeux squeezes through first and sits on the left, motions BC in to the right chair. He too squeezes through and sits down. An array of different switches and controls are spread out in front of him
I could probably figure this thing out. I betcha I could fly this baby. I’ve flown similar ones
back on earth. The Santa Clara was a lot like this.

“We got off okay. Saw one of those flashers, but they stayed away, as usual.”

“Flashers?”

“Yeah. They’re these ships we’ve been seeing, that some of us have seen. They don’t show up on any of our scanners. Nobody I’ve talked to who has seen one has been able to document it. They’re always so fast, they’re gone quick, like a flash in the corner of your eye. That’s why we call them flashers, anyway.”

“I’ve never heard about this. How long has this, how long have these ships, these, um, flashers, been around?”

“We’ve been seeing them for about the last ten years or so. I’ve mostly heard about them from other freelance pilots, only seen ‘em a couple of times myself. Always gone before I could even try to get a reading on what they were. Same with that one earlier. Without documentation, we can’t prove anything. If we filed reports we’d sound like liars or idiots or delusional, unfit to pilot. So we keep them to ourselves. You wouldn’t have heard about them, I suppose.”

“You saw one tonight? What do they look like?”

“Hard to say. They’re really fast, you know?”

“Are they aliens?”

Longeux laughs, “What, are you egging me on, trying to make me sound like I’m crazy, Father?

No, I don’t think so. They look sort of normal, human-ish, I guess. They look like advanced military ships, but they don’t have any markings. Another good reason not to pry too hard, I don’t want anybody’s military coming after me. I’m almost sorry I mentioned them.”

“Don’t be. I think I might have seen one of your ‘flashers’ myself, Mr. Longeux. Right near the surface of the Moon.”

“Really? Right on the Moon itself?”

“Well, hovering just over the surface of the Moon, anyway. I was in an outlying building of the station, losing consciousness after an, um, an air leak, an accident, and the area I was in lost atmosphere. Just before I passed out, I saw a ship hovering outside that looked human made, but not like any ship that I’d ever seen. And it had no markings of any kind. Now, do I sound crazy?”

Longeux considers. “Nope. Sounds like a flasher, all right. Never heard of one getting that close to the Moon, though. They do move pretty fast, don’t they, Father?”

“Yeah. Sort of hard to tell. I was passing out, but it looked like it disappeared pretty quickly.”

“I’ve seen them around UIN ships, but they never seem to be together. And I don’t think they’re UTZ because we would have heard something. Not officially, mind you, but through channels. We would have heard something.”

“Have you, or anyone you’ve heard from ever seen them attack?”

“Nah, they just hover around the edges. Flashers. The name fits them.”

“And you’re sure they’re not alien?”

“They’re not alien. Don’t talk nonsense, Father, not you, a man of the cloth...”

“You ever seen anything alien, Mr. Longeux?”

“Nope. I don’t believe in them.”

“Really? You don’t believe in aliens? Even after seeing for yourself how vast space is?” BC looks out the window at the deep plush carpet of stars. “How can you deny that there are other beings out there somewhere? What about the ruins on Mars? The find on the Moon a hundred years ago the UN

covered up?”

“Nothing ever came out of those, or came back for them, for that matter. Don't tell me you believe in aliens, Father?”

“I don’t know for sure. But I don’t think we can say with certainty they don’t exist. How can you travel across the grand expanse of space and not feel that out there in the limitless void there must be others? I don’t think God’s creation is just limited to planet Earth, Mr. Longeux.”

Laying it on a little thick... but it’s his thing, he’ll eat it up.

“I don’t either, Father. But where are they? Why aren’t they here now?”

“I don’t know that, either. But I think they are out there. The evidence hasn’t been strong, but there has been some evidence of something else out there. Maybe they’re just waiting, watching us. How long will it be before they show up? What if they have already been here and gone? Are they peaceful or hostile...”

“Couldn’t be much more hostile than we are ourselves, though, huh, Father?”

“No, I suppose not. Sometimes I wish aliens
would
show up and threaten us. Maybe the external threat from aliens, or even just their very ‘otherness’, would finally wake up humankind to our commonality, our unity, and bring us all together.”

“That sounds like an awful lot to ask of aliens, if you ask me. Even Jesus couldn’t do it. Or hasn’t done it, yet, I should say.”

“Well, we could use some help. Look at the mess we’ve made of things left to our own devices.”

“We’re pretty good at killing each other, aren’t we, Father?”

“Yeah, we are at that, aren’t we, Mr. Longeux.”

The pilot changes the subject. “I need our destination details right away, Father. Where are we going?”

“Fortune Station. Do you know it?”

“Really? Fortune Station? No one goes out there anymore. The UTZ shut it down twenty years ago, gotta be. Too far up and out. It wasn’t worth it. First launched as an old luxury station. I’ve never been there, but I know where it is. I’ll get us there.”

“Good. How long?”

“Let’s see... ah, probably about three days, regular drive. It’s pretty far from where we are now, but too close to use the Transpace drive. I don’t know if it’s even available as a transit point for Transpace, anyway, might be too old. There. Course laid in. We’re set. I’ll set proximity alarms, but otherwise we’ve got three days of quiet travel ahead, Father. Are you hungry?”

“Sure.”

“I’ve got that dinner ready. Let’s head back down and eat.”

“Sure, Mr. Longeux, that sounds good!”

BC returns to his stateroom after dinner to digest both the passable lasagna Mr. Longeux served and the news about the “flashers.”

They could be
aliens, despite what Mr. Longeux and the other pilots think. They move so
fast, how can you tell? There were ruins on Mars and the Moon. Something is out there, or was
out there. I wonder what they look like? How do they act? Are they hostile? Vastly superior to
us? Or just like us? That’s a sobering thought. More of the same might be the worst possible
scenario. How will we treat them, I wonder? We’ll probably be hostile to them no matter what
they’re like.