TEXT: My Time Among the Stars
  1
  My Time Among
  the Stars
  Volume One: Novitiate
  by Guissepe Alustro
  The Collected Alustro’s Journals
  as transcribed for pre-Diasporan readers
  by Bill Bridges
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  2
  Credits
  Writing: Bill Bridges
  Additional writing: Christopher Howard (“The Letter”)
  Art: John Bridges
  Contents
  Chapter
  Page
  Introduction for New Readers
  3
  Prologue (from Fading Suns rulebook, first edition)
  4
  The Letter (from Byzantium Secundus)
  8
  Sins of the Past (from Forbidden Lore: Technology)
  11
  On Meeting a Noble (from Lords of the Known Worlds)
  13
  Tall Tales (from Weird Places)
  16
  Visions (from Priests of the Celestial Sun)
  19
  Melting Pot (from Fading Suns Players Companion)
  22
  The Rampart Plea (from The Dark Between the Stars)
  25
  Blink (from Merchants of the Jumpweb)
  28
  An Open Mind (from Children of the Gods: Obun & Ukar)
  31
  Fragments (from The Sinful Stars: Tales of the Fading Suns)
  34
  Tangled Web (from War in the Heavens: Lifeweb)
  40
  Distribution
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  My Time Among the Stars
  3
  Introduction for New Readers
  Guissepe Alustro is a young member of the Eskatonic
  Order, a fringe sect of the Universal Church with interests
  in occult study. In joining this near-heretical order, Guissepe
  earned the disapproval of his powerful Uncle Palamon,
  Archishop of Byzantium Secundus. But he gained an in-
  fluential ally — Erian Li Halan chose him to be her per-
  sonal confessor. He has spent the last five years traveling
  the Known Worlds with his liege and the rest of her entou-
  rage: Cardanzo, Erian’s bodyguard; Julia Abrams, a caus-
  tic but able Charioteer star-pilot; Onganggarak, a Vorox
  warrior; and Sanjuk oj Kaval, an Ukari “reclamations” spe-
  cialist (she joined the group in “An Open Mind”).
  Erian Li Halan eventually swore allegiance to Emperor
  Alexius Hawkwood and was admitted to his order of Quest-
  ing Knights. Alustro, along with Erian’s other companions,
  joined the Emperor’s cause as an Imperial Cohort, sworn
  to aid Erian in her quests (see “My Quest,” in Volume Two:
  Provost).
  Alustro keeps a journal of his travels, both as a his-
  torical record and a forum for his musings on Known Worlds
  life. He has published some of these journals in small press
  editions, often including some of his sketches. While his
  journals are not widely known, they are popular among a
  small readership. Apparently, these journals are even read
  by the Vau (see “Approbations,” in Volume Two: Provost).
  After a time of rest and meditation on Byzantium
  Secundus (see Volume Two: Provost — “Approbations,”
  “All For One,” “Ghost Story,” and “Witness”), Alustro has
  collected all of his previous journal entries (except for the
  most private or those dealing with Erian’s secret missions)
  and published them in two new editions, entitled “My Time
  Among the Stars, Volumes One and Two” This PDF file is a
  facsimile of the first volume.
  New journal entries will continue to appear in each
  new Fading Suns book.
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  4
  Prologue
  Thrülday 3, Shenri moon, 4996 (Leminkainen calen-
  dar); Tuesday, June 6th, 4996 (Holy Terra calendar)
  Greetings Uncle Palamon,
  Forgive the years of silence between this and my last
  letter to you. It is only now that I can again write you, for
  the years have opened my eyes and greatly changed my
  soul. I am not the youth you once knew, your dutiful
  nephew, son to your dear sister, my beloved mother. I real-
  ize that you harshly disapprove of the course my life has
  taken, and your reaction to this letter may cause you to
  burn it before it is fully read. I ask in my mother’s name
  that you read further. If not for me, then for her, to whom
  you were indebted for tutelage and upbringing after the
  tragic death of both your parents. If you still bear her any
  love — and I know that you do — then read the words of
  her only son, your nephew who once looked to you as a
  dog does its master, with both love and fear in its eyes.
  Two years have passed since I left Midian to follow
  Erian Li Halan, my liege, to the stars. Four years since I
  left the fold of the Orthodoxy to join the Eskatonic Order.
  You could not then understand my choice; you took it as
  an insult. But that was never intended. I hope this letter
  will lead you now to better know the fire that burns in my
  soul and demands the choices that I have made. Can an
  archbishop not understand the yearning of the soul for the
  Pancreator? The yearning for
  answers to the deepest ques-
  tions of life, and the thread
  of meaning which is woven
  between its inception and
  departure? I have so many
  questions, and I have cho-
  sen the path which will al-
  low me to answer them,
  among the stars.
  Can you not understand
  why my life could not be the
  same as yours? The noble
  quietude of cathedral, al-
  though nourishing as a
  sanctuary from the world’s
  pain, is to me only a retreat.
  The career you had outlined
  for me in the Orthodoxy
  would have led to my slow
  pining and suffocation. I
  mean no insult. You did as
  you thought best, with the
  kindest intentions. It must
  chaff to read a surly youth’s attack on your beloved insti-
  tutions. I know what the cathedral, the Orb and the rites
  mean to you. They mean much to me, too. I have grown,
  yes, but that boy to whom you taught the chants will al-
  ways be a part of me.
  I made vows to another order not because I was rebel-
  lious or discontented, but because it promised escape. Un-
  like the Orthodoxy, the Eskatonic Order requires that its
  priests quest, and questing was the first virtue extolled by
  the Prophet after his vision of the Holy Flame. Of course,
  you know that. But why act otherwise? I have met priests
  of the Orthodoxy who chaff under the strict rules laid down
  by the archbishops. Do you not know their need? Do you
  deny it? I tell you, it is not the illusions of demons that
  cause them to rebel, but the call of creation. Call it heresy if
  you will. This is a charge my order suffers under all too
  often. The truth is that your fellow priests refuse to see, to
  ask, to really discover the wisdom nurtured by the
  Eskatonics.
  But I spend too much time arguing theological knots.
  This is not what I intended when I picked up pen to write.
  I mean this as an explanation, not a reconciliation. If you
  choose to forgive me after reading this, you must do so
  without my repentance. I am what the Pancreator has made
  me, and can be no more or less.
  I mean to tell you why I changed, what seed was
  planted in my breast which
  sprouted 
  roots 
  and
  branches. Do not feel guilty
  when I tell you it was your
  fault. You could not know
  how the Emperor’s corona-
  tion would light in me a
  flame which only grows hot-
  ter with each year. When
  you invited mother and I to
  Byzantium Secundus to wit-
  ness the crowning of the
  new Emperor, I am sure you
  only thought to introduce
  me to the grandeur of your
  great cathedral. Grand it
  was, I do not deny that. In-
  deed, had it been but a trip
  to see the holy sight where
  Vladimir was crowned, I
  might then and there have
  given up all other ambitions
  but the Orthodoxy. But the
  cathedral was not the nexus
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  5
  of that visit. The new Emperor was.
  You cannot imagine what it is like to know only war
  in one’s lifetime. You are old enough to remember a time
  before the Emperor Wars, when the houses were not con-
  stantly at each others’ throats. Of course, they always have
  been, I suppose. But in the times of your youth, they at
  least were discreet and kept their quarrels among them-
  selves. But once Darius Hawkwood made his bid for the
  throne, the hatreds of the houses, guilds and, yes, even
  the sects of the Universal Church were naked before all.
  Since my birth and until Alexius was crowned, I knew only
  war. A war which killed my mother not long after the coro-
  nation, as the last malcontents made their final, failed bid.
  But you know this. My point is only that, after Alexius
  took the throne, peace was finally a possibility. It is now,
  as I write this, a reality. How
  long will it last? I do not dare
  guess. But I pray every
  morning and night that it
  does last, that it is eternal.
  The other factor in my
  current development was
  also your doing. It was you
  who pulled the strings which
  placed me in the service of
  House Li Halan. I was still
  new to my vows, and
  stumbled over the chants of-
  ten, and was imperfect in the
  eyes of the traditional and
  stern Li Halan royals. It was
  the mild ostracism I received
  there that drew Erian Li
  Halan’s interest. She was coming of age and struggled
  against the preconceptions her family held her to. We be-
  came compatriots against the stodgy elders around us. She
  chose me as her confessor, to the annoyance of her father,
  who wished her to be kept under closer scrutiny by one of
  his own choosing. The fact that I soon after forsook the
  Orthodoxy to join the Eskatonics became a minor scandal
  in the house. But Erian supported my choice, although I
  suppose it was merely a rebellion for her, a means to snub
  her father again.
  She doubts too much. She has many questions of faith,
  and I am hard put to give her sufficient answers. How can
  I, when I still have so many questions myself? But I do not
  doubt. My faith is strong. Regardless of the conundrums
  and paradoxes of existence, I see One hand behind all ac-
  tions, that of the Pancreator. It is my duty to ensure that
  Erian comes to see this also. I must endeavor at all times
  to bolster her faith.
  When her father passed away and left her disenfran-
  chised, having given all his lands to her brother, she had
  little choice but to leave Midian. I had to follow, not just
  because she asked it of me, but because I had yearned for
  the stars for so long. I had secretly contemplated leaving,
  of begging Erian to let me go. But the time to cut the final
  bonds which held me to the Orthodoxy and Midian had
  finally come of its own.
  The jumproads became my new home. I have always
  been fascinated with the jumpgates and all the relics of the
  Anunnaki, that race also called the Ur. Who were they?
  Where are they now? Did they know the Pancreator as we
  do? What names did they use to address the Mystery? I
  was consumed with curiosity concerning the Great Ones
  and their ways. Now, I could pursue this obsession freely.
  I presume you know more of them than even I have
  discovered. You are, after all, Archbishop of Byzantium
  Secundus. One does not rise
  so high without learning
  some secrets. I am certain
  the Church fathers know
  more than they reveal, es-
  pecially concerning history
  and the mysterious, inhu-
  man race which left us our
  star-faring legacy. Like most
  outside of the Patriarch’s
  favor, there are many things
  I will never know. All the
  more reason to seek an-
  swers elsewhere.
  I have enclosed some
  sketches from my travels. I
  include for you the one I
  made of the Gargoyle of
  Nowhere, the great monument of the wastes known to give
  omens and visions to certain pilgrims. I remember when I
  was very little that you talked about the Gargoyle. Is it
  surprising that I remember this? How could I forget it? As
  you spoke, there was excitement in your eyes and your
  gaze looked off into spaces immaterial. You had been to
  the wastes on a great pilgrimage with many nobles, sent
  to guide their penance in return for Church forgiveness.
  But it affected you more than it did them. You received no
  vision, but its presence alone was enough for you. It
  thrummed with Mystery. Imagine now what you felt then
  and you will begin to understand my whole life. My quest.
  In my travels, I have discovered that the Known Worlds
  are not what we are told they are. You know this already. I
  suspect your hand in much of the Church’s creed. Why? I
  know the political reasons for the lies, but why do you
  participate in this scheme of ignorance? I ask knowing that
  I will never get an answer. You will say you are protecting
  their souls, but I know you cannot believe that. Not really
  believe it.
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  6
  The places I have seen! The people are so different…
  yet so much the same. The Pancreator’s creation is a won-
  drous tapestry. I could not begin to detail for you the in-
  credible people of the worlds I have walked upon. How the
  peasants of Madoc, living on their great, sprawling boats,
  know generosity without measure, sharing all they have
  with those in need — and they are canny distinguishers of
  want and need. Their fishers, those most revered among
  them, know where the largest herds of fish are without
  any outward clue. They simply know, with an instinct of
  sorts, the way the old men of Midian know when the
  weather is growing bad well before the Engineers’
  terraforming towers tell them anything. How is this?
  How is it that the downtrodden, brutally punished
  rebels of Cadavus still dream and yearn for more when
  everything the nobles tell them denies the value of hope? I
  have seen hope, uncle. It is no fleeting thing, but a tena-
  cious, living thing in the heart, in the eyes of those who
  have it. Those who lack it are empty vessels waiting and
  desperate to be filled. All too often, they drink first of hate
  and violence.
  The people of the Known Worlds group themselves
  together in cliques and gangs, guilds and sects, houses
  and whatever else they want to call themselves. For pro-
  tection, for companionship, for some sense that they are
  not alone in the growing darkness. I know from experi-
  ence that you cannot go alone, through life or the uni-
  verse. That is death for the asking. All too many prey upon
  the lone traveler, he with no one to vouch for him or pay
  his ransom.
  I am no fool; I have many friends on the road. We are
  brought up believing that we cannot trust those who are
  not sworn to the same allegiances as we, whether it be
  another house, guild or sect. But it is a myth, a lie like
  many others made to serve the political needs of the war.
  Besides my liege, I have friends among the Charioteers
  and the Vorox. They are boon companions, and we have
  shared wonders and dangers together. I would gladly give
  my life for any of them, and they would do the same for
  me. This is not what I was taught as a child. There were
  many lies in my youth.
  A friend of Erian’s, Sanjuk oj Kaval, has a saying she
  heard among the youth gangs on her homeworld of Ukar:
  “The older you get, the more lies you wear on your skin.”
  This, of course, refers to the Ukar custom of writing an
  Ukari’s deeds in scars on her skin, and the fact that adults
  come to conclusions about how things really are and rarely
  deviate from those convictions thereafter. But youth is
  questioning. Why not maturity as well? It is clear that our
  immediate predecessors did not have the answers to all
  questions, and our distant ancestors, while mighty in
  thought and deed, failed in humility. We pay the price for
  their hubris.
  Strange that many of the things our ancestors of the
  Second Republic achieved and were proud of are now con-
  sidered vain or evil. Their technology was remarkable, but
  we spurn it as if it were the tools of demons. So we say, yet
  without it we could not travel the stars or maintain life on
  barren worlds such as Nowhere. Though we curse the fruits
  of our ancestor’s labor, it does not prevent us from using
  that labor and its yield. All recognize the necessity for tech,
  but the Church teaches that tech taints those who use it,
  that their egos will grow too mighty, and self-importance
  will surpass their love for the Pancreator. This, it is said,
  was the sin of the Second Republic citizens.
  They are said to have been a godless people, spurning
  belief in a deity and exalting themselves in the Pancreator’s
  place. But I find this hard to believe. How can anyone not
  recognize the works of the Pancreator and his hand be-
  hind them? I find this to be the greatest lie we are told
  about our sinful ancestors, that they knew not the
  Pancreator. Was not the Church in existence then? Did not
  the Prophet preach before the Second Republic was formed?
  I have seen ignorance and willful denial of the truth, but
  rarely on such a scale as is claimed here. No, I refuse to
  believe that anyone who could mold the very substance of
  a planet to make it pleasing to the body, mind and spirit is
  one who is without knowledge or love of the Pancreator.
  The ego alone cannot work such feats, although some will
  attempt to argue otherwise.
  On blessed worlds such as Holy Terra, the maintenance
  of elder tech is unnecessary. The Pancreator molded that
  world for humans, and little is needed to maintain it. But
  on other planets, such as the tragic Pandemonium, upkeep
  of tech is vital to life. I know that monks now build a ca-
  thedral there in denial of the cataclysms caused by
  terraforming engine failure, expecting the Pancreator to
  save them from any harm. We are gifted with intelligence
  and insight; to so foolishly ignore these gifts in the face of
  disaster is an insult to the Pancreator. Is not the wisdom of
  science but the perception of the Pancreator’s laws? Cer-
  tainly, we need to beware our own greed and pride when
  utilizing tech, but this does not mean we must forsake it
  entirely.
  Outside the cloister, people live life as they must; they
  use what they can to survive. While the Church chants
  about the sins of tech in its hallowed halls, those living
  outside the walls scrape as they must. It was eye-opening,
  I tell you, when I first realized just how many people ig-
  nore the laws of the Church. Not just mendicant monks,
  but peasants, yeoman and nobles — even bishops! They
  say one thing but mean another, especially when it con-
  cerns their comfort and power.
  Since the end of the war, the jumproads have opened
  again. As people travel to neighboring planets long sun-
  dered by their ruler’s rivalries, they meet strange people,
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  7
  once so much like them but now changed through years of
  isolation. Some greet old family or friends from other
  worlds. But others remember old hatreds and simmering
  feuds. New conflicts have broken out on these worlds, so
  long united by their lords against rival houses or guilds.
  But with no direction, they fall back to their old conflicts
  as if they were instinctual.
  Such is the case with Malignatius. Long under the rule
  of the Li Halan, the morally lax Decados now own the world.
  People are returning to the ancient sects of their ancestors,
  denying the Orthodoxy which was imposed on them for so
  long. Wars have erupted over
  religious issues; pain and
  misery is the result. How can
  those who claim to worship
  one creator fight so much over
  the details of his grace?
  Yet still I think the best
  of the Pancreator’s creatures,
  whether human or alien. For
  while I have seen violence
  and greed, lust and all the
  other 
  sins 
  paraded
  unashamedly, I have also
  seen the virtues. I have seen
  peasants suffer the lash of
  their lords to rescue a fallen
  comrade. I have seen mercy
  and forgiveness from nobles
  when severity was surely the
  wiser course. Tenderness
  from a mercenary who had
  seen the darkest of shadows
  on Stigmata and survived.
  I have grown in ways the
  cloister would never have al-
  lowed. I am convinced that holiness resides not only in the
  monastery, but among the people, the worlds and the stars.
  I am not naive, however. I know that evil abounds. I have
  seen not only the good, but the foul. Traveling affords a
  vision of an evil tapestry as wide and varried as that of
  good. As the Prophet said, demons lurk in the dark be-
  tween the stars, waiting for a fallen person whose flesh to
  take.
  I was witness to one such possessed soul, whose poor
  family pleaded with me to exorcise him of the taint. But I
  had to refuse, for I cannot perform such a feat. Only those
  who have mastered the theurgic rites of the Orthodoxy can
  dream of attempting it. The possessed one was finally
  lynched by the townsfolk, who tired of his tricks and black
  ways.
  Have you ever lost one of your flock? Of course you
  must have, for you are far older than I. This man was not
  even one of mine, for I am itinerant and have a flock of
  one to preach to. But I knew then what it must be like to
  feel responsible for a soul and then to lose it.
  How much more such loss must pain you, for your
  flock includes all the Known Worlds. Even were there no
  individual sin and misery, there are the dying suns to doom
  us all. How do you cope? Penitents must flood your cathe-
  dral daily, begging for salvation from the dimming light.
  What comfort do you give them? Surely you do not tell
  them the standard canon, that their sins are the cause of
  the darkening skies? If that were so, then would not the
  collective penance from all
  the years since the Fall of the
  Second Republic have made
  up for all sins committed or
  contemplated since the be-
  ginning of time?
  What be the cause? It is
  truly the end of history, it
  seems. Judgment is near. Yet,
  I cannot accept that we are
  to be rewarded for sitting still
  and waiting for death. If that
  were so, why did the Prophet
  say: “A sun must burn to
  birth light. When your pas-
  sion burns, you give off
  light.” Perhaps the suns die
  because we lack passion.
  Passion for life, for the
  struggle necessary to unlock
  the Mystery. We are bored
  with everything, having ac-
  complished all. History has
  returned to the point at
  which it began.
  Or perhaps the answer still waits for us. Perhaps the
  dying suns are our spur to greatness, a necessary quest on
  which we will finally understand ourselves and our place
  in the universe.
  This is a quest I gladly undertake. Erian Li Halan has
  also taken it, although she knows it not. Indeed, anyone
  who seeks outward for new horizons seeks to renew the
  light, wittingly or no.
  Farewell, uncle. My liege calls and I must go. To what
  planet we next travel I do not know. Perhaps I will write
  again once we’ve arrived. This letter will probably not reach
  you until I have left for yet another world, so if you choose
  to answer this letter, you must send it care of Erian’s mother
  on Midian. There is no guarantee I will receive it, but I will
  look for it with hope nonetheless.
  Your nephew,
  Guissepe Alustro
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  8
  August 15th, 4996 (Holy Terra calendar)
  Brother Guissepe Alustro,
  A month has passed since I received your letter. I read
  it, though I debated burning it as you suggested. Still, if
  nothing else, I believe you deserve the dignity of a reply.
  I send this missive through the hands of the most wor-
  thy Lady Tira Li Halan, as you suggested. She is a gra-
  cious woman, and I heard from her a somewhat different
  accounting of your stay on Midian. Her family saw your
  conversion away from the Orthodox Church and to the
  Eskatonic Order as more than the “minor scandal” you
  described to me. Her son, the baron, told me that he sus-
  pected you in the theft of Saint Urda’s bones, a sacred relic
  of the Li Halan. I assured him, truthfully, that you were in
  no way responsible for the outrage. I told him that you
  were young and naive, yes, but that you were in no way a
  thief. You may wish to carefully scrutinize your choice of
  friends in the future, however. One of them was a well-
  known thief from the planet’s Ipswich region. (And yes, in
  answer to your unspoken question, I have been keeping
  watch over you. I owe this much, at least, to my sister.) I
  suggested that the baroness have him arrested; they re-
  covered the relics and you are, at least partially, returned
  to the good woman’s graces.
  I relate this story for two reasons. The first is to make
  you aware of your choice of companions. While your liege,
  Erian Li Halan, is no doubt a
  worthy, though overly-spir-
  ited, young lady, you must
  watch her retinue. The worst
  ruffians follow even the best
  noble trains. Your eyes are so
  fixed on the stars that you do
  not watch where you set your
  feet. Still, that is the way of
  your order, is it not? If noth-
  ing else, consider your lady’s
  safety in all this and exercise
  greater diligence in the future.
  I do not believe I need to fur-
  ther belabor your responsi-
  bilities as her spiritual coun-
  selor. The second reason for
  this parable is to illustrate
  what consequences your
  order’s lack of respectability
  may have on your future ca-
  reer, if any, in the Church.
  Petty miscreants, such as
  the one you met on Midian,
  are the least of your concerns. Although you know my
  disapproval of your newfound sect, at least they, in the
  end, are mostly loyal clergy of the Universal Church. If you
  hearken to the Eskatonic Order’s more responsible injunc-
  tions then you are, perhaps, not consigned to the icy shades
  of perdition after all. You see? I am not as humorless as
  you had supposed. You must, however, beware the siren
  song of alien and heretical philosophies. Ideas have a se-
  ductive quality. A heresy of deed almost inevitably follows
  a heresy of thought. Some priests of your order are free-
  thinkers, anarchists or secret Republicans.
  I say nothing here that I have not said more forcefully
  before the bishopric council. The Eskatonic Order is overly
  concerned with ephemeral matters. They teach that ideas
  in and of themselves are not dangerous. “A heresy restricted
  to one’s private meditations is not a true heresy.” Some in
  your order even preach the odious doctrine of moral rela-
  tivism. Still, it is not your sect, per se, that is my concern.
  I once knew a curate of your order who spent a year among
  the Ur-Obun on an “anthropological grant.” The Church
  paid for this expedition, yet when he returned the unfortu-
  nate sinner was parroting the Ur-Obun’s dubious, animis-
  tic philosophies. That a primitive race such as they would
  have anything to offer the Universal Church beyond their
  admittedly technically proficient art is a notion more fool-
  ish than heretical. (And, yes, I detect something of their
  style in the sketches you
  sent me.) Their work is
  currently en vogue among
  certain Byzantine nobles.
  But enough; I trust I have
  made my point. I believe I
  need not fear you becom-
  ing a tree-worshipping pa-
  gan.
  Still, one of your ac-
  quaintances is Ur-Ukar, is
  she not? In your letter you
  quoted to me some of her
  no doubt endless home-
  spun wisdom. If the Ur-
  Obun are dangerous only
  in thought, the Ur-Ukar are
  dangerous in thought and
  deed. Despite our ministra-
  tions among them, many
  remain malcontents, sabo-
  teurs and murderers. They
  live in the sewers and feed
  on filth. I have known a
  The Letter
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  9
  respectable Ur-Ukar or two in my time, but few have found
  the light of the Pancreator, despite the words they so readily
  mouth. If nothing else, I suggest you hide your relation-
  ship to me while you are among them. There are many of
  their number who would ransom or kill you just to strike a
  blow against the Holy Church and me.
  There are many such pitfalls throughout the Empire
  for one such as you. Alien fallacies and human perver-
  sions are rampant. All this despite the benign efforts of
  the Church, of which (I will again remind you), you are
  still a member. As a youth I too met with many such temp-
  tations. Cleverly wrought sophistry and salacious lies con-
  jured by honeyed tongues can divert even the most devout
  believers from the true faith. You were always an intelli-
  gent youth; you excelled in all but a few of the Church’s
  disciplines, and I admit that your accomplishments filled
  me with a sense of pride. It is because of this that your
  recent sea-change in attitude proves so vexing to me. In-
  telligence, however, is no defense against the many false
  paths of knowledge. Indeed, promises of false wisdom bait
  some of the surest traps. Others are baited with more fleshly,
  worldly desires. Your order’s overemphasis on the Prophet’s
  sermons on questing make you particularly vulnerable to
  such snares. You were ever an obstinate heretic in your
  quest for knowledge; I read little in your letter to allay my
  fears in this regard.
  It is not easy to watch the child one cared for as a son
  defy all that one has taught him. Unthankful child. So I
  saw you then; so I see you now. I will further note that
  your conversion has caused me some small political dis-
  comfort in my administration of the Holy See. Still, I will
  give you what you so guardedly asked for — my forgive-
  ness. In answer to your conditions on my forgiveness,
  however, I must add one of my own. As I must extend you
  my forgiveness without your contrition, so too must you
  accept my forgiveness without my approval. I ask not for
  your repentance; for I see that you are not yet ready to do
  so. There are places on the roads between the stars where
  I fear this lack of penitence and humility will serve you ill.
  I say this, not as some sinister veiled threat, but as a simple
  observance of spiritual truth.
  I look at you and I see myself at your age. I was young,
  brash and so sure that I was on the threshold of all the
  secrets of the universe. They called it hubris, and so it was.
  The old father at Saint Horace’s shook that out of me soon
  enough. I went to the Cloud Caves against temple law. The
  old father caught and rightly punished me, for the caves
  were filled with carnivorous rats the size of Bannockburn
  hounds. He put a penance on me, greater than any I have
  ever laid at your door. Still, I learned a great lesson that
  day: The hand that chastises also protects.
  And so I come, at last, to your question of what I say
  to my flock. Do I give them the “standard canon,” that
  their sins are in some way responsible for the darkening
  skies?  That we humans, as a race, are not in some way
  responsible is inconceivable to me. Can it be that you doubt
  this truth? During the Second Republic we spat our con-
  tempt to the heavens. “See?” we said. “We have conquered
  all the powers of nature. We have controlled the force of
  earthquakes and storms with our terraforming engines and
  weather control satellites. Behold! We are no longer merely
  beasts imbued with a divine spark; we are ourselves di-
  vine!” The Pancreator justly punished us for this blas-
  phemy, just as the Prophet foretold. The Pancreator no-
  tices the fall of the smallest dust mote on the most dead
  and distant world. Think you that he does not see the wick-
  edness in the human heart? A heretic may hide his sins
  from his community, his family and even himself, but not
  from the all-seeing eye of Creation.
  You are knowledgeable in the arts of rhetoric and de-
  bate. The Prophet said “quest,” and so you do. The Prophet
  said: “A sun must burn to birth light. When your passion
  burns, you give off light.” You take this as an admonition
  against what you see as the burdensome responsibilities
  of order and tradition. You, like many who follow this new
  Emperor, misinterpret the Prophet’s teachings on the Quest.
  The Prophet spoke not of an outward seeking passion, nor
  was he a proponent of a dubious quest for “self-enlighten-
  ment.” The Prophet spoke of a passion for building the
  one true Church, so that all throughout the Known Worlds
  may know the divine touch of the Pancreator. Humans are
  creatures of two instincts, one base and profane, the other
  divine. If the Church must discipline its flock to save their
  souls, so be it. If, as you said, many ignore the “petty”
  laws of the Church — what of it? Dereliction of duty by the
  weak should in no way dictate the actions of a man of
  conscience. At the end of all things, our souls must be in
  right order, before the final judgment of the Pancreator.
  But again, enough. I will not rebut your letter point
  for point. You no doubt view it as your “Manifesto of Free-
  dom” against the stifling old ways. I wrote many such docu-
  ments in my own youth; they molder even now in the great
  cathedral vaults beneath my feet. No, the impetuousness
  of youth will in no way admit to the wisdom of age in its
  quest for “truth.” I understand, perhaps even envy, the
  unbridled freedom that you believe your travels afford you.
  You must, in the final analysis, make your own mistakes
  (although many Inquisitors may be less lenient in their
  judgment). As long as you remain true to the ideals of the
  Universal Church, I will strive to protect you as best I can.
  I do this out of a love for my dearly departed sister, and
  because of a lingering belief that you may yet become a
  productive member of the Church. I have spoken with
  Bishop Vestrus. He assures me that his parish is still open
  to you, despite the unfortunate events surrounding your
  final parting with him.
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  10
  If not, you are set on an altogether more dangerous
  path than any I ever attempted. You have traveled much,
  from Midian to Leminkainen. If you in any way still heed
  my word, then take heed off this: Midian is a relatively
  stable world, Leminkainen less so. Yet, still you have not
  walked the dark paths. There are planets, and you know
  of which ones I speak, that are far more treacherous than
  any you have yet encountered. As you and the Prophet
  said: “Darkness walks among the stars.” I have had vi-
  sions of hidden hands at work throughout the Known
  Worlds. I fear that a time of great tribulation is upon us.
  There are nightmare paths, some unknown to the Chari-
  oteers or the lower castes of your order. Questing does not
  mean the reckless courting of needless dangers. If you walk
  these cursed paths, you pass beyond the borders of all help
  and I will not be able to aid you.
  You are, no doubt, tested by my old man’s warnings.
  So I will end by allaying at least one of the fears addressed
  in your letter. I bear you no animosity for the choices you
  have made… thus far. I may still feel the brunt of your
  rejection of Orthodoxy, but if you repent it must be to your-
  self and to the Pancreator. If your path should bring you to
  the seat of the Empire, you will find my door open to you.
  Your Uncle,
  Marcus Aurelius Palamon
  Archbishop, Byzantium Secundus
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  11
  October 31st, 4996 (Holy Terra calendar)
  Since it always calms my nerves to compose in my
  journal, I undertake to do so now, for rarely has my need
  for calm been so great or my nerves so aflame. For so long
  have I heard the priests who tutored me condemn crime
  and the criminal, painting with words a picture of terror
  for he who commits such an error. Never did I think while
  a youth in the rectory that such a litany would be turned
  against me.
  I am now faced with the moral quandary Julia Abrams
  mockingly warned me of when first we joined company in
  the entourage of Lady Erian Li Halan. “Wipe the mother’s
  milk from your lip, priest,” she had said, “If you travel
  with us, you’re going to break all the rules.”
  I smiled then, used to such airs of superiority from
  working class freemen, who seemed convinced that only
  they knew the ways of the worlds and that only their feet
  were not weary from walking them. “Let not thy vows to
  Mother Church be forsaken, and all resistance will yield to
  thee,” I quoted, so confident, even though the Avestites
  were then on our heels. But I knew that their hunt was
  only political. At least, it was then. I fear our actions have
  made it otherwise. I have broken my vows to Mother Church
  and touched the sleek and cold brilliance of technology,
  risking my soul in the act, and the souls of others in my
  care.
  My sojourn into sin be-
  gan when Earl Sebastian
  Hazat de Aragon made loan
  to Lady Erian of a starship
  in his family’s care. He did
  so in return for my liege’s
  later favor in an as yet un-
  disclosed matter. The vexing
  charity of the nobility is best
  left unaccepted, but we were
  in dire need of transport to
  Kurga, for on that embattled
  world was rumored to be a
  long-buried secret vital to
  House Li Halan. Possession
  of this secret could very well
  restore land to Lady Erian.
  We took possession of
  the craft with Julia Abrams
  as pilot. Even though we had
  traveled far already in her
  company and had become
  fast friends, sharing life and
  death struggles together, she
  proved her guild ties once we were in the craft. A loud
  argument ensued when she raised the matter of compen-
  sation for her piloting the craft. She dared to ask her boon
  companions — nay, the Lady who succored her — for
  money. The guilds bathe in such filth, preferring the clink
  of coin to life-giving water. The matter was finally resolved
  when all of us threatened in return to charge her for our
  once-freely given aid in future matters. She relented and
  consented to pilot the craft in return for a share of any
  profit our group’s endeavors might one day yield.
  I shall perhaps later add an entry concerning our jour-
  ney though the vast spaces between Aragon and her
  jumpgate, and the void which awaited us on the other side
  of that gate. But I am eager to address the matter of which
  I now write — of technology and its misuse in the eyes of
  the Church, and the rabid hate invoked in those whose
  mission it is to guard the faithful from such sin. My sin.
  We landed on Kurga undetected, for the Hazat and the
  Kurgan rebels were fully engaged in bitter warfare at the
  gates of the capitol, a battle which, as with many others in
  that location before, would come to naught but death for
  many soldiers with victory for none. The capitol stood firm.
  Far from it, in the deep forests to the north, we landed
  our craft near the spot to which our data had led us. From
  a long-slumbering think machine on Aylon I had retrieved
  a map of this very place, detailing from a millennia ago the
  city which once thrived here,
  but was now swallowed by
  root and loam, canopied by
  leaf and vine.
  Such wilderness expe-
  ditions were not unknown to
  us, and our Vorox compan-
  ion, Onganggorak, led us
  through the winding paths
  to the remains of a structure
  wherein rested our secret
  find. After digging a while
  to gain egress, we traveled
  by fusion torch light through
  corridors untouched for gen-
  erations. After nearly a day
  of such travel, with many
  false turns and dead-end al-
  leys, we finally came to the
  vast vault.
  I gasped in astonish-
  ment at what lay before us.
  I had seen weapons of war
  before, but rarely so grand
  Sins of the Past
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  12
  as these. They stood in perfect ranks, unblemished by the
  centuries, perfect metal cannons of destruction such as have
  never been seen by the faithful souls of our modernday
  Empire. Such Second Republic monsters could only have
  been crafted by godless men, who knew not compunction
  or remorse for the horrors their metal children wrought.
  It was our mission to retrieve one of these beasts, of
  the same design and type clearly once used by the Li Halan
  long ago when they had secured their fiefs from the sinful
  Republicans. But as I looked upon them now, I shuddered,
  and remembered the legends of the early Li Halan, how
  they had made pacts with demons and slaughtered their
  enemies with such ferocity as to make the Pancreator weep.
  I knew doubt then. Could I aid even my sworn liege in this
  task? To return to the Known Worlds with such weaponry?
  Surely, to hand over this technology would return Erian to
  the graces of her family — but to what use would it then
  be put? These things could only deliver horror and soul-
  death. Oh, the Emperor Wars had been one long night of
  terror for too many, with similar rediscovered weaponry
  shifting the balance of power for each house who discov-
  ered them. What if these weapons convinced the Li Halan
  that they could defy the power of the new Emperor?
  I pleaded with Erian to realize what we had done, and
  to leave these things untouched, to destroy the data which
  had brought us here. But she was flush with the power of
  these things, and heeded me not.
  Even with the burns that now pain my arm, I thank
  the Pancreator for the delivery of his punishment then.
  We were fools to think that the Avestites had not fol-
  lowed us here. Ong had said too much in public under the
  influence of drink, and word had spread of our goal. They
  burst into the room brandishing flameguns and screaming
  their litany of seizure.
  Of course, we all resisted. We hid behind the mon-
  strous carcasses of the cannons and fired our weapons
  while they fired theirs. But it was a short fight, for Erian
  was struck when her shield burned out. We pleaded sur-
  render, knowing that because Erian was noble, they would
  have to return her for trial rather than let her die here.
  There was always the hope of escape then.
  While I ministered to her wound under their watchful
  gaze, they demanded that Julia show them the workings
  of the cannons. She refused at first, but their brands con-
  vinced her flesh, and her resolve soon followed.
  Let what bad words I said of the guildsmembers ear-
  lier be mitigated by my thankful admiration for their clev-
  erness — as dangerous as it is. They are all trained in the
  art of talking, used to befuddle their customers so that they
  might sell faulty merchandise for good price before the dupe
  is aware of what he has bought. Such a gift served Julia
  here, as she maneuvered the Avestites to inspect the mouth
  of the cannon as she pressed the remote control unit she
  had pocketed during the firefight.
  The ensuing chaos allowed us to escape down a side
  tunnel, which Ong collapsed behind us to stifle pursuit. I
  followed in a daze, ashamed at my extreme relief. Like a
  child who had avoided punishment, I was elated — but
  great Pancreator, others suffered in my stead.
  I can never forget the sight of the Avestites blown apart
  by the fires belched forth from the metal beast, asleep for
  so many years, awakened now at an instant to destroy all
  in its path — including its own brethren, standing in ranks
  before it. The fellow cannons’ screams pained the ears.
  They did not go gentle to their doom, for the fires in their
  innards erupted outward, released from their long captiv-
  ity by ruptured steel.
  It was only the fire-retardant robes of the Avestite
  which stood before me that prevented my burning in the
  blight. He burned for me. My clothes were alit and my skin
  hot, but I was alive. Ong’s fur was singed terribly, as was
  Erian’s clothing, but our fear helped us ignore the pain as
  we bolted from that fiery chamber.
  We suffered two days without food or water in the
  winding caverns before finding escape from that tomb. Our
  craft was still where we had left it, although the Avestites
  had tried to search it. Of them, there was no sign. Did any
  survive the conflagration? I pray for their sakes and ours
  that the answer is no.
  I have received a harsh lesson, and one which I will
  endeavor to heed. But not so my companions. Erian has
  resolved to not give up her search for similar engines of
  her family’s past. Julia is positively ecstatic about the power
  she wielded with but the movement of her thumb on a
  switch. Cardanzo, Erian’s bodyguard, has sworn to be more
  cautious around such technology, but has developed no
  fear of it. Only Onganggorak has realized the full import of
  what we have seen. Bred among little technology, on a
  world where only one’s own strength can prevail over oth-
  ers, he rightly fears what destruction can be wielded with
  such machines.
  I have thought deeply on this but have no easy an-
  swers. It was such technology that aided Alexius in his
  ascent, and I am not one to deny the greater good he now
  delivers to us. Indeed, I write this from inside a cocoon of
  metal speeding through the void towards a machine greater
  than any yet conceived, the jumpgate of the Annunaki.
  The Prophet admired such space quests, yet abjured the
  cannons we have seen. He knew the terrible, seductive
  temptation to use them.
  I am only a young priest, but I know that technology
  is a greater force than I, awakening desires within me and
  others to remake the worlds in images not of my choosing.
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  13
  Nobles are most perplexing. My time in Lady Erian Li
  Halan’s service has taught me that, but offered little in-
  sight otherwise. I have not the upbringing to fathom their
  thoughts, and thus their deeds remain largely unpredict-
  able to me. I live by the guidelines of the Prophet, with
  compassion before all. They have other… priorities. I say
  this not to diminish them. How can one such as I, a novi-
  tiate in a small and ill-famed order, through word or deed
  ever tarnish those of noble blood? If, as some say, they
  were born to their high peak by the Pancreator’s will, then
  the words of those below them can mean little, even those
  words blessed to reach them past the furious winds which
  blow at such heights.
  No, I in no way infer a political statement behind my
  musings. I simply wonder at times. If but a few nobles
  could put aside their obsessive duties and place the well
  being of their charges first in their hearts, then perhaps
  the darkness which devours the suns would not seem so
  cold to those who suffer in its dimming light.
  Perhaps I had best give example before my confusing
  thoughts yield heresy.
  I had returned with Erian and her entourage to Vera
  Cruz after our harrowing expedition to the barbarian world
  of Kurga, of which I will say no more here. We were forced
  to abandon our starship for fear that it would lead the In-
  quisitors to us. We set out on beastback to hide ourselves
  in the remote mountains for
  a time, hoping the Inquisi-
  tors would turn their hunt to
  another world, figuring we
  had moved on. With minimal
  supplies, we left the last
  settlement listed on our
  maps and went to the wilder-
  ness.
  We soon found that the
  maps were wrong. Drawn up
  and made available by noble
  decree, they omitted what
  the nobility hid in shame.
  Two days into our jour-
  ney, with no sign of any vil-
  lage or even a manor house,
  we came upon a field of
  peasant workers. I know
  they saw us, but they none-
  theless pretended they had
  not. We could hear a commo-
  tion up the road, concealed
  around a bend. By the fur-
  tive glances the peasants gave this area, I knew it was the
  source of their fear.
  We rounded the corner and saw a cruel scene. A man
  was on the ground, writhing in the mud and grunting in
  pain, suffering the terrible lashes of a whip, which was
  thrashed wildly by a stripling in noble garb.
  I acted without thinking and only later realized how
  foolish it was. My compassion got the better of me, but I
  endangered my Lady with it. Without even considering that
  the victim of such torture might be a criminal who deserved
  this treatment, I jumped off my horse and ran to him. I
  grasped the long tail of the whip as it was drawn back
  before it could strike again, and yelled in anger at the
  startled boy who held it.
  His eyes widened in shock but he quickly recovered,
  snarled at me, and sent me reeling with a backhand. I
  flopped into the mud alongside the whipping victim, and
  immediately felt the lash myself. Oh, I will never under-
  stand how the man beside me withstood 10 lashings let
  alone one without crying like a babe from the sheer pain
  of it. I could not withstand the one lash, and did cry out.
  There did not come another. When I opened my teary
  eyes, the noble boy was lying in the mud before me, un-
  horsed himself. Beyond him stood Erian, sword drawn.
  “Get up, boy,” she said. “If you would dare to strike a
  member of my entourage — a priest, for Prophet’s sake —
  then you would surely be
  bold enough to settle the
  matter properly. Draw your
  blade!”
  The boy scowled at her
  with a most ugly expression.
  Indeed, he looked the most
  ill-bred of any noble I have
  yet seen. But he certainly
  had reflexes, for he was up
  with sword drawn in a sec-
  ond, with his steel aimed
  straight for Erian’s throat.
  She casually tapped the
  thrust aside and flicked her
  blade at his wrist, drawing
  a thin line of blood. His
  scowled deepened, if it can
  be imagined, and he began
  a hail of blows, all easily
  parried by my Lady.
  I looked to Cardanzo,
  Erian’s bodyguard, who had
  not even dismounted. He sat
  On Meeting a Noble
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  14
  on his horse smirking. I knew Erian was in no danger.
  Few men can size up an opponent as quickly as Cardanzo,
  and if he saw no danger for our Lady, then there was none.
  I picked myself up and bent down to attend to the poor
  wretch I had attempted to save from misery. The clang of
  swords continued behind me as I examined the man. The
  lashes had cut deep in some areas, now splattered with
  mud. He would need washing and a bed to properly heal.
  I turned to watch the duel in time to see it end. Erian,
  finally tired of toying with the boy, disarmed him and sent
  his blade flying into the field. A few peasants ran from the
  spot at which it landed, afraid to be near it. The boy was
  panting and exhausted, but his anger seethed from him,
  hot enough to warm a small hut on a cold winter’s night.
  “Admit your defeat,
  boy,” Erian said. “Or fetch
  your blade for more.”
  The boy growled and
  ran to his sword. He was
  soon back, hacking furi-
  ously at Erian, who was
  actually surprised and
  somewhat angry now her-
  self.
  Anger is the great
  undoer. He pushes us to precipices we would rather not
  fall from.
  Erian struck out and sliced the boy’s forearm, not
  enough to cripple, but enough to end his days as a duelist
  for a long time. As he fell to the ground screaming and
  clutching his wounded arm, horse’s hooves sounded loudly
  on the road ahead. In moments, a horse rounded the bend
  and stopped short, kicking mud up into the air.
  A wild, blacktressed demoness leapt from the mount
  and marched toward the boy. Never have I seen such an
  impressive lady or such a seething anger. But I could not
  tell at whom it was directed — the boy or us?
  She said nothing but I could tell by the way the boy’s
  eyes beseeched her that she was his mother. She looked at
  the wound in contempt and then turned her attention to
  Erian.
  “You have wounded my son, lady,” she said. “Are you
  prepared to stand trial for restitution?”
  “I’ll do no such thing,” Erian cried. “I had just right to
  challenge your boy. You’d know that for sure, but then,
  you’re the one who raised him to strike priests!”
  “I raised him no such way!” the lady yelled. “Defend
  your actions then!” She drew sword and waited for Erian.
  I could not believe this. I had thought the matter swiftly
  ended, but here was yet another noble seeking yet another
  duel. And Erian, without a moment’s hesitation, gave it to
  her.
  Their swords flashed in the light of the coming sunset
  as they paced about each other, each seeking the other’s
  measure. I looked to Cardanzo to see that he had left his
  mount and now watched the battle intently. By the way
  his eyes never wavered from the blades, I knew that Erian
  had perhaps met her match. All because I had foolishly
  acted, creating a chain of events which inevitably led to
  this, vendetta upon vendetta.
  Fear gripped my heart, for I knew that my Lady’s en-
  ergy shield was inoperative, for our fusion batteries had
  long since run out. I could not allow this! I cried out: “Hold
  your sword! My lady is at a disadvantage — I can see that
  you have an energy shield while she does not!”
  “Still your tongue, Alustro!” Erian yelled.
  But her opponent stepped back and dropped her blade.
  “Good priest, I thank you.
  I would not have it be said
  that my accouterments
  won a battle rather than
  my hand. I remove my
  shield.” She unhooked an
  elaborate brooch which
  she wore on her cloak,
  and placed it in her
  saddlebags. “Now, have
  at you!” she yelled and
  engaged Erian.
  I prayed for my Lady, using no theurgy or rite which
  was unseemly to a duel, but with the simple means of faith
  instead. If she was in the right, surely the Pancreator would
  grant her victory. I winced as the first full strike hit steel,
  sending a clang echoing across the field. The peasants had
  all stopped their work and were staring gape-jawed at the
  fight.
  Swords moved so swiftly I could not mark the battle.
  Parry became riposte, becoming feint and then slash, punc-
  tuated by moments of supernal stillness, then broken once
  again by flashing blades. Both combatants were nicked
  and bloody, but with no major wounds on either side.
  But as the sun moved closer to the horizon and the
  sky grew red, the mysterious lady’s face grew softer, and
  her grim expression slowly became a smile, which rose to
  her eyes. Then, she drew back and raised her sword for
  truce.
  “You fight well, lady,” she said. “We are both tired
  and have not yet got the full measure of the other. What
  say we call a truce and end this duel?”
  “I accept your terms,” Erian, panting, replied. “You
  fight most well indeed. It would seem we are both the match
  for the other. I doubt that even another hour of dueling
  would decide the outcome.”
  The swordswoman laughed. “True. True, indeed. It is
  rare to meet such an accomplished and honorable noble in
  these parts. Would you return with me to my manor and
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  15
  be my guest? I am most curious about you now, and would
  be offended were you to refuse.”
  How odd! She had wanted to soundly thrash my lady
  moments before. Now, her rage was turned to… affection?
  The offer seemed to be most genuine, with no hint of guile
  behind it, and I am glad my Lady accepted it, for we had as
  yet no place to stay for the night.
  But our host’s boy was not happy about the offer. He
  scowled at his mother, climbed on his mount, and rode off
  down the road. I was surprised to see that she cared little
  about his actions, even rolling her eyes as if to suggest to
  us that the boy was overly dramatic in his actions. Most
  perplexing, indeed.
  The manor was but a mile up the road. Not the richest
  lodging we had seen, but it was most comfortable. The
  lady had even graciously helped me to place the wounded
  peasant on my mount and offered her chuirgeon to aid
  him. Thus, I joined our entourage at supper a bit late, as I
  took it upon myself to ensure that the wounded man was
  put to bed well. As I entered the dining room, I was greeted
  with laughter and joy. Our hostess was listening to some
  of Erian’s tales of our lighter adventures, and she seemed
  fully caught up in the humor of them. A most remarkable
  change from earlier.
  “Ah, Alustro,” Erian said as I sat down, “Is all well
  with your charge?”
  “Yes, my Lady,” I replied. “He will do fine. His wounds
  will heal aright.” Our host’s face darkened somewhat as I
  said this, not out of anger, but shame.
  “Our gracious host, Baroness Shariza Hazat de La-
  guna, has explained the incident to us,” Erian said.
  “But I owe an explanation to the priest, also,” the bar-
  oness said. “My son learned only the ways of cruelty from
  my husband. He knows not how to treat the serfs in a
  manner befitting the Pancreator’s creations. Had you not
  already intervened, and had it not been a matter of family
  honor to defend him before strangers, I would have lashed
  him with his own whip. Of all the misery my dishonored
  husband left me, he is the worst.”
  “I… I am sorry, baroness,” I stammered.
  “Why? It is not your doing. No, my husband chose to
  betray his liege during the wars, and in return his widow
  is given only the least of his manors on the least — and
  now last — of his lands, a prisoner far from society where
  she can no longer harm his reputation.”
  It seemed to me that her exile perhaps had less to do
  with her husband than with her own outspoken manner.
  She seemed a great lady, but in the fashion of many nobles,
  greatness leads to great enemies. Indeed, as the night went
  on, we talked long about our exploits and listened intently
  to hers. She and Erian had built a bond of sorts on the
  field which only grew tighter as time passed. They had so
  much in common, both wronged by their royal connec-
  tions.
  We stayed at the Baroness Shariza Hazat de Laguna’s
  manor for a week. During that time, Erian cemented a
  friendship it seems will last a lifetime. Rarely were those
  two apart, talking always about noble affairs and how to
  overturn their bad fortunes. By the end of our stay, we
  knew we had an ally for whenever we needed it. I don’t
  think Erian wanted to leave when we did, for the baroness
  was the first compatriot she had meet since her exile. But
  the vision afforded by the Gargoyle of Nowhere drove us
  on.
  The whole affair was most perplexing, even if it did
  have good outcome. How can the shattering sound of steel
  upon steel lead to such a true friendship? Most people make
  their friends in more civil ways, but it seems that nobles
  must first ascertain the power of another before they can
  be unguarded before them. Is this any basis for true hu-
  man companionship?
  Perhaps its the truest and most enduring basis. I hope
  not. It would be a crueler world than I imagine if all human
  interaction was reduced to hierarchies of power. But then
  again, there is surely evil out to thwart all good people.
  Perhaps only in the heat of such passion, tested where
  there is little chance for guile, can we truly come to know
  another.
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  16
  ”Hell, I’ve got the scar to prove it!”
  “I understand the trophy value of these wounds,” I
  said, “but they are not healthy. At least, not in such num-
  ber. Surely so much scar tissue must lead to health compli-
  cations later on in life. If you anticipated such dangers,
  why did you not travel with a trained physick, or at least
  learn something of the arts of healing yourself, so that you
  could properly bind your own wounds?”
  “I did pretty damn good by myself, son,” Foote said,
  holding his head high. “But for this one — the jagged tear
  in my bicep opened up by that grackle fox — I didn’t have
  any thread. I had to use the sinews of the grackle itself.
  Almost fainted from blood loss by the time I’d skinned
  him enough to get at the tough cords. If I didn’t have my
  Martech Gold with me, never would’ve cut through it at
  all. That’s stuff’s tough! A knife’ll go dull before slicing a
  grackle fox’s guts up!”
  I looked at my companions. Cardanzo nodded know-
  ingly, as if Foote had stated some eternal verity. Even Ong
  nodded eagerly. Grackle foxes were native to his world; he
  surely had some experience in such matters. If he agreed,
  perhaps it was so. But I felt it more likely that the beast
  served the same purpose for Vorox hunters that it did now
  for Gabriel — a prey whose capture is greater in the telling
  than in the deed.
  It was Julia who introduced us to Gabriel. She knew
  him from her apprentice
  days among the Charioteers.
  Actually, we had all heard of
  him. Who in the Known
  Worlds has not? The famed
  Captain Foote and his ex-
  ploits for the guilds are well-
  told tales throughout the
  Known Worlds, providing
  proof of the virtues of hero-
  ism and duty. Of course, the
  occasional parish priest ser-
  monizes against Foote, fear-
  ful that his exploits will pro-
  vide example for fools to
  venture forth to the stars,
  and thus meet useless
  deaths on distant worlds.
  But his reputation was en-
  shrined in most houses.
  But now that I had met
  the legend, I thought him a
  blowhard. Most of his sto-
  ries were sheer illusion, tall
  tales which — amazingly — everyone seemed to believe.
  Even my Lady, Erian Li Halan, was genuinely excited at
  meeting a man who, in most circumstances, would be her
  social inferior to an extreme degree. But she treated him
  with the deference due a count. For such he was, in her
  mind and the minds of others. A hero, regardless of actual
  worldly rank and station, is often considered a de facto
  lord.
  And here this lord sat, on his well-worn bench in the
  Rampant Gurdvulf, the throne on which he gave audience
  to his visitors. The requirements for admission to such an
  audience? As much alcohol as the lord requested. And
  should the well run dry, the audience would end, the sup-
  plicants sent on their way to make room for the next batch.
  Such is the life of retirement for Captain Gabriel Foote,
  former pilot and explorer.
  We had already been overlong on Criticorum when Julia
  heard word of Foote and his night roost. Now, we had spent
  another three nights here, plying Foote with liquor in re-
  turn for tales of his exploits. The longer we stayed in one
  place, the closer the Inquisition would come. But Foote as-
  sured us that no Inquisitor would dare step foot in this
  district of Nueva Janeiro. So far, he was correct. But could
  we risk an exception to his rule?
  My Lady believed the risk worth the prize, for she had
  grown up hearing of Foote’s legendary adventurers, told
  among the noble youth of
  Midian when their instruc-
  tors were not listening. Such
  exciting stories, especially
  ones about a guildsman,
  were not considered proper
  for Li Halan lords and ladies,
  but they heard them none-
  theless, spread by the chil-
  dren of householders,
  whose connection to the
  bustling world outside the
  palace was greater. For my
  Lady, Foote was a childhood
  hero, and she was proud to
  meet him. His slovenly ways
  and colorful language
  seemed only to reinforce his
  legend.
  And so we listened to
  Foote. How many exploits
  can one man possible have?
  His seemed innumerable.
  “Julia,” Foote said,
  Tall Tales
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  17
  “Didn’t you say you’d been to Nowhere?”
  “Yeah,” Julia replied. “We saw that Gargoyle thing in
  the desert. Erian and Alustro got some weird dreams after
  seeing it.”
  “Visions,” I said. “We both had the same true vision.”
  “Okay, right,” Julia said. “But we’ve been there. Why?”
  “I’ve been there, too,” Foote said. “Saw the Gargoyle
  also. I didn’t get a vision, but my passenger did.”
  We all waited as he took a swig of ale. He certainly
  knew the art of suspense, purposefully pausing at just the
  right point in his narrative.
  “Whatever it was he saw lit a fire under his butt,”
  Foote continued. “We were off again the next day, hurry-
  ing to Shaprut. Over the journey, he wouldn’t tell anyone
  about it or why we were going to Shaprut. When we landed
  a week later —”
  “A week?!” Julia said. “From Nowhere to Shaprut?
  That’s at least half a month’s journey, what with the time
  it takes to get to the gates—”
  “Well, we had a fast ship.”
  “Fast is one thing, but that’s not even counting the
  shakedown you get from the Stigmata Garrison before they
  let you take the jump out of the Stigmata system. How’d
  you avoid that?”
  Foote shrugged. “The regent could go where he wanted,
  when he wanted.”
  “Regent! You mean Alexius was your passenger! No
  way!”
  Foote smiled. “Ask anybody in the guild, Julia. I served
  as the regent’s pilot for three years. Luckily, I went freelance
  before he crowned himself Emperor. Things would have
  gotten a bit hot even for my taste.”
  I rolled my eyes, but Julia saw me.
  “All right, Alustro,” she said. “I’m sick of your atti-
  tude. Gabriel’s been an excellent host to us, yet you seem
  bored. Or disgusted. I can’t tell which. What the hell’s the
  problem?”
  I gave her a glare. How dare she say this in front of
  Foote! I did not wish to openly insult the man, but I could
  not lie about my feelings once asked directly. “I am most
  grateful for your time and entertainment, Captain Foote.”
  “Gabriel, please,” Foote said, “I’m retired now, and
  my first name’s good enough for friends.” He flashed a
  smile which seemed to charm them all. Friends of the great
  Gabriel Foote. What a high honor.
  “Gabriel. Thank you,” I said. “But… Well… It just
  seems so… elaborate.”
  Foote raised a single eyebrow.
  “I mean… You seem to have done an awful lot of
  things. So many things…”
  Everyone was looking at me now, staring me down,
  telling me with intent alone not to say what I was about to
  say.
  “They cannot all be true. These are tall tales.”
  “Alustro!” Erian said. “How dare you!”
  Foote chuckled. “Can’t fool a confessor, I guess. Of
  course some of it’s overblown, priest. Tales grow in the
  telling even if you don’t mean them to. Do you think your
  friends here don’t know that? Only a fool would take it all
  at face value. But I tell you this: the important things hap-
  pened. I did fly for Alexius, for a time. Were we friends?
  No. I doubt he’d even remember me. Hell, boy! Ask me
  anything about any place you know and I’ll bet I’ve been
  there. Go ahead, ask.”
  I frowned, but thought for a moment. “Pentateuch.
  Have you been there?”
  “Ha! Of course.”
  “Then surely you visited Heliopolis. In which quarter
  is the Basilica?”
  “Son, anybody could answer that question even if
  they’d never been there. Let me ask you: Have you been in
  the Sirocco from atop Mount Tabor?”
  “No. And you have?”
  “Aye, I have. An old friend of mine led me there — we
  went through flight school together here on Criticorum
  when we were as wet behind the ears as you were. He’s a
  Marabout now. Saw the World Fire and it changed his life.
  Out of remembrance for our youth, he took me there when
  I asked him to. I waited for three nights and nothing hap-
  pened. I gave up and left.
  “But on the way down, the storm came. Next I knew, I
  was in the desert, miles from where I’d been standing, my
  friend and pack beast no where to be seen. I had to walk
  without water or food for three more days before I came
  across the Ur-Obun pilgrims train. But I did it without com-
  plaint. I’d seen something in that storm. Something I’ve
  never talked about to anyone. But I’ll tell you. As naive as
  you are in the ways of people and the worlds, I think you’d
  understand this best of all — begging the Lady’s forgive-
  ness, of course, but she’s not a priest and you are.”
  He leaned forward, staring intently at me. All the blus-
  ter had left him, and he seemed instantly sober, as if his
  drunken cheer was all just in jest. Despite my earlier feel-
  ings, I had a slight chill. He seemed to be in the grip of
  some deep passion as he spoke about his holy experience.
  I could not help but respect it.
  “I saw myself in the cockpit of my ship, flying through
  an atmospheric storm. My instruments were out and it was
  too dark to steer by sight. I was freaking out, flying wild.
  Then my navigator told me to fly by instinct, that faith in
  myself would get me through this. And he was right. I
  calmed down and just flew like there was nothing I couldn’t
  fly through. Next thing I knew, the storm cleared, and the
  sun broke through, so bright I had to squint. It felt like
  victory. And only then did I remember that I don’t have a
  navigator — I fly alone.
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  18
  “I looked at the seat next to me and there was this
  pilot, smiling at me. I knew he was a pilot, ‘cause he had
  on flight gear, except it was old, like they used to wear a
  long, long time ago. He said that only when everybody
  could trust themselves enough to weather any storm would
  the light of the sun shine bright enough to blind us. I knew
  then who it was. I can tell by the look on your face that
  you also know.”
  “Yes,” I said in awe. “Saint Paulus. Those were the
  words the Prophet spoke to him after he had safely flown
  through the terrible storms of Manitou, before the Prophet
  made his final journey. But this is not in
  the Omega Gospels! It appears only in the
  apocryphal scripture of Darius, apprentice
  to Paulus after the Prophet’s death. Only
  the Eskatonic Order keeps this scripture and
  they do not reveal it to the unordained. How
  did you know this?”
  “I certainly didn’t read it in your books.
  It was what the World Fire gave me. And it
  changed by life. You think I’d travel to all
  those worlds and get into all the trouble I
  told you about because I like it? What kind
  of idiot prefers getting shot at, stabbed,
  chased, locked in dungeons or possessed
  by demons just for the fun of it? I was
  questing, son, because the Prophet demanded it. Only out
  there, among the stars, was the answer to my fate.
  “Only on worlds unseen by other men, in places
  damned by priests and peasants, did the answer to my
  destiny lie. And I wasn’t alone. It was my going to such
  places that led me to Alexius’s service. My time with him
  saw some of the strangest things I’ve yet seen. Weird things
  which I’m under vow not to tell of — a vow which I’ll keep.
  You don’t break an oath to the Emperor. Hell, if he hadn’t
  gone questing, he wouldn’t be Emperor now and we’d prob-
  ably have some Decados or Hazat pig ruling us all.
  “And my travels weren’t all heroic, either. There was
  a lot of misery, too. And heartbreak. Times of such despair
  that I’d liked to have killed myself — and I almost did,
  taking risks no sane man would. But I survived it all, lived
  to tell of it. And the telling’s just as important as the doing.
  When someone hears about such quests, it’s sort of like
  they’re participating in them, even when they’re just sit-
  ting on a barstool farting. What’s the difference between
  questing in the body and questing in the mind? It’s quest-
  ing either way. ‘As long as our hearts are ever expanding
  to distant orbits.’”
  “Paulus 23:5,” I said.
  “I’m not just telling stories, I’m telling
  sermons. Parables of sorts about the places
  I’ve been and what they mean to me. What
  they could mean to others. If it gets even
  one person up off his butt to find out what’s
  what — what his purpose is — then it’s not
  a lie.”
  I nodded, beginning to understand.
  Gabriel Foote was no priest and no lord.
  He sought to change the world the only way
  he knew how: through example.
  “It is true that our own experiences
  would not be believed even were I tell them
  with no art whatsoever,” I said.
  “But the secret of storytelling,” Foote
  said, “is to weave the truth with a little art — even with a
  lie. If the art’s good enough, they’ll want to believe it with
  all their hearts. The Prophet knew that. When you tell folks
  about your own adventures — and you will, come time —
  remember that.” He sat back and winked at Julia. “Sorry I
  never told you any of this. I hope you understand.”
  Julia nodded. “Oh, I understand.”
  And I, too, finally understood Julia’s fondness for the
  man. His deeds light the way for us. Without the possibil-
  ity of great deeds, what use are our travails? Is our suffer-
  ing and hardship simply for naught? Or can we forge from
  them something worthy of the telling?
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  19
  For too long have I delayed writing of the two most
  significant events in my life. I feared to put them into words
  lest their power disappear like a dream upon the morning.
  But over the years and months since, they remain with
  me, as powerful as when I first experienced them. The vi-
  sion from my youth and the dream of the Gargoyle of No-
  where have changed me, and I cannot yet say where they
  shall take me.
  I am aware that these things are uncomfortable to
  many, who would rather not read such intimate portraits
  of another’s inner life when they are often too confused to
  read their own. Faith — even quiet, enduring faith — un-
  nerves many, for they either equate it with foolery or with
  the fires of the punishing Inquisition. Most would prefer
  to leave spiritual matters to experts. If this is so for you,
  reader, then read no further. For I will write of naked expe-
  rience and the raw power of the Pancreator. If such beliefs
  make you nervous, turn the pages and return to matters
  more mundane.
  When I was little, I was fed on the bread and milk of
  the Church. Raised in pious fashion on Midian, I knew no
  other ambition than that of the vestry. My dear, sweet
  mother wished only ordination for me, as did my well-
  placed uncle, none other than the Archbishop of Byzantium
  Secundus. But the Pancreator often has his own goals for
  our futures, and reveals them in his own time.
  I was 14 years old when
  I took vows and received my
  novitiates’ robes. My family
  connections ushered me in
  early to such duties, for my
  friends were still altar boys
  and cantors. I was neither
  bothered by this, nor was I
  overjoyed. My career in the
  Church was a given, not
  something I looked forward
  to with any excitement nor
  misgiving. This changed in
  the gardens of Lady Tara Li
  Halan.
  Walking there alone one
  afternoon on a gray day, I
  came upon a dying wuwei
  bird. The mokuto neko
  which had mauled it slipped
  away as I came down the
  path, leaving the bird to
  weakly flutter in fear and
  pain. I bent down to watch
  its last moments, more from curiosity than compassion.
  Dying animals are no rare occurrence. But as I watched its
  weak struggles, I realized that my presence caused it only
  more pain. Foolishly, I reached down to stroke it, hoping
  to allay its fears. Birds, of course, do not like being petted.
  I do not know what I was thinking. Stupid boy.
  Then, a remarkable thing occurred. The bird stilled,
  not yet dead, but calm, as if it accepted my weak gesture of
  peace. Its eyes looked into mine and I saw in them an in-
  ner light. Indeed, I now saw a light limned about its entire
  tiny body, a warm glow which spread outward. As I
  watched, my vision became clearer, as if fogs rolled aside
  so that I could truly see, for the first time, another being in
  its full glory. The light radiated out and met another bril-
  liance, a deeper, brighter light descending from above.
  When the lights met, the entire area was suffused with the
  glow, spreading all around, engulfing me within it.
  I gasped. Light now escaped from me, as if a furnace
  burned in my breast and my flesh could not contain the
  glow. I looked again at the dying bird and saw its light
  burst from its heart and shoot into the sky. As it disap-
  peared into the heavy clouds, the radiance around me
  dimmed and returned to gray. My own light retreated within
  once more.
  I was exhausted. The world returned to its previous
  state. The fog rolled in again, concealing the secret lumi-
  nosity of the world. The
  bird’s body lay unmoving, a
  dead husk.
  I believe that I was
  gifted with a vision of the
  Pancreator’s Descent of
  Grace, and the Luminous
  Return to the Empyrean of
  one of its divine creatures.
  But the experience was dif-
  ferent from what I was
  taught by my Orthodox tu-
  tors. For the bird had re-
  vealed a flame within itself
  — and its display had in
  turn revealed to me my own
  light, drawn outward by the
  Pancreator’s presence.
  This 
  holy 
  vision
  changed my entire outlook
  on my career, my very life.
  Yet I could not tell my teach-
  ers, for it departed too far
  from their doctrines. I knew
  Visions
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  20
  even then, as a young boy, that my vision was truer than
  the theology carried in books over a millennia. I knew then
  and there that I would eventually leave my order to join
  the Eskatonics, whose own doctrines spoke of the very
  thing I had experienced.
  I have since spoken with many priests, my age and
  older, and discovered that such a vision as was afforded
  me is rare. Most travel through life with no such experi-
  ence, relying only on faith as proof of the Pancreator. I
  understood why the Church was important to them; it was
  their only experience of the divine, mediated through the
  accounts of those who had touched Creation. I knew how
  truly blessed I was, that I had received what so many oth-
  ers have not. I did not need books and debates; the truth
  of the Pancreator resided in my memory, in my soul.
  But I also knew that to count my self above them for
  such a gift was wrong, and would lead only to hubris. To
  the contrary, I believed myself humbled. Why was such
  vision afforded me? Surely it meant that I must perform a
  duty for the Pancreator, to give my life in service to him. I
  began to envy those who were blind to visions, for they
  could choose their courses as they saw fit, with no divine
  prodding to sway them. I began to question all my actions
  in the light of my vision. I was paralyzed with indecision,
  lest I choose wrongly.
  Only time has allayed such fears in me. Only the
  rhythms of the mundane over the months and years have
  brought me to a sense of peace with my self. I must trust
  my heart, my own light. Why else was my burning heart
  shown to me if not for this meaning, that the truth lies
  within?
  But I could not forget the heavens, to which the dying
  soul of the bird had fled. My yearning for the stars and for
  questing began there. It is still strong in me. It is this yearn-
  ing and the memory of that early vision which prepared
  me for the quest given by the Gargoyle.
  My Lady Erian Li Halan led me to Nowhere to seek the
  famed oracle. With the rest of her entourage, we bought
  access past Stigmata to Nowhere, realizing that we might
  not be allowed to return should the garrison fear Symbiot
  taint among us. But to Erian, it was worth the risk. Her
  lands were stolen from her and she was rootless.
  An old matron of her pious house had told her of the
  Gargoyle, which had delivered to her grandfather a vision
  long ago, one which revealed to him the secret needed to
  rise to power within the family. Returning from that oracle,
  her grandfather had, within a number of years, deftly rid
  himself of all his rivals and uncannily predicted which of
  his allies would betray him. Emboldened by this tale, Erian
  swore to seek the oracle herself.
  Once on Nowhere, we had to purchase transportation
  and a guide to take us to the wastes, where the Gargoyle
  had sat for more years than recorded history. Few ships
  can risk landing in the wastes, lest the winds of the upper
  atmosphere scour the vessel’s hull and breach it. Yet the
  winds on the lower plain are eerily still and dead. The at-
  mosphere of the wasted planet required that we wear
  breathing masks, although atmosphere suits were not
  needed. After a journey of a week, we finally saw the thing
  across the vast plain.
  After setting up camp, we approached and examined
  it. Its architecture was impressive, its sculpting so lifelike
  that it seemed a creature frozen rather than carved. But it
  did not move, and thus could not be alive as we know it.
  I then performed a rite so that I might view its occult
  properties. When I opened my eyes with the Second Sight,
  I saw that it was staring at me. Its eyes had moved, rolling
  in their massive sockets to peer down at me. I shuddered,
  for its gaze was inhuman. No emotion could be read from
  it, except perhaps that of fear.
  I looked to Erian and saw that she was the only one of
  my companions who remained. The others were gone. Even
  the wastes were gone, replaced by lush grass over a pur-
  plish-green plain dotted with groves of oddly shaped trees.
  We stood in the Garden of Nowhere, the legendary state of
  the planet long ago, before it was turned to waste by mys-
  terious forces.
  Erian looked up at the Gargoyle and beseeched it.
  “Show me,” she said, with a pride and bearing which I
  hoped would not insult the artifact. But it was, as ever,
  unmoved. Its eyes had rolled to gaze upon her, but its si-
  lence was supernal.
  “Blessed be the works of the Pancreator,” I said in
  prayer. “Let wisdom come to those who are open to it, whose
  cups are empty and whose minds are as guileless as those
  of small children. Show us thy will so that we may com-
  plete it.”
  I do not remember exactly what happened next, but I
  know that I dreamed. I saw more than I can recall, but
  what I saw was strange enough. I was back aboard the
  pilgrim ship we had arrived in, but it was empty of pil-
  grims and my companions. I found my way to the bridge
  and discovered that it, too, was empty. Looking out the
  port, I saw that the ship approached a jumpgate. Although
  no pilot had willed it so, the gate began to open, space and
  light warping within its hoop to open a strange portal to
  another star system. As the ship entered, I realized with a
  shock of fear (in that form of dream logic where one knows
  things which have not been told) that the Sathra Damper
  was disabled and that my soul was at risk.
  Instead of the fabled euphoria, however, I saw a mist
  outside the ship. The pilot (yes, for there was now a pilot
  there, as if he had always been there) turned to me and
  asked me why it had taken me so long to get here. I replied
  that I had been on the bridge since before the jump, but he
  said that that was not what he meant.
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  21
  The ship then exited another gate and we were back
  in normal space. A ship awaited us, but it did not belong
  to any noble house, guild or sect. It was Vau. The pilot was
  gone again and the ship flew randomly. The Vau ship shot
  forth a beam and caught my ship in a cocoon of light. I
  went to the hatch to greet the visitors (which I knew would
  be coming).
  I was then in a sumptuous dining-room, eating with a
  Vau mandarin. Soldiers stood by the doors and half-naked
  servants brought us plates of oddly colored plants and
  meats, but they all tasted good. The mandarin turned to
  me and said, “Now that you have truly traveled space, you
  must become a priest.”
  I got up from the table and left the room, returning
  (instantly in the way of
  dreams) to the bridge of
  my ship (although it was
  now a different ship — the
  very one we would later
  acquire from one of Erian’s
  Hazat allies). Julia Abrams
  flew the ship and asked
  me where I had found the
  strange clothes which I
  wore. I realized that I was
  wearing Vau priestly robes, and replied, “I earned them.”
  She told me to strap in, because we were going to have
  to fight the Symbiots to get out of there. “There” was a
  different place than I had been before. We were now back
  in the Stigmata system, apparently pursued by a Symbiot
  spacefighter. It was faster than us, and shot forth a spider-
  web from its guns. The web wrapped about our ship and I
  could see tiny spiders crawling across our hull, strength-
  ening the web with their own silk. Our ship slowed to a
  crawl as the web dragged us back.
  The spiders were now in the ship, crawling underfoot.
  I shooed them away, but Julia was frantic. I told her to
  calm down, for we would all one day be food for the spi-
  ders. I said that we must climb the web to get home. I led
  her to the hatch and we crawled out onto the hull (without
  spacesuits!) and grasped the sticky webbing around it.
  Using it as a ladder, we climbed out into space, toward the
  sun. Julia complained about the cold, but I said that the
  sun was hot and we’d be warm when we would arrive there.
  But as we got closer, it only got colder. The sun seemed
  less bright. I knew that we had to connect the web to the
  sun, but I did not know why. I then realized that my own
  inner light would keep us warm. A small sun seemed to be
  inside my breast, and it radiated heat into space. I then
  remembered a Vau word to shape the light, and began to
  weave it into an extension of the web, building a ladder
  from our ship to the sun.
  I woke on the wastelands of Nowhere at the foot of
  the Gargoyle. I had been unconscious for nearly a day. Our
  guide had instructed Cardanzo and Julia to shade my body,
  but told them that this coma was the way of visions.
  Erian had dreamed
  also, but not the same
  dream as I. Her dream was
  populated by famous fig-
  ures of her family’s past,
  many from before the
  Conversion, when her
  relatives were demons
  among men. She has yet
  to tell all that she saw, but
  one of the elements of her
  dream was the discovery of a family relic on some un-
  named world. Whether this world is one of those we know
  or a Lost World is unclear, as is the nature of the relic.
  Erian seems to remember less of her dream than I, but
  traces of it return to her in dreams.
  As to the meaning of my dream, I cannot say for sure.
  I am still trying to unravel it. Perhaps I must bring the
  word of the Pancreator and the Holy Flame to the Vau and
  Symbiots? But this seems too simple an explanation for
  such a profound seeming vision — and profound for me it
  was, even if such emotion is lost in dry writing.
  Whomever reads this account in my journals, temper
  any charge of heresy that you may have with the knowl-
  edge that even the Prophet revered the Gargoyles, and be-
  lieved that they represented a purpose as yet to be revealed
  to Creation.
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  22
  August 8th, 4997, 9:00 am
  (Holy Terra calendar)
  I am in awe at the immensity of this spacestation.
  Its engineers are powerful indeed to keep it operating
  so many years after the Fall and under extreme pressure
  from the Church to abandon it. Cumulus, a city in space.
  We arrived here to met with Erian’s al-Malik patron.
  Our highly expensive berthing fees are being paid by this
  wealthy noble, whose name I had best not record here. We
  disembarked to discover a melting pot of people from plan-
  ets all over the Known Worlds. The bustle was almost as
  maddening as that in the Istakhr Market. People hurried
  to and fro, desperate to conduct their business and be off
  before rivals could find them — or before their berthing
  fees grow too high.
  Safe from monetary worry, we took our time reaching
  the domed city. We wandered the hydroponic gardens open
  to the vast night of space, lit only by rows of artificial sun-
  light. Here, in this chill void, humankind has erected a
  safe haven of light and life where even the flowers of Urth
  can find rich soil.
  Our patron resides in a rather lavish apartment build-
  ing fronted by the main avenue of the domed city. There,
  we enjoyed a rich repast and comfortable rest. Such a re-
  laxed atmosphere has grown foreign to us after too many
  months spent on rough
  worlds. But here we can let
  down our guard and enjoy
  life.
  I have just arisen from
  a good night’s rest (although
  day and night are governed
  here by the League’s clock,
  not by the rising or setting
  of the sun). Today, I will visit
  the agora, rumored to host
  items unavailable on many
  worlds. I hope to find an
  Obun meditation bowl, an
  item which has so far eluded
  me in many markets.
  9:00 pm
  What an adventure! I
  am lucky to be whole and
  with a full pouch of firebirds.
  Villainy walks freely on Cu-
  mulus.
  After finishing my jour-
  nal entry of the morning, I
  left for the agora. Since my comrades had not yet arisen, I
  decided to spend the day exploring on my own. A mistake.
  The first portion of the day was as wonderful as I had
  hoped. I wandered many stalls, all makeshift structures
  cuddled together in a network of hallways vast and small.
  Some — the more expensive — hosted permanent struc-
  tures or staterooms, where the air is more pleasant and
  elbow room more abundant.
  But it was the smaller ones which interested me, for
  they carried the most exotic goods. Of course, some of these
  I avoided, such as those promising a taste of the dreaded
  zhrii’ ka’a lotus or even the addictive selchakah.
  After a time of careful looking, I finally found a mer-
  chant who sold Ur-Obun goods. He had two of the bowls I
  was looking for! While I only purchased one, it seems that
  when one finally finds what one seeks, it comes in abun-
  dance. Much like the Pancreator’s grace.
  My purchase perhaps lulled my wariness. With a smile
  on my face — too broad and idiotic — I turned into a tighter
  passage, hoping for a shortcut back to the main thorough-
  fare. It was here the ruffians waylaid me.
  A rather large man stepped from an alcove and blocked
  my way, glaring down at me evily. From behind me, others
  gathered, chuckling low to themselves.
  “What’s in the bag, priest?” the large one grunted.
  I hesitated, revealing my fear. “It… it is simply a medi-
  tation device used by the
  Ven Lohji sect of the Church,
  my son.”
  He obviously did not
  like the appellation I had
  used to address him, and
  showed his displeasure with
  a swing of his thick arm,
  knocking me forcefully into
  the wall. I clutched my Obun
  bowl, desperate not to break
  it. How foolish! I would have
  suffered broken bones be-
  fore a broken bowl!
  “Hand it over! Along
  with that pouch!”
  My mind raced, trying
  to figure what stratagem I
  could use against them. I
  knew no theurgy which
  could help me so quickly as
  I needed, and my skill in
  arms is rather pitiful.
  The large one reached
  Melting Pot
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  23
  his arm back to strike again when he grunted in pain and
  toppled backwards, pulled by his own arm. As his girth
  sank to the floor, his face a mask of pain and rage, I saw
  Cardanzo behind him, clutching the giant’s wrist with his
  hand, twisting it enough to cause pain and force the brute
  to follow Cardanzo’s whim lest his arm be dislocated in its
  socket.
  I envied him his martial skill then, embarrassed at my
  need for his aid. But this envy passed quickly, replaced by
  my more rational relief at his arrival.
  He pointed his heavy slug gun at the giant’s compatri-
  ots, who I now saw to be but striplings. Instead of heeding
  his words to remain unmoving, they fled, quickly disap-
  pearing into the crowd.
  Cardanzo backed out of the alley, forcing the brute to
  follow him, although not without him expelling some nasty
  words. I followed quickly, thankful to be in an open arena
  again.
  Cardanzo bent down to whisper in the brute’s ear. I
  could not hear what was said, but the fellow nodded quickly.
  Cardanzo released him and the man picked himself up from
  the ground and walked away at a fast pace.
  I was astonished. “Why did you let him go? He’ll only
  rob from another!”
  “Of course he will, Alustro,” Cardanzo replied,
  holstering his weapon, “He is a member of the local thieves’
  guild. Arresting him will only bring retribution on us from
  his fellows. Releasing him will allow us a degree of free-
  dom from their kind.”
  “I don’t understand. How is such crime allowed to run
  so rampant?”
  “Cumulus follows different rules than most worlds,
  Alustro. The League has its hands full just keeping it in
  one piece. It cannot police it in addition.”
  “Then where are the priests? Cannot the Church lend
  some moral enforcement?”
  “Ah, would you allow this? That bowl you so proudly
  bought is not exactly legal on Holy Terra.”
  I flushed with embarrassment. “How long have you
  followed me?”
  “Not long. When I realized where you had gone, I knew
  you would need some help. But do not take that as an
  insult. Even I am wary walking these halls alone. Now that
  you are here, we are both better off for it.”
  I smiled at his transparent attempt to ease my ego.
  Cardanzo was a good friend, and loyal to all of his lady’s
  chosen entourage. As we walked back through the agora,
  I asked: “How did you know about those ruffian’s guild
  allegiances? Have you been here before?”
  “Not to Cumulus, no,” he replied. “But I’ve seen it’s
  like. Before I took service with Erian’s family, I was a le-
  gionnaire in the Li Halan forces. I was stationed for a while
  on the Hagia, a spacestation in the Rampart system. Even
  on a Li Halan-controlled station, I saw the corruption that
  finds its way into any long-term gathering of people. Of
  course, the station’s previous owners had been the League.”
  “I didn’t know you were in the military. I assumed
  you had been trained at birth to be a house guard.”
  Cardanzo smiled. “I am not so well born to serve so
  close to the lords and ladies from such an early age. I had
  to earn my way up. My father was a captain in the fleet,
  and that’s how I attained my officer’s status. It was my
  deeds in the Emperor Wars which gained me my service
  after mustering out. I received an offer from Count Gijan Li
  Halan, Erian’s uncle. So, I entered the house forces and
  trained to guard nobles. It’s very different, you know.
  Guarding a person rather than a ship. So many more things
  can go wrong. Assassins could be anywhere. You’ve got to
  assume the worst of others.”
  I saw no remorse on his face as he said this, although
  I cannot imagine living with such distrust. “How do you
  keep from getting bitter? You always seem of such good
  spirit, no matter what we go through.”
  “I’ve been through worse. The only thing I can imag-
  ine that could really embitter me is if I ever failed to protect
  my lady. Other than that, what else is there? Injury? I’ve
  got scars everywhere. Loss of friends? I’ve lost more friends
  during the war than most people can claim throughout their
  lives. Loss of property? Not even an issue. No, there’s little
  left that I haven’t lost. Best to count what one has and be
  glad for it.”
  “What about love? Is there no one who has ever won
  your heart?”
  I said too much, for now a darkness entered his eyes.
  “More than one. All unfaithful or dead. The dead ones
  hurt less.”
  I decided to change the subject and pretended to be-
  come absorbed in a craft store we passed. He saw through
  my attempt but played along anyway. As we walked on, I
  asked him about some of the things he had seen, the places
  he had been. I had hardly ever talked so deeply with him
  before; we never really had the time together. His travels
  were far but he rarely left the ships on which he served.
  What he saw of these places he only knew by the visitors
  who came aboard.
  “What of aliens? Surely you’ve seen many of them?”
  He smiled and chuckled. “There was a Gannok engi-
  neer on the Hagia. The Li Halan hated him but couldn’t
  risk getting rid of him. He was the only League engineer
  left who knew the ship, so he got away with an awful lot.
  He did win the heart of the captain, however, when the
  Inquisition came aboard to search for illegal goods rumored
  to have been left by the previous owners.
  “They spent weeks on board, searching everyone’s cab-
  ins. But before they got to the officer’s quarters, they were
  finally driven off. This Gannok — Kang Kang, I believe his
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  24
  name was — he began playing pranks on the Avestites.
  They started out small — rocks under the mattresses —
  but got worse and worse as time went on. Things like fill-
  ing their ka-oil cannisters with perfume or replacing their
  wax candles with Brute fat.
  “Then there were the
  cigars! The head Inquisi-
  tors had found a box of
  proscribed Vorox cigars.
  Do you know the kind?
  Grown from a tobacco-like
  plant on Vorox and heavily
  intoxicating. Well, this
  priest confiscated the ci-
  gars and no one knew
  what had become of them
  until the Gannok struck
  again. Two friends of mine
  were on routine patrol
  when they heard a small explosion from down a little-used
  corridor. Running to investigate, they came across the In-
  quisitor, his face blackened and burned, the butt of an ex-
  ploding cigar still in his mouth!
  “Well, he dropped the cigar quick and tried to claim
  that his flamegun had misfired, but everyone soon knew
  the full story. The next day, the ship was declared clean
  and the Inquisition left. A party was held in Kang Kang’s
  honor, although he swore he had no idea what everybody
  was so happy with him
  for.”
  “So the Gannok
  prankster trait is not just
  a stereotype? They really
  do these things?”
  “Well, you could
  never catch Kang Kang at
  it, but yes, I’m sure it was
  him.”
  I looked ahead at the
  stall selling alien crafts,
  the one with the sign
  showing mechanisms
  manufactured 
  by
  Gannok. “I had considered buying one of their toys, to
  give to Ong. He likes wind-ups. But now I’m not so sure.”
  We eventually arrived back at our host’s apartments
  in time for dinner. When offered a fine Delphian pipe after
  the meal, Cardanzo and I both declined.
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  25
  November 4th, 4997
  (Holy Terra calendar)
  I humbly thank the Pancreator for allowing me life
  and mind and a sound soul with which to continue my
  journals. Such a harrowing event did I experience that only
  the whiff of Empyrean’s grace blew me from an ill course.
  I shake even now to think back upon it, even though I am
  safely ensconced in a noble estate in the Imperial City it-
  self, on Byzantium Secundus where no enemy can approach
  unseen.
  The events began simply, with a flitter journey over
  the Tepest Desert of the Ghast continent. I was with Canon
  Jophree, a respected member of our Order, who had invited
  me to witness the Ur ruins discovered there. With Lady
  Erian’s permission, I set forth with my fellow priest in his
  own flitter (Jophree was born to House Cameton, a power-
  ful family on Byzantium Secundus, and has access to many
  things most priests do not — a boon for our Order). He
  had learned how to fly such crafts before he took vows,
  and he and I greatly enjoyed our trip together. It had been
  a long time since I had been able to talk so deeply with a
  fellow priest, and he shed some light on my own strange
  experiences since I joined with Erian.
  The ruins were… eerie. It is the only word to describe
  them. We did not land, but only flew over them, circling
  around to see them from all sides. It seems that we both
  had a strange sense of fore-
  boding, and agreed not to
  walk among them.
  After getting our fill of
  the strange landmarks, we
  turned back. I still do not
  understand just what hap-
  pened or why, but Jophree
  lost control of the flitter. We
  spun maniacally in the sky,
  up and down and in circles.
  He fought the controls but
  some greater force seemed in
  control. I remember him yell-
  ing something about an
  “electromagnetic grid distur-
  bance” and something about
  terraforming anomalies. But
  I was too hurried, fetching
  safety bubbles from the back
  and strapping them on to
  both of us. I had just latched
  the belt around him when the
  engine blew up.
  The force must have thrown us both out the wind-
  shield. This would explain the gashes on my face and
  hands. I was knocked unconscious immediately. I came to
  on the desert floor, the plastic liquid of the safety bubble
  splattered over me; it had ruptured prematurely, leaving
  me with more bruises than I deserved and a broken sur-
  vival kit. There was no sign of Canon Jophree. I prayed
  that his bubble had activated correctly, and would cushion
  his fall before bursting.
  I began searching for him, but my own transmitter
  was broken. I feared the worst, for both of us. Without a
  transmitter, no one would find me in this wasteland. If I
  could not find Jophree and his transmitter, I was doomed.
  My search took me in an ever-widening circle. By the
  time the sun set, I still had seen no sign of Jophree or our
  downed flitter. I knew my robes would do me little good
  against the chill desert night, and began to look for an
  outcrop or gully where I could light a fire safe from the
  winds. That is when I saw the lights.
  At first, I thought it must be my friend, so I began
  calling. Two fusion torches came toward me. Had Jophree
  called a rescue party so soon? Two men approached, one
  wearing the uniform of a Charioteer spacepilot, although
  somewhat torn and dusty, made of old-style synthsilk, the
  kind usually inherited over generations from a wealthy
  family. The other was even
  better attired, for he wore a
  short cape and brooch with
  the crest of House Cameton.
  “Greetings,” I said as
  they came near. “I am glad
  you found me. Is Canon
  Jophree alright?”
  They looked at each
  other quizzically and then
  the pilot replied. “You’re a
  priest?”
  “Yes. I am Novitiate
  Alustro of the Eskatonic Or-
  der.”
  They both smiled. The
  pilot reached his hand out
  to me. “I am so glad to see
  you, father. We’ve needed a
  priest for a long time now.”
  “I don’t understand,” I
  said, shaking his hand.
  “Come on over to the
  ship. We have food.” They
  The Rampart Plea
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  26
  both began moving back the way they had come, and I
  followed.
  “Are you not the rescue party? Did Canon Jophree call
  you?”
  “We don’t have a squawker,” the pilot said. “It broke
  when we crashed.”
  “Crashed? You ran into the electromagnetic interfer-
  ence also? How long have you been here?”
  This time the noble spoke: “It seems like years. I am
  Baron Arbuck Cameton, by the way. I apologize for not
  introducing myself earlier. We have been in the desert too
  long.”
  “Well, surely then you have people looking for you?
  Your family?”
  “Of course they’re looking for me.
  But this is the Tepest Desert! It’s huge.
  Whatever caused the crash is foiling all
  our equipment. It is surely doing the
  same to our searchers’ equipment.”
  As he spoke, we came over the rise
  and I saw a starship, perhaps an Ex-
  plorer class vessel. It was half buried in
  the ground, obviously from a crash land-
  ing. Although the nose was buried deep,
  the rear hatch still allowed access in and
  out of the craft. It was to this door that
  they walked.
  “We’ve got a lot of supplies,” the
  pilot said. “So don’t worry. Eat all you want. You have to
  be hungry after a day like you’ve had.”
  “Thank you,” I replied, following him into the hatch.
  “I’m famished. By the way, what do I call you?”
  I couldn’t see his face as he walked ahead of me in the
  tight passage, but he mumbled his reply.
  “I’m sorry. Was that Captain Kamen?”
  “Kariman.”
  We came out of the engine area and into a common
  room. It was lit by an everlight clasped to a ceiling pipe.
  Captain Kariman began opening tins and scooping their
  contents onto a plate for me. I embarrassingly wolfed it
  down. I hadn’t eaten since well before our flitter accident.
  Baron Arbuck disappeared into the forward cabin. After
  a few minutes, power came on, flooding the cabin with
  light. In the rear, where we had passed through, I heard
  the slight whine of an engine or generator. Kariman looked
  around and flicked some switches on and off, cutting some
  of the lights.
  “Alustro,” the baron yelled from foreship. “I want to
  show you this.”
  I got up and walked carefully down the passage. The
  ship rested at a slant, so I walked a downward incline to
  reach the cockpit from where the baron called.
  He was sitting in a navigator’s couch, moving dials
  and switches on and off. “I need to ask a favor of you,
  father. Would you bless this ship?”
  “I can certainly perform a blessing, but why?”
  Kariman came in and closed the door behind him, sit-
  ting in the pilot’s couch.
  “Because we’re going to try and get this thing off the
  ground again,” the baron replied.
  “Well, I suppose I could perform a small litany, if you
  think it would help.”
  Captain Kariman spoke: “It would, father. It would,
  indeed.”
  I prepared my robes and polished my jumpgate pen-
  dant, filthy from the day’s sweat and sand, and read a
  short litany from the Epistles of Horace. “It is done. I hope
  it helps.”
  “Hmm,” the baron said. “I was
  thinking of something… well, more
  powerful. Could you perform this one
  instead?” He handed me a small think
  machine with a gospel displayed upon
  it.
  “But this is the Rampart Plea!
  From the Cardano Apocrypha. Where
  did you get it?”
  The baron shrugged. “It’s always
  been one of my favorites, father.”
  “Favorites! This was deemed he-
  retical in 4672 by the Orthodoxy. Even
  my Order bans it.”
  “I’m sorry to hear that, father,” the baron said, as he
  swiveled around in his seat to face me, a laser pistol aimed
  at my chest. “But I don’t condone the censure of great
  works. We cannot begin our voyage without it. Now, I need
  you to read it for me. And put some heart into it.”
  I was speechless. I could not even begin to understand
  what was going on. But faced with a deadly weapon and a
  threat, I complied with the baron’s request. What harm
  could it bring? I had read the forbidden gospel before. It
  had been banned on doctrinal grounds only, and so was
  not considered harmful, just false. Once attributed to Saint
  Amano of Rampart, it was later deemed a forgery. I began
  to read:
  “O Invisible Intelligences, hear my plea. Open the path
  to the stars and guide my feet upon it. In my travels, let me
  not shun the unknown regions. Show to me creations yet
  to be birthed. Let mine eyes scry thy true foundations, the
  secret thread which binds your creatures, so that I may
  proudly perform my duty to thee.”
  The baron lowered his pistol. “Thank you. Maybe now
  we can finally leave.”
  The engine sound grew louder as Kariman worked his
  controls. The ship shook and rattled, and a horrible grind-
  ing commenced. The baron looked up at the ceiling. “I think
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  27
  she’s breaking apart.”
  “You’re tearing your own ship up!” I yelled.
  “Yes,” Captain Kariman said. “Yes, we are.” The grind-
  ing could now be heard in the rear of the ship also. I turned
  and fumbled the door open, expecting to feel the searing
  heat of a laser on by back. But as I slipped into the hall, I
  glanced back to see the baron staring listlessly at his read-
  outs.
  “A captain must go down with his ship, father,” Cap-
  tain Kariman said, flicking on every switch he could reach.
  “Isn’t that right? Isn’t that proper?”
  I turned and ran, convinced that they had been driven
  mad by their stay in the desert. The ship rocked back and
  forth, the engines pushing it deeper into the earth. I had to
  get out the rear hatch before we were buried.
  As I ran through the common room, lockers flung open
  with the stress and stretch of the hull. A body fell from one
  and smacked onto the floor in front of me. I think I
  screamed. It was obviously a priest. His robes and vest-
  ments showed that. But he was desiccated like an ancient
  mummy, and a terrible knife wound could be seen across
  his throat.
  I leapt over it and kept moving. As I sped through the
  final passage in the engine room, I heard moaning sounds
  around me. Fearing that the two madmen had tried to kill
  another of their crew as they did the priest, I stopped to
  see where the sounds came from.
  Then the flux cache hatch flung open and raw fusion
  energy and radiation spewed forth. Shadows lengthened
  across the walls and ceiling, as if something large ap-
  proached from a distance, blocking the light. I dared not
  stay to see the source of the shapes wriggling on the walls,
  and threw myself against the rear hatch, now locked and
  bolted. I struggled with the bolt, finally throwing it off as
  the moaning sound grew louder.
  “Ssstaayy…” a voice said from somewhere in the room.
  I kicked the door and only the shifting of the ship —
  the hull struggling against the force of its own engines —
  allowed it to burst open. I jumped from the ship, which
  now dug a deep furrow into the ground, and struggled
  against the crumbling sand to reach the lip of the deepen-
  ing pit. Something cold touched my ankle and I cried, mak-
  ing a last leap up. I grasped the edge of the hole and pulled
  myself out, running as fast as I could back to the rise over
  which we had come earlier, back to the place they had found
  me.
  I never looked back. I myself was now mad, delirious
  with fear and exposure to the cold night. Two days later,
  the rescue team found me. Canon Jophree had landed fine
  and immediately called for help. Julia herself came to find
  me, showing more worry for my welfare than I had thought
  her capable of. I recovered over a number of days in a
  Church hospital, in the care of Amalthean healers.
  I explained the incident with the two madmen and their
  ship, but Canon Jophree could find no such ship when he
  went back to investigate. And he knew no Cameton named
  Arbuck, certainly not a baron by such name, but said he
  would inquire nonetheless.
  He believed the men were Ur artifact thieves who had
  disguised themselves as noble and guildsman to gain ac-
  cess to the ruins. Obviously, their ship went down, per-
  haps carrying Ur artifacts of a psychic nature, which would
  explain my hallucinations.
  But I do not believe they were hallucinations. I
  sufferered radiation poisoning from somewhere and there
  is the wound on my ankle — a black, putrid bruise which
  required mercifal technals to heal.
  November 27th
  I am writing from my cabin in the Resurgent, our new
  starship. I have just spoken with Canon Jophree by radio.
  He has new information concerning my “adventure” which
  puzzles him just as much as it does me.
  A distant cousin of his in House Cameton approached
  him soon after we departed and inquired as to why Jophree
  was interested in Baron Arbuck. It seems that a certain
  Baron Arbuck was this woman’s ancestor. He and his crew
  were lost when his ship crashed in the Tepest Desert — in
  the year 4562. The accident was blamed on his pilot, a
  Captain Kamen, a suspected Antinomist. Only years after
  the crash did evidence come forward about Kamen’s atroci-
  ties on Rampart. He is apparently a folk legend on that
  world, equated with evil.
  After hearing this, Jophree initiated another search of
  the desert, near to where I had been found. He uncovered
  the remains of a starship, buried deep in the sand and
  scoured by years, perhaps centuries, of exposure. While
  little is left of the remains, enough is there to confirm its
  name: the Rampart Plea…
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  28
  December 17, 4997
  (Holy Terra calendar)
  I had always heard about Leagueheim and its deca-
  dent ways. By what my Church instructors taught, I was
  lead to believe it was a veritable Gehenne of sin. I believed
  that once I could see it for myself, such an overblown repu-
  tation would, like so many other Church fallacies I had
  been taught, crumble.
  I was strangely right, although in a way I never ex-
  pected. Even here among the smooth ceramsteel spires and
  flashing lights I found a spirituality of sorts.
  We arrived here in time to catch one of Erian’s al-Malik
  allies before he left on some undisclosed mission. Before
  leaving, he provided us with information on an unknown
  lost world where the answers to our quest may await us. I
  will write nothing of it here, until we are closer to our goal.
  In his absence, he allowed us the use of his suites. We
  have used this needed rest to make some additions to our
  new starship, the Resurgent. Julia demanded a neutrino
  sensor array, but the prices we discovered were outrageous.
  We voted against it. That’s when she revealed that she
  knew a place where we could find one cheaper, but she
  would have to go there in person to arrange the sale. We
  all thought it promising and agreed.
  “I want Onggangarak to come with me,” she said. “In
  case of trouble. And Alustro, too.”
  “Me?” I said. “I know
  nothing of commerce. What
  can I do?”
  “Even the most desper-
  ate thugs think twice about
  hitting a priest. You’re my
  insurance against… hasty
  opinions.”
  “Wait just a minute,”
  Erian said. “This trip is dan-
  gerous? Why didn’t you say
  so in the first place?”
  Julia rolled her eyes.
  “Everywhere on Leagueheim
  is dangerous, Erian! This is
  just… more so.”
  “Then I forbid it. I will
  not have Alustro put into un-
  necessary danger.”
  “Hold on, now! He’ll be
  fine. Like I said, he’s just
  there to sooth bruised egos
  and such.”
  “Erian,” Cardanzo said, “They will be fine in Julia’s
  care. We could really use that array.”
  “Then I’m coming too,” Erian said.
  “Oh no you’re not!” Julia yelled. “They’ll know you
  for the royal brat you are the second you step off the lift!
  You’re staying here.”
  “How dare you! I can go wherever I want. Whenever
  and with whomever!”
  “Not here you don’t. They’ll jack the price up at least
  three times more than it’s worth when they smell your privi-
  lege.”
  “Please,” Cardanzo said, “there is no reason for raised
  voices. Julia is right, Erian. You and I must stay here and
  let them do their work.”
  “Why do you stay?” Julia said, looking surprised. “I
  could use you there.”
  “A bodyguard does not leave his charge,” Cardanzo
  replied. “Besides, Ong is more than capable of providing
  all the muscle or threat you may need.”
  Julia looked annoyed but nodded. “All right, then. Let’s
  go, you two.” She picked up her belt, loaded with her blaster
  and all manner of tools, and headed for the door. Ong and
  I got up to follow.
  She lead us through a dizzying maze of sidewalks,
  escalators, tubes and cargo lifts until we reached what I
  believe was the ground level of Leagueheim. At least, it
  seemed like the ground. It
  was dark even though slight
  patches of daylight shone
  through openings in the
  soot layer above and innu-
  merable fusion signs from
  hundreds of stores flashed
  at us from all directions.
  None of this phased Julia,
  although at times I think
  Ong was ready to attack
  something. I feared lest an
  unattentive pedestrian
  bump into him.
  Eventually, 
  Julia
  stopped in front of a bar
  called the Last Flight Out
  and peered inside through
  the grimy window. “This is
  it. Name’s changed but the
  place is still the same. As
  long as the same owner’s
  here, we’re fine.”
  I began coughing im-
  Blink
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  29
  mediately upon entering the place. I don’t know what sort
  of burning weed was in the air, but it wasn’t tobacco or
  even one of the milder narcotics.
  “Yimbun,” Julia said. “Cover your mouth and you’ll
  get used to it. Smells awful but tastes great.”
  I nodded, pulling by robes over my nose. Ong seemed
  undisturbed by the smell, even though his senses were
  keener. I assume that the legendary Vorox resistance to
  toxins held true here.
  Julia lead us through the crowded room to the bar and
  rapped on it, trying for the bartender’s attention. “The
  owner in?”
  The sweaty fellow glared at her. “Who wants to know?”
  “Julia Abrams. He knows me.”
  The man nodded and picked up a small palm squawker.
  He whispered something into it, which I could not hear
  over the crowd’s conversations. He looked at Julia and
  nodded, smiling. “Wait here. He’ll be right out.”
  As we lounged against the bar, I noticed a few men
  looking at us from across the room. They seemed to know
  Julia, but were not too happy about it. As I was about to
  ask Julia who they were, a yell came from the rear of the
  bar.
  “You! How dare you come into my establishment!”
  Julia turned to the man and went white. “Yours?!
  Where the Gehenne is Lark?”
  “Lark’s dead,” the man said, now backed up by a num-
  ber of thugs gathering around him. “Left the place to me.”
  “He would. He never did have a good eye for charac-
  ter. Leaving his pride and joy to Sobol Hetch. So what now?”
  “We settle up, that’s what. Decide here and now who’s
  best.”
  Ong began to growl deep in his throat. Sobol’s thugs
  began to look nervous, their hands reaching for their hol-
  sters.
  “Here and now,” Julia said. “Let’s go.”
  “Wait!” I cried. “There’s no need for violence! What-
  ever your dispute is, surely there’s a calmer resolution!”
  Julia and Sobol both looked at me like I was mad.
  “Violence?” Julia said.
  “What’s the harm in a game of Blink?” Sobal said.
  “Blink?” I stammered. “What is Blink?”
  Sobol pulled out a deck of holographic cards and slid
  them towards us across the bar. “That’s Blink. Best damn
  game of chance in the Known Worlds is what.”
  I could see Julia’s eyes roll up. “Say’s you. But since
  it’s so damn important to you, let’s play. No way you’ll
  beat me, though.”
  “I’ve learned a lot of tricks since we played last,
  Abrams. I think this one’s mine.”
  Sobol went over to a table and shoved some empty
  glasses off it, scattering them across the floor. None of them
  broke. “Have a seat. All of you.”
  Julia walked over and sat down, but motioned for us
  to stay behind her. “They’ll stand.”
  Sobol, seating himself, shrugged. “Fine. Let’s play. Can
  your boy shuffle cards?”
  “Sure,” Julia said, picking up the deck, which one of
  Sobol’s men had fetched from the bar. She handed it to me.
  I have never handled a deck of cards in my life. I looked
  at the ones I now held in my hand and caught by breath in
  awe. They were stunningly beautiful. Lush, three-dimen-
  sional images leapt from the card surfaces as I peered
  through the deck. Impossible patterns of color and texture
  mixed together as two cards were connected and broke
  apart again as they seperated. I shook myself from the rev-
  erie and placed the deck on the table, trying to remember
  what shuffling looked like from having seen it done.
  “They’re mesmerizing, aren’t they, priest?” Sobol said.
  “Banned on most of the Known Worlds by the Church. Your
  even touching them would get a reprimand from your su-
  perior and a call for confession. But here on Leagueheim,
  who is going to police such things? No priest with any wits
  would step foot in this district. Except you, and you’re only
  here because Abrams here was looking for an element of
  surprise.”
  Julia frowned. “My confessor goes where I go, Sobol.”
  “Yours? Or does he belong to some haughty royal
  you’re screwing?”
  Julia stared at Sobol with utter hatred and the tension
  returned.
  “Uhm… I think I’ve got them randomized,” I said. “Is
  this good enough?”
  Sobol did not take his eyes off Julia. “Fine. Go ahead
  and deal us seven cards each — without revealing them.”
  When they had the cards, I stepped back behind Julia
  to see what was in her hand. It made no sense to me, but I
  was awestruck again at the intense images. They almost
  portrayed something, and it was maddeningly tempting to
  stare at them until the image they were hiding revealed
  itself.
  Julia hid the cards, looking at me. “Don’t stare too long.
  That’s the trick. You’ll try for hours — years, even — to
  put the cards in the right combination to reveal ‘it.’”
  “It?”
  “The secret they hold. The image just on the edge of
  consciousness. If you ever saw it, it would solve every-
  thing. Or so everyone thinks. It’s all just a load of crap. A
  bunch of random holograms generated by a field. As long
  as the cards are in a certain range, they’re affected by the
  field.”
  “But what generates the field? Where’s the power?”
  “Who knows? That’s what makes them so valuable.
  Can’t make them anymore.”
  “Enough talk,” Sobol said. “Put down a card.”
  Julia looked through her hand again and placed down
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  30
  a bluish card with a slowly revolving vortex. Sobol quickly
  laid a green card with rising lines on top of it. The two
  images combined to create a weird effect, somewhat like a
  jumpgate, with lines of force radiating from a spirals. Sobol
  smiled. Julia frowned.
  This went on for some time. About an hour into the
  game, Julia sent me to the restaurant next door for some
  food. One of Sobol’s men came with me to help carry the
  bags.
  Three hours after it began, however, it was over. Julia
  placed a red card with intermittant flashes on top of Sobol’s
  yellow, pulsing mist. The effect was to destroy all the im-
  ages, leaving a momentary void in the space where they
  had been. The effect lasted for perhaps less than a second,
  but I could now understand why Sobol was so obsessed
  with the game.
  Staring at that blank moment, it seemed that some-
  thing leapt in to fill it, some deep feeling of… contentment.
  Julia sighed and had a look on her face unlike any I had
  seen her wear before. For once, the tense jaw slackened
  and her eyes softened and she had a fleeting glance of
  peace.
  Sobol looked like he wanted to cry, for he obviously
  had not recieved the full effect. Was it possible that it af-
  fected the winner differently than the loser? If so, what
  form of technology was this?
  After a moment’s silence where nobody made a sound,
  Sobol gathered the cards together, held them close to his
  body and stood up. “What’s it going to be, Abrams? Name
  your price.”
  “A neutrino sensor array for an exploration class ves-
  sel.”
  “That’s it? You just won Blink and all you want is a
  lousy sensor array?”
  “I don’t want your cards, Sobol. I just came for some
  hardware.”
  “Okay. Yeah. All right. It’s yours. Where do you want
  it delivered?”
  “Charioteer Bay 33.”
  “It’ll be there. It’ll take a day or two at least, though.
  You understand that?”
  “If it’s not there in three,” Julia said, standing up. “I’ll
  coming looking for it.”
  Ong seemed to sense his cue and growled a short, gruff
  bark.
  Sobol nodded. “It’ll be there.”
  Julia turned toward the door and began walking. We
  followed, although I kept glancing over my shoulder back
  at Sobol to see what his reaction was. I suspect this was a
  violation of exit etiquette for it implied that I expected a
  blaster at our backs. But he was slumped in the chair again
  and looked like a loved one had died. I couldn’t even begin
  to fathom such an addiction.
  We said little on the way back, for Julia was obviously
  in no mood to talk. On the lift upwards, however, I know I
  saw a tear in her eye. She wiped it away quickly to hide it
  from us.
  How can it be that a mere toy of the Second Republic
  can elicit a religious response in one who has denied it
  from even the Church? Such a thing is alien to me. To find
  faith, no matter how elusive, in a thing rather than a being
  is… all to human, perhaps?
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  31
  January 21st, 4998
  (Holy Terra calendar)
  Noon
  I look at Sanjuk oj Kaval and wonder at the ferocity
  and tragedy from which her life is built. They are marked
  on her very skin, these stories of loss and ruin, surround-
  ing the few tales of triumph and transcendence. Her
  baa’mon, her body carvings, tell all about her. I wish I could
  fully read them.
  I know only a little written Ukari, enough to tell a clan
  marking here and there, and sometimes a coming-of-age
  mark, but little beyond that. They fascinate me, though,
  and I wonder if it would be impertinent to ask her to teach
  me the marks.
  But my pondering is interrupted by the entrance of
  the bailiff, come to take Sanjuk back to her cell where she
  will await trial. I must put aside my journal for the mo-
  ment…
  Evening
  Erian has been successful in convincing the court to
  hear her argument; her station does bring its privileges,
  even here on Leagueheim. Julia, as a Charioteer, has al-
  ready been called upon as a character witness. Although
  Sanjuk is a low-ranking Scraver, she is still a member of
  the guild, and thus allowed representation.
  I fear, however, that her guild is prepared to throw her
  to the void on this case. It is
  too high-profile, one even
  they shun. I had best de-
  scribe the charges for the
  record.
  Sanjuk oj Kaval has
  been accused of murdering
  Paano HanJoirii, a high-
  ranking Ur-Obun diplomat in
  the service of the emperor.
  Indeed, HanJoirii was a con-
  fidant of Bran Botan voKarm,
  the emperor’s Left-Hand
  Council. Serious charges.
  Sanjuk is an old friend
  of Erian from her days on
  Midian. While she is native
  to Ukar — she calls the world
  Kordeth — she spent her
  early years in the Scravers
  guild on Midian, scrounging
  ancient ruins under the pa-
  tronage of Erian’s uncle, a
  man obsessed with Second Republic art. She is, of course,
  an Ur-Ukar.
  She claims innocence in this affair, and tells Erian that
  she was set up by rivals in her guild to take the fall —
  what better suspect for the murder of an Obun than his
  hateful cousin, an Ukar? She has too little pull to even find
  out who was behind this high-level murder, and has thus
  swallowed her pride and asked Erian to intervene on her
  behalf. It was mere coincidence that we were on Leagueheim
  at this time.
  I am unaware of the full details of the investigation,
  but from what Erian has disclosed, there is scant evidence
  for Sanjuk’s involvement. For one, it is unlikely that she
  would have ever been allowed access to the ambassadorial
  grounds, although she was seen outside them soon after
  the murder. However, she was on duty at a Scraver-run
  pawnshop on the nearby corner at the time.
  This shop is located just outside the grounds and is
  merely a front, a place to arrange various clandestine ac-
  tivities for any adventuresome ambassador who seeks di-
  versions from his duties. It is not the sort of work Sanjuk
  is normally involved in — Ukari are generally considered
  untrustworthy for such secret affairs — but since the claim
  on her recent reclamation operation had not yet come
  through, she signed up for any duty available. She claims
  that someone in her guild purposefully positioned her there
  to become the main suspect
  in a planned assassination.
  Her guild, of course,
  does not appreciate being
  accused so.
  Julia has done her best
  to find out who would have
  set Sanjuk up, but has
  gained few leads. She sus-
  pects that little word will be
  heard, for anyone involved
  in murdering an imperial
  ambassador would surely
  cover his tracks well.
  Erian has arranged for
  good advocacy: Derrick
  LeFamon, a Reeve known to
  her uncle, has agreed to rep-
  resent Sanjuk, although he
  believes her chances are
  slim. While there is little but
  circumstantial evidence
  against Sanjuk, the preju-
  dice against the Ukari will
  An Open Mind
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  32
  work against her — especially that from the prosecution
  witness, Lorim HanPavak, the murdered Obun’s brother.
  It is LeFamon’s hope that enough doubt can be raised that
  the case will be dropped.
  The trial is tomorrow. I will pray for our friend tonight.
  January 22nd, 1998
  (Holy Terra calendar)
  Morning
  We all gathered at the courthouse, a former Second
  Republic court that still serves its original function. Its huge,
  vaulting ceilings are higher than those of many cathedrals
  I know. It does seem that worship of the law eclipsed that
  of the Pancreator in those times.
  Lorim HanPavak sits across the hall from us, watch-
  ing Sanjuk. I cannot read his expression; he is well trained
  in stoicism. Sanjuk stares back at him, her face also a mask
  of calm. I wonder what she is thinking?
  I wish I could say this was to be a lengthy trial, but it
  just is not so. The odds are against Sanjuk.
  LeFamon makes his opening arguments most elo-
  quently. He is a fine Reeve, well-versed in rhetoric. But the
  prosecutor is even more so, a greatly experienced consul,
  one in imperial employ.
  LeFamon tells the court somewhat of Sanjuk’s life and
  the hardships she has had, the struggles she has made,
  emphasizing the sheer folly of imagining that she would
  throw it all away in a fit of anger against an ambassador
  she never met. As he tells us about her, he points to her
  carvings as proof of his story, showing that her life is writ-
  ten for all to see.
  He calls upon Erian to describe her friendship with
  Sanjuk, and she tells of an incident in her youth where
  Sanjuk and she discovered a valuable sculpture from the
  Second Republic, marveling over it together, revealing that
  each was more versed in art than the other had thought.
  LeFamon then asks how anyone capable of such cultural
  appreciation could be a murderer.
  Julia is called upon next, and explains her work with
  Sanjuk on Midian. She occasionally flew finds from
  Sanjuk’s digs back to the Li Halan palace, and had mul-
  tiple opportunities to discuss League matters with Sanjuk.
  She makes the point that Sanjuk would never betray the
  guild which provided her an escape from the clan wars on
  Ukar.
  Our advocate then details the lack of evidence against
  the accused, and how her proximity to the scene of the
  crime is the only reason she is here in the court today. He
  has done a very good job of raising doubt.
  And then his rival stands to speak and brings forth a
  list of reprimands Sanjuk has received throughout her ca-
  reer from her Scraver chiefs. This list is long and full of
  petty crimes, such as assault and theft, none enough to
  warrant expulsion, but all enough to paint her as a criminal.
  It is clear that both Erian and Julia were unaware of
  these reprimands and look… disappointed. Sanjuk does
  not look at them as they are read; she only looks at the
  Obun across the hall from her, who stares back, unmoved.
  And then the prosecutor calls upon Lorim HanPavak
  to explain why the Ukar hate the Obun and why Sanjuk
  would have done murder upon one.
  The Obun rises and then closes his eyes for a mo-
  ment. I notice Sanjuk sit back and close her’s also, as if
  she was very tired. The Obun then speaks:
  “It is true that the Ukari hate our people. But it is also
  true that some of our people despise the Ukari. Nonethe-
  less, I came here to see justice done. To see that my brother’s
  killer was tried and punished. That killer is not in this
  room.”
  A gasp of shock traveled across the chambers, and
  even the judge stared at the Obun in surprise. The
  prosecutor’s jaw even dropped.
  “The accused, Sanjuk oj Kaval, has graciously allowed
  me to read her mind, hiding none of its contents. While I
  must say that I find much of her past repugnant, I find her
  character… strong. If I had to suffer as she had, I wonder
  if I could carry myself as well. There is much my people
  have yet to learn from our long-sundered cousins.”
  “This is ridiculous!” the prosecutor yelled. “You can-
  not simply walk into the court and make such claims!”
  “I have been asked to come and bear witness against
  the accused. I know for a fact that she is not the murderer.
  There are some who can hide memories from others, and
  even those who can weave false ones, but she is not one of
  these adepts. Indeed, she is nearly mind-blind.
  “She is innocent and I must ask that the case against
  her be dismissed. I then ask that the real murderer be found.
  My brother’s close friend, Bran Botan voKarm, desires true
  justice in this matter, and will not be content until it has
  been received. Let the innocent go free, and find the true
  culprit.”
  He then sat down, his face as expressionless as al-
  ways. But those around him were far from expressionless.
  The prosecutor seemed not to know what to do. But the
  judge decided the matter for him.
  “There is scant evidence against the accused. Unless
  you can bring forth convincing evidence, I see no reason
  to waste the court’s time further.”
  “I have no more to say,” the prosecutor said as he sat
  down, exasperated.
  “Then let Sanjuk oj Kaval go free,” the judge said.
  “And let it be known that all charges brought against her
  for the murder of Paano HanJoirii are dismissed.” He stood
  and began the long walk down from his high perch.
  Once he left the room, we all stood, looking
  dumbfoundedly at each other. We all knew that, if this was
  not a League-run court, such witchery as psychic mind-
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  33
  reading would never be allowed. Indeed, had it been a
  Church court, I fear that Lorim HanPavak would have been
  censured and removed as a witness, his comment stricken
  from the record.
  Sanjuk seemed not the least surprised. She smiled,
  looking at the Obun, who nodded to her and rose to leave.
  LeFamon was perhaps the most surprised of us all,
  confiding that he had fully expected to lose the case. This
  was now a feather in his cap, one he planned on spreading
  news of quickly. As he gathered his notes and portable
  think machine, he thanked us all for an exciting case and
  turned to leave, heading for the closest town crier.
  “It’s all so creepy,” Julia said. “I don’t know if I’d want
  someone like that peering into my soul.”
  “If you were facing the gallows, you would,” Sanjuk
  said. “I still wonder at you humans, so virginal when it
  comes to mind-sight. Few Ukari grow to adulthood with-
  out suffering the mind-gaze of another — or even the mind-
  commands of others. That you believe your souls are your
  own is your great ignorance.”
  “I would prefer not to discuss such possibly heretical
  matters on such a happy day,” I said.
  Sanjuk looked at me and smiled. “You I could like.
  The rest of your order… no.”
  As I make this entry, the others are readying to go to a
  celebratory feast at a local restaurant. Erian has offered to
  pay (as she has the court costs), although she has not
  revealed to Sanjuk just how little money she has at present.
  I suspect she will learn soon enough. From what Julia
  told me, Sanjuk may be joining our entourage when next
  we depart.
  “She doesn’t know it yet,” Julia said. “Whoever set
  her up won’t be happy. It’s probably a Scraver crime fam-
  ily, one that won’t want her hanging around. If she doesn’t
  leave on her own soon, she may wind up dead in a sewer
  drain.”
  “But she’s a Scraver!” I said in disbelief. “How could
  they do that to one of their own?”
  “Wise up. It’s not the guild as a whole that’ll do it. It’s
  whoever murdered that Obun. They may not even be
  Scravers. Could be Slayers. But they’ve got some sort of
  connection to the guild, one which ain’t healthy for Sanjuk
  to be around. I figure she’ll be okay if she gets off world. A
  few months away and everybody’ll forget about her.”
  “Have you told Sanjuk or Erian this?”
  “Not yet. Like you said earlier: Why spoil the celebra-
  tion? I’m just telling you so you can help figure out where
  to fit another bunk on the Resurgent.”
  It seems that I will soon be able to broach the topic of
  Ukari writing with Sanjuk. There will be little else for her
  to do on the long journey to the jumpgate.
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  34
  Night on Hira is bright when the bombs go off. The
  sky is lit with the fiery, short-lived glow of munitions. The
  Hazat and Kurgan Caliphate forces never seem to tire of
  war.
  But the lights and the sounds eventually fade as the
  night grows older and the soldiers tire, and peace settles
  over the broken land. The rubble of countless villages lies
  as a no-man’s land between the forces’ current
  embattlements, with only long-range missiles, aerial fly-
  bys and the occasional theurgic rite forming any contact
  between the enemies.
  We are safe here for now. In the ruins of Matanto city,
  in the blasted basement labyrinth of the former ruler’s pal-
  ace, we have taken shelter to search the past for our fu-
  ture. This building, constructed during the Second Repub-
  lic of strong maxicrete and plasteel, has lasted through a
  millennia of erosion only to be torn open and exposed to
  the sky by a series of direct artillery barrages.
  It wasn’t even looted. Once the ruling family escaped
  the burning town, the Hazat and Kurgan forces moved on,
  fighting over new lands not yet sworn to either side. Why
  they mutually assaulted this city, I don’t really understand.
  My lady Erian says it had something to do with the ruler’s
  neutrality, an increasingly rare and dangerous thing to both
  Hazat and Kurgan — it is a tactical mistake to let anybody
  live who could later ally with an enemy. Tactical mistake,
  perhaps, but a moral gesture, something lacking in the
  behavior of both sides. I am ashamed at the way one of
  our own, a royal family of the Known Worlds, attempts to
  bring the civilized rule of the empire to this barbarian world.
  I am even more ashamed of the Patriarch’s complaisant
  role in this. Were he here to witness the atrocities, he would
  surely move to reign them in with all the powers at his
  command. Or so I like to believe.
  I don’t even know who is winning the war. From our
  vantage, it is impossible to tell who is gaining ground. It
  seems that no one is. Well, little matter. As long as the
  fighting does not make its way back here, our mission can
  proceed without interruption.
  Consul Darok Rohmer is our neighbor in the palace.
  We did not expect to find anyone when we arrived, but he
  was already here, the only one in the city who did not flee
  when the war reached the town. His fellows in the Reeves
  guild surely believed him dead. A great loss, for Consul
  Rohmer was one of the foremost authorities on the
  Anunnaki, the precursor race who left behind the
  jumpgates. His studies brought him here, to this old Sec-
  ond Republic museum, once a treasure trove of Ur arti-
  facts, then a noble palace, and now ruins.
  It is our reason for coming here, too. Clues on our quest
  to resolve the great vision given Erian by the Gargoyle of
  Nowhere — a foreboding Ur artifact in itself — led us here,
  to this war-torn planet just outside of the Known Worlds.
  Something was here for us, some ancient piece in a present-
  day puzzle that, once assembled, would spell the fate and
  duty of my noble lady. Thus, I, my liege Erian Li Halan,
  her bodyguard Cardanzo, pilot Julia Abrams, friend
  Onganggorak (a Vorox) and associate Sanjuk oj Kaval (an
  Ur-Ukar), arrived in the Resurgent to resolve our quest.
  We hid our ship under camouflage tarp in the nearby
  hills and set up camp in the ruins of the palace. It did not
  take long for Ong to sniff out Rohmer, who hid in the low-
  est level, evading all patrols that passed through. At first,
  Rohmer feared we were scavengers or Hazat conscription
  forces, and he led Ong a chase through the seemingly end-
  less corridors below. But once caught by our over-eager
  friend and presented to Erian, he realized that we were
  independents, unaligned (or, at least not working) with
  any side in the war.
  Since then, he has been gracious enough to show us
  about the museum in return for our aid in lifting and re-
  moving rubble, and for cooked meals. His rations were
  running rather low by the time we arrived; it was a bless-
  ing for him that we were well-stocked.
  Cardanzo spent most of his time patrolling the region,
  making sure nobody came near to our camp. On two occa-
  sions he chased away local refugees — starving bandits,
  by his report — who came too near. He had wisely pre-
  pared for such a role before we had embarked on this jour-
  ney, and now wore Hazat military garb. Anyone who saw
  him feared he was a ranger for a greater force nearby.
  As the others tended mainly to logistical or defense
  matters, Erian and I combed the ruins for the sculpture
  seen in her dream: an Ur mandala. This item was carved
  from the same alloy as the jumpgates (the copperish-purple
  metal no one has ever identified) and was studded with
  glowing jewels. More importantly, Erian believed that the
  mandala pattern itself was a key of sorts, some sort of clue
  into… what? She did not know, but we all knew it was
  important, part of the greater tapestry of visions she had
  experienced since her coming-of-age on Midian.
  So we spent the days searching the museum. Rohmer
  had not seen the piece, but helped us search whenever he
  could. He had research of his own here was trying to fin-
  ish, a search for the lost Anunnaki culture as revealed in
  their language and art. This was a monumentally hard task,
  for what clues they left behind are mere fragments; the
  whole only came together after study over far-flung worlds,
  and even then provided only a hazy image, a warped im-
  perfection in stained glass.
  Fragments
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  35
  “No, we don’t know what they looked like,” he told
  me, “but we do know something of their behavior as re-
  vealed in the myths of the Obun and Ukar, the Oro’ym and
  the ancient legends of Urth itself. Yes, Urth, cradle of hu-
  manity. I believe, as did the xenologists of the Second Re-
  public, that the Anunnaki visited Urth in its infancy and
  guided the early footsteps of humankind. The fact that a
  jumpgate exists there, and the known ruins on Mars, is
  proof enough. But there are sites on Holy Terra itself, al-
  though they are not acknowledged as such. Ancient places
  where only vague traces remain, a stray rock here, a carv-
  ing there.”
  “Have you seen any of these?” I asked. “Where are
  they?”
  “All over the planet. If there’s one good the Church
  has done, it’s to keep Holy Terra pristine, a living museum.
  Certainly, many complain when their request to emigrate
  to the Cradle is denied, but thank the Pancreator for it! The
  world was once trampled with too many feet — as
  Byzantium Secundus and Leagueheim are now — and they
  kick away the footprints of those who went before.”
  I noticed that he was not specific in naming a site, but
  chose not to question him further. As he began to open up
  more, he would perhaps tell me one or two of these places.
  “See this?” he said, pointing to a cylinder sealed be-
  hind a see-through case, lit by an everlight, glowing since
  its Second Republic maker set it to burning a thousand
  years ago. “What do you think that is?”
  I looked carefully at it, walking around its case to see
  it from all angles. It was smooth, with carvings all over,
  abstract designs with a hint of anthropomorphism in cer-
  tain swirls. Carved from the unearthly alloy common to Ur
  artifacts, it had no opening: a perfectly sealed rod. Yet,
  somehow, in some strange way, I knew it was hollow, that
  some unspeakable space was enclosed within it, an
  otherworldly place sharing our space, our dimension.
  “A king’s scepter, perhaps?” I said, noticing his look
  of disappointment. “Or a phallus? Perhaps a fertility sculp-
  ture?”
  “You apply modern concepts to the distant past,” he
  said shaking his head. “But don’t feel stupid: your an-
  swers are the same as Crafter Oncales at the Academy
  Interatta. You see, there is an exact duplicate of this cylin-
  der at that school. Indeed, I bet you could find at least one
  in every system of the Known Worlds. Do you know why?”
  I shook my head.
  “Because it comes from a jumpgate. This one was re-
  moved from the jumpgate of this very system. I don’t know
  where the academy’s is from. This one’s removal, I be-
  lieve, is what caused this planet to disappear from Human
  Space for many years.”
  “This? This is the reason Hira’s jumpgate shut down,
  keeping all ships out of the system for centuries?”
  “I believe so. But I don’t think the scientists who took
  it knew. It is one of the last additions to the collection.”
  “Then why did the gate open again? If this item is
  here, why does the gate now respond to codes it ignored
  for years?”
  “I’m not sure about that. If I was, I would be the most
  celebrated man in the Known Worlds, wouldn’t I? The
  Emperor surely has need of such lore to open all the closed
  gates to all the Lost Worlds of Human Space. Perhaps it’s
  like a fuse; when removed, no circuits can complete them-
  selves. The jumpgates have already shown signs of self-
  repair. It is no great leap to imagine that, over the years,
  the jumpgate rerouted itself so that energy could flow
  again.”
  “A machine that repairs itself? How can such a thing
  be? That would imply life.”
  “The genius of its manufacture eludes us, as does the
  genius of all Anunnaki science. All of it built on unknown
  scientific principles. The line between animate life and mere
  matter — mind and matter — grows indistinct the more
  one studies the Ur races. Nothing lasts. Nothing but Ur
  tech,” he said wistfully.
  I stared in awe at the cylinder. He looked at me and
  smiled, shaking his head again.
  “Don’t go worshipping it, now. I could be wrong, you
  know. It may be a simple antenna, or a strut meant to help
  maintain structural integrity. We can’t really know for sure.
  It’s all just theory.”
  “Unknown principles…” I said, looking away from it.
  “Well, I must continue the search. Thank you for your time
  again.”
  “Think nothing of it. Any more questions, feel free to
  ask. By the way, what’s for dinner tonight? Are you going
  to fix another of those Ukari dishes? I rather enjoy the
  way the worms squirm as you bite them.”
  I thought he was being sarcastic at first, but he seemed
  to genuinely like Ukari cuisine. I had fixed some the previ-
  ous night, based on a recipe Sanjuk had provided, attempt-
  ing to use as much local resources as possible rather than
  our sealed stores. Ukari cuisine is a subterranean dining
  experience: mushrooms and earthworms.
  “Perhaps,” I said, turning to go. “I shall have to poll
  the others about their responses to last night’s meal…”
  Erian was not where I had left her, so I went up the
  stairs to the level above, coming out into the night air, now
  still and quiet after the nightly artillery died. Erian was
  there, whispering to Julia and Sanjuk. I came close and
  coughed to announce myself.
  “Alustro,” Erian said. “I don’t want to alarm you, but
  Cardanzo believes soldiers are approaching the town. We
  may have to evacuate.”
  “Now? But we haven’t found the object of our quest
  yet!” I complained.
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  36
  “Keep your voice down,” Julia said. “That thing ain’t
  worth our lives.” She looked to Erian as she said this, hop-
  ing for confirmation.
  “Alustro and I will keep searching. Sanjuk, will you
  help? There’s a large room with no lights and your up-
  bringing in the dark may help us.”
  Sanjuk sighed. “I have lived in the light for twenty
  years. Only five were spent in the dark, and even then, my
  clan was not traditional. I knew what a fusion torch was at
  two. But yes, I will help you. I’m still surely better at mov-
  ing in darkness than you blind humans.”
  Erian frowned but said nothing. She was used to
  Sanjuk’s manner by now, and knew better than to press
  royal rules of intercourse here. She turned to the stairs,
  and Sanjuk and I followed. Julia remained above, watch-
  ing for Cardanzo and Ong’s return from their patrol.
  The room was indeed dark. Our fusion torches seemed
  to penetrate only slightly into the gloom, and a thin mist
  could be felt and barely seen in the air. Consul Rohmer,
  who had joined us on our way down, coughed.
  “Eternair…” he muttered.
  “Excuse me, consul?” Erian said. “What did you say?”
  “It’s Eternair. Eternal Air. A preservative atmosphere
  devised by Second Republic archivists to use when sealing
  things in cases. It’s meant to keep those items unchanged
  over time. It’s near miraculous. A canister must have bro-
  ken somewhere in the room. With little ventilation, the
  stuff stays in the air here.”
  “Is it dangerous to breath?” I asked.
  “I hope not,” he replied.
  We continued on into the room, navigating the cases
  and shelves. This did appear to be an archivist’s room, for
  many items were displayed on tables with tags clearly
  showing that they were not yet ready for public display.
  Most of the items were reproductions of actual Ur items,
  made from extensive drawings and holograms. A few items
  were genuine, however. Consul Rohmer’s obvious interest
  in these told me which were real and which fake.
  “You know,” Sanjuk said from somewhere up ahead,
  unseen in the darkness. “I really think we should set up
  some of the camp lights down here. We’re not going to
  find anything in this light.”
  Erian sighed. “You are right. We will set them up dur-
  ing the day tomorrow, once we’ve heard from Cardanzo
  about the approaching troops.”
  “If the troops don’t get here first,” Sanjuk said.
  We left the room and returned to our camp in the
  servant’s quarters on the first level of the palace. This sec-
  tion was in the rear of the building, its back entrance now
  blocked by rubble. Anybody entering would have to come
  through the main hall, where we could see them well be-
  fore they saw us. Cardanzo had led a search through the
  upper levels, now open to the elements, and had identified
  a number of sniper points he could assume if necessary.
  One of these, the remaining high tower, part of the original
  architecture, we used as a watchpost. Looking up at it from
  the street below, I could barely make out the old museum
  sign, now partially covered with the local ruler’s torn and
  dirty flag: “Museum of the Ancients, Estab—” I wondered
  what date it read.
  Cardanzo and Ong had returned from their patrol. The
  approaching troops were rangers, teams from both sides
  of the conflict. They each entered the market section of
  town, a few miles from us, and left soon after encounter-
  ing each other (with no shots fired, apparently).
  “I think now that each knows the other was here, they
  will move troops in force, each believing the other is trying
  to claim this ground,” Cardanzo said. “With luck, it’ll take
  them two days to get back here. We need to be gone by
  then.”
  “We will spend another day searching,” Erian said.
  “Then leave.”
  “No later,” Cardanzo said, looking into his liege’s eyes.
  “We still need time to escape atmosphere before any fight-
  ers take to the skies.”
  “That’s all we need!” Julia said. “A dogfight between
  Hazat and Kurgans. Oh, yeah, I can fly through that no
  problem!”
  “Point taken,” Erian said. “We leave tomorrow evening
  then. No later.”
  I was relieved to know we’d be out of danger soon,
  but nervous that we would leave without our prize. As I
  prepared dinner (chorro steaks, courtesy of Ong, who came
  back from his patrol with a catch, saving us from another
  Ukari dinner), I cast my mind into the museum and walked
  through every room I knew, trying to divine where the cu-
  rators would have kept the mandala. The smell of burnt
  steak woke me from my musings, and I consented to have
  the spoiled meat for my plate while I paid greater attention
  to the others’ preparations.
  As I served the steaks and finally sat down to eat
  myself, a loud chiming sound broke the silence. Everyone
  looked at me.
  “Uhm… sorry,” I said, placing my plate on the scuffed
  table and running to my bags nearby. I pulled the small,
  hand-held think machine from its pouch and touched the
  power stud, shutting off the chimes.
  “Why does that thing always go off?” Julia said, glar-
  ing at me. “I hate it. Can’t you tell time like the rest of us?”
  “It’s not for telling time,” I explained. “And that alarm
  was to remind me that it is only a number of hours till
  Renewal Day, the anniversary of Zebulon’s healing by Saint
  Amalthea.”
  “That’s nice and all, but what’s it got to do with us
  here? There’s far better uses to put a rare think machine,
  you know. Can’t you just pray at dawn like most priests?”
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  37
  “Dawn on Hira is not dawn on Grail. My think ma-
  chine is set to automatically begin a recitation of the Thank-
  ful Exaltation, the Latin chorus as delivered by Zebulon to
  Amalthea, on exactly the proper moment: when dawn
  breaks over Mount Siddik.”
  Julia rolled her eyes. “And what the heck does it mat-
  ter if you miss the exact moment? I’m sure Saint Amalthea
  will forgive you; she’s certainly forgiven much worse.”
  “That’s not the point. I am an Eskatonic; the energetic
  correspondences are very important. By opening a chan-
  nel in our hearts and minds at the proper moment, we cast
  our light back to Grail, and it is in turn reflected back to us.
  In this way, we partake of the divine moment as if we were
  on Grail itself. The theurgic significance is incredible.”
  “Whatever,” Julia said, finishing her steak and then
  rising to stretch. “Just don’t let that racket wake me before
  my watch!” She left for her sleeping bag in the garret di-
  rectly above us.
  I checked the program again to be sure its clock was
  correct and set the liturgy to play upon the appointed hour.
  After cleaning and storing the cookware, I crawled into my
  own sleeping bag by the kitchen.
  That evening, I did not dream. This is not unusual
  except that I had dreamed every night since we arrived on
  Hira, dreams of ruins and combat.
  We spent the following afternoon searching the dark-
  ened room. We moved all our portable lights there and
  found the illumination enough for a cursory search. Con-
  sul Rohmer idly examined the Ur artifacts and replicas.
  “I had hoped to make my fortune here,” he said. “To
  build my life. I doubt anything can come of this now. I
  don’t dare alert anyone, or the Hazat will storm in seeking
  war-tech. Best to leave it be for now until I can get others
  to come. So little of this can be moved.”
  “Can’t we just remove the artifacts from the cases?” I
  asked.
  “Have you ever tried cracking one of those things?
  Near impossible, not without shipyard grade tools. And
  the cases themselves are likewise immovable, meant to
  deter thieves in an era where such criminals had high tech
  means to steal. No, most of this will remain here as it has
  for centuries.”
  “But that means… If the mandala is in a case, we’ll
  never get it out!”
  He looked at me sympathetically. “Well, we can al-
  ways take holograms of it. I have a camera with me.”
  Sanjuk came over. “A holocamera? That must of set
  you back a few firebirds.”
  “Not really,” Rohmer said, continuing his idle search.
  “I took it in return for a bad debt, in my younger days in
  Collections. The debtor paid up eventually anyway, but I
  kept the camera.”
  “There is nothing here!” Erian said from a few shelves
  away, frustrated. “Surely we would have found it by now
  if they kept it in this room.”
  “Perhaps we should try elsewhere,” I suggested.
  “There’s still the back wing…”
  “It’s strictly Diaspora era,” Rohmer said. “I checked
  when I first arrived.”
  “What if the mandala was discovered then?” Erian
  said. “Wouldn’t it be kept there?”
  “Well, I suppose it’s possible,” Rohmer said. “I wasn’t
  looking for it in my search, since I hadn’t met you yet. It’s
  at least worth another look.”
  “Sanjuk, would you come with me?” Erian said, head-
  ing for the door. “Alustro, please keep searching here, just
  in case.”
  “But I’d like to see some Diaspora artifacts!”
  “Just dioramas mainly,” Rohmer said. “Images the
  Second Republic believed were true of life during
  humanity’s first spread to the stars. Rather boring, actu-
  ally.”
  Erian was already gone, so I resigned myself to a con-
  tinued search. I had worked my way down the far left aisle
  and was ready to traverse the back wall when a rumble
  shook the building.
  “They can’t be shelling this early,” Rohmer said, con-
  fused, looking at the ceiling as if he could see through it to
  the skies above.
  “I think we should leave, consul,” I said, moving to-
  ward the door. “If they are shelling, it may mean troops
  are advancing already.”
  He sighed. “Alright, but let’s go back through the east
  wing. I want one last look at—”
  The air exploded and the ceiling collapsed, burying
  me under a pile of tiles. I coughed, singed from the fire
  that had momentarily engulfed me. The Eternair must have
  ignited, I thought. But the mist still swirled around me, so
  it had not all gone up.
  I pushed the tiles off and crawled to my feet. Half of
  the room was gone, blocked by a wall of rock, dirt and
  furniture from the levels above. “Consul?” I yelled.
  “Here…” a weak voice answered. I worked my way
  over to him across the sliding tiles and rock. Consul Rohmer
  was half buried under a maxicrete strut, his head bleed-
  ing, his hand clutching his chest.
   “It’s finally over…” he moaned.
  “I can heal you!” I cried, trying to lift the maxicrete
  that pinned him. “But we have to move this strut!”
  “No…” he said, his eyes glazing. “It doesn’t matter.
  Your faith can’t heal plastic.”
  “What? I don’t understand,” I said, trying to raise the
  strut but failing completely. It was too heavy. If Ong were
  here—
  “Don’t… don’t bother.” He coughed blood. “My heart…
  it’s cybernetic. My third one. The others failed. I knew this
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  38
  would, too. That’s why I came. To make something of my-
  self, to complete my work.”
  “But… maybe we… Julia… can fix it,” I stammered.
  “Leave me here,” he said, weaker, barely audible.
  “Among… the Ur. Close… the door… on your way… out.
  Air will… preserve me.” His eyes closed and a final breath
  escaped his body.
  I now understood his respect for the artifacts around
  him. They were the only things to last in a world of en-
  tropy. Everything died — people, culture, even the stars.
  But the Anunnaki had crafted with their unknown prin-
  ciples things immune to the laws of decay.
  I felt for a pulse but could find none, then placed my
  hand on his false heart, tears welling in my eyes. I said the
  Prayer to the Departed, asking the Pancreator to draw Con-
  sul Rohmer’s illuminate soul to its reward, to protect it as
  it traversed the dim and dying spaces. And then I switched
  off all the camp lights in the room and closed the door,
  leaving him in the peaceful, preserved dark.
  I looked about, trying to get my bearings in the after-
  math of death. My survival was important now, and I feared
  for my liege and companions. Had they been buried, too?
  The hall was a mess; my way was blocked on all sides.
  Only a thin ray of light from atop a pile of stone (a later
  addition to the palace, not a part of the original structure)
  promised a way of escape. I climbed and began to pull dirt
  and rock aside. I soon had a small hole through which I
  could squeeze. It was tight but I was soon on the ground
  floor again.
  I stood, scraping dust off and surveying the area. The
  walls no longer existed, and gaping holes into the mu-
  seum could be seen the length of the palace. I had no idea
  where I was standing. Was it the main hall or the dining
  room?
  The sun was setting on the horizon and it was grow-
  ing dark very quickly. As I stepped forward to search for
  my liege, praying she was still alive and well, a footstep
  sounded behind me. I turned and stared into the eyes of a
  Kurgan ranger, his rifle pointed straight at me.
  He should have shot me on sight. But something was
  wrong. I could see fear in his eyes. Not fear of me, but fear
  of death. His arm bled profusely, although it still seemed
  usable. His face was one of near shock, a man too long on
  the front lines.
  But courage returned, and he slowly raised his rifle to
  aim.
  Then the Prophet sang.
  He paused, confused. From nearby, under a thin shale
  of tile, came the chorus of the Thankful Exaltation. My
  think machine. It was now dawn on Grail: the divine mo-
  ment had arrived.
  He looked at me and then at the sky, as if shocked to
  realize the time and the day. He slowly lowered his rifle,
  looking into my eyes to see what I would do, and brought
  his hands together in prayer.
  I joined him. We both closed our eyes and answered
  the chorus.
  “And the light that burns, burns away poison.
  “And the hands that heal tend the flame…”
  He knew the Latin words. Our cultures, separated by
  time and the gulfs between the stars, still each remem-
  bered the deeds of the Prophet and knew them to be holy.
  Tears ran down my face as I answered the chorus line by
  line, unfearful, for I heard his voice singing, too.
  When the program ended, and silence fell, we each
  slowly opened our eyes and looked at the other. Before
  anything further could pass between us, he stood and clam-
  bered over the stones. He was out of sight before I could
  think to yell to him, to offer to heal his wound.
  I stood there for a time, thinking upon the wonders
  revealed amid the horror. Eventually, Onganggorak shook
  my shoulder, startling me. He had crept through the ruins
  silently, a great Vorox hunter.
  “Alustro, are you well? I smell no injury,” he said ten-
  derly.
  “I am fine, Ong. Where are the others? Is Erian okay?”
  “She is wounded, but will live. Cardanzo guards her
  at the Resurgent and Julia prepares to leave. I came to find
  you, little confessor.”
  I smiled. “That was foolhardy. Kurgans are here. You
  could have been caught.”
  “Hmmph. We cannot leave without you. Ong’s life is
  little next to yours,” he said, tugging me to leave with him.
  I made to disagree but finally assented and went over
  to the pile of shale that hid my bags and my think ma-
  chine, the device which had saved my life today. “I’m
  ready.”
  “Where is the consul? I cannot find his scent. He should
  leave with us,” Ong said.
  “He… died,” I said. “He rests with his artifacts.”
  Ong nodded and made a grunting noise, a statement
  of some sort in his own tongue, but before I could ask
  what he meant, he turned to go, motioning me with one of
  his four arms to follow.
  As we began our trek to the ship, the sky thundered
  and glowed. Bombs flew once more. The flickering light of
  the deadly fireworks lit the area, and I saw the remains of
  the high tower, now scattered across the ground. The ruler’s
  flag was gone and the museum sign stood bare. I could
  now read it:
  Museum of the Ancients. Established 3973. “And the
  Anunnaki fashioned their individual shrines, the 300
  younger gods of heaven and the Anunnaki of the Apsu all
  assembled.”
  I stood in shock, staring at the sign. “Ong!” I cried,
  and he came running, sniffing the air and casting his eyes
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  39
  all about. “There!” I pointed to the sign.
  Underneath the ancient quote from some long-forgot-
  ten Urth text was a beautiful mandala.
  Our mandala.
  I rushed over to the sign to examine it. It was the very
  same seen in Erian’s dream — copperish-purple alloy, four
  images quartered around a central star. “This is it, Ong.
  Our artifact.”
  I tugged at it, and it snapped right off its base. We
  both stared at each other, chills traveling up our spines. Of
  all the Ur artifacts in the museum, why was this one so
  easily removed? I looked at the base it had rested on and
  realized that it had taken a direct artillery hit. The ceramsteel
  was melted and pitted, blackened every place but where
  the mandala had rested. The metal and magnetic glue had
  given out, but the artifact was unblemished.
  I decided that enough was enough. Placing the mandala
  in my bag, we headed off to the ship. Ong blazed the trail,
  taking small paths through the ruins. I heard voices from
  afar, and radio chatter, but Ong’s path avoided all patrols.
  We finally arrived at the ship. As I entered the hatch
  and Ong closed it behind me, I heard Erian call to me from
  her cabin. I ran quickly and saw her lying on the bed, her
  leg wrapped in red bandages.
  “My lady!” I yelled, and immediately set to examining
  her wound. Cardanzo put his hand on my shoulder.
  “She is fine, Alustro. I staunched the blood flow.”
  Erian looked tired but she was awake. I reached into
  my bag and produced the artifact, holding it up to show
  her.
  “The mandala!” she cried, trying to rise to her feet.
  Cardanzo and I both rushed to keep her down, slowly low-
  ering her back into bed. She gazed at it wondrously. “Where
  did you find it?”
  “The sign. The museum sign covered by the flag, the
  one on the tower. All this time, right above us.”
  She looked at me and a I felt a rush of pride. “Well
  done, my priest. Well done.”
  I nodded and rose. “Get your rest, lady. We can exam-
  ine it later.” I left the artifact with her as I headed to my
  cabin to change out of my filthy clothes. I would tell her
  about Consul Rohmer later, when there was time to reflect
  on a life now past. I felt the rumble of the engines and
  knew the ship was taking off.
  As I entered my cabin, I heard Sanjuk and Julia talk-
  ing in the cockpit.
  “I can’t believe he found it,” Sanjuk said. “Of all the
  dumb luck.”
  “I knew he would,” Julia said. “It’s not luck. The boy’s
  got a track record.”
  I smiled, knowing that her comment was not meant
  for me to hear.
  The next few hours were rough, as Julia encountered
  two squadrons of Hazat troops demanding we land to be
  examined by their military generals. Of course she denied
  all requests in Erian’s name, knowing our ship would be
  conscripted if it fell into their hands, and flew us out of the
  way of most conflict. Our ship’s shield easily deflected the
  few shots we took.
  As I write this, we have not yet reached the jumpgate.
  Julia intends to hide behind the last planet until the
  jumpgate is clear, or until the few ships there engage en-
  emies coming or going. Then we’ll slip over as quickly as
  possible, activate the gate, and be gone from this place.
  I am confident that we will encounter little problem.
  We have come too far, and the fates have been too kind.
  Why would they mean us disaster now? The pattern is
  clearer now, fragments assembled by some principle whose
  meaning is as yet unknown.
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  40
  I pray that I never again experience a Night of Fire.
  The Inquisition’s flameguns burn not only wood and straw,
  they boil the blood and singe the soul.
  The town of Ravican, in the barony of al-Bazan on
  Criticorum, was last night’s target for Inquisitorial fervor.
  The rumors had spread throughout the marketplace ear-
  lier that day: a Symbiot had been seen by Yeoman Dar in
  his apple orchard, creeping about in the trees. There is no
  telling just what his initial description of the thing had
  been, for by the time word spread in town, various de-
  scriptions were given, with the creature growing larger and
  more malevolent as the shadows from the sun grew longer.
  We ignored the rumors at first, for we are all well used
  to such superstitious panics among commoners. This was
  meant to be our rest time, a month far from the bustle and
  politics of the big cities. We deserved this time away from
  responsibility. As our liege, Erian Li Halan, pondered our
  next step in the quest, we relaxed and roamed the idyllic
  hills and meandering streams of this pastoral region.
  Our peace ended just after nightfall when the Inquisi-
  tion ship landed in the fields near the shire reeve’s home.
  Cloaked and hooded priests — mainly Avestites, but some
  Orthodox priests among them — stamped from the ship
  and into the town, immediately demanding that no one
  leave. They summoned the local lord, a retired knight, and
  demanded that everyone in the town subject themselves
  to Inquisitorial questioning.
  Unable to deny them lest he
  be suspected himself, the old
  knight acquiesced and gave
  them free reign to find the
  Symbiot they had heard was
  hiding in Ravican.
  The priestly team split
  up and marched down the
  streets, lining up the citi-
  zenry, eyeing them for any
  signs of inhuman behavior.
  Erian, her bodyguard
  Cardanzo, and I were in a
  small pub on the far side of
  town. A farmer ran in to cry
  the news about the Inquisi-
  tion, and the other drinkers
  and diners immediately
  abandoned their meals to flee
  from the town to their hov-
  els in the surrounding hills.
  This was no sign of guilt —
  no one willingly subjects
  himself to Inquisitorial scrutiny. Even I, a priest myself,
  know that the accusing monks are wrong more often than
  right.
  We decided to slip away ourselves. Our starship was
  in a field not too far from here. Julia, Sanjuk and
  Onggangarak were there now. By the time we passed two
  streets, the smell of smoke was already in the air. Some-
  where a hapless fool said the wrong thing or tried to run
  when he should have halted, and flameguns had roared as
  a result. The sky was lit with the flames, started in one
  building perhaps but now obviously spread to more of them.
  The whole town would probably be cinders by the morn-
  ing. I almost hoped the rumors of Symbiots were true, to at
  least justify the cost.
  As we neared the pig sty near the small path that would
  lead us to our ship, we heard voices approaching: “I saw
  movement here, brothers!”
  We leapt into the dark doorway of the hovel and tried
  to still our breathing as a group of the robed fanatics rushed
  past and down another street. Our quiet allowed me to hear
  the sobbings in the room behind us.
  I peered into the gloom and saw a man slumped to the
  floor, his head in his hands, his body wracked with sobs. I
  moved to him and bent down, my hand over his head.
  “Don’t fear; I am a priest, but not like those outside.”
  The poor fellow looked up at me, his eyes pleading.
  “They killed my children,
  father. They burned them.
  My poor, poor children.”
  Tears streamed down his
  face. I didn’t know what to
  say. How do you console a
  man who has just lost his
  beloved children to the
  flames of priests?
  I moved my hand to his
  shoulder but recoiled in
  sudden fear and disgust,
  unable to control my in-
  stinctual reaction. From out
  of his shirtless torso grew
  four thin, segmented spider
  legs. He didn’t seem to no-
  tice at first until he heard
  the intake of my breath. He
  looked at me and then at
  himself in surprise. He then
  leaped to his feet with
  amazing speed and scuttled
  up the wall to the rafters
  Tangled Web
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  41
  above, his new legs clinging to the ceiling.
  “By the Pancreator!” I heard Erian yell. Cardanzo drew
  his blaster and aimed it at the rafters, trying to discern the
  creature in the darkness.
  The thing spoke: “Please, father, I beg you. I mean no
  harm. I was a priest once, like you.”
  Cardanzo, seeing the creature, pointed his gun and
  prepared to fire. I leapt forward, knocking down his hand,
  yelling: “No! Wait!”
  Both Erian and Cardanzo looked at me like I was mad.
  I explained: “Let me hear him. I… I don’t know why, but
  please. Let me hear him.”
  They didn’t move, and the thing bent down further
  into the dim light coming from the doorway. “I was an
  Illuminatus grade monk on Stigmata. I fought Symbiots,
  and believed them to be evil and demonic. But then I was
  changed, converted by a stray spore they had spread
  months before. They came for me and taught me who they
  really were. They aren’t like we think. They are a good
  people, living closer with nature than you can know.”
  As he spoke, he slowly came down from his perch,
  crawling down the wall and looking at me earnestly. “I
  remembered more of my human memories than most con-
  verts. I still know the litanies and exegeses drilled into me
  at the Naos. I still rever the Pancreator and Zebulon, but I
  see that their message is broader than even Pallamedes
  knew. The Holy Flame is not restricted to humans. All be-
  ings share its spark. Each world has this fire, which em-
  powers all living things.”
  He stood up straight on two human legs when he
  reached the floor, moving closer, his arms gesturing as he
  made his case. “Because I still knew human ways, I was
  sent back to the Known Worlds to learn about the new
  Emperor and his plans against the Symbiots. I changed
  my form to look like anyone I wanted to, and spent time in
  the main capitals of many worlds, pretending to be many
  people I was not. But I tired of it, and longed for the peace
  and tranquility of my old home, the town where I had grown
  up.
  “I returned to Ravican and started a family. My wife,
  who knew of my secret, loved me the more for it. She died
  last year of the Vantokos Sickness. But our children lived.
  They are human, like you. I cannot and would not convert
  them even if they asked. I love my Symbiot brothers, but
  prefer my human family. Do you understand?”
  I stared at him, not knowing how to respond. He spoke
  so passionately, his tale came from the heart. His grief over
  his lost children seemed so genuine.
  “I… I’m so sorry,” I stammered.
  “We do not need to be enemies. We share the same
  dangers. The light of the suns fade for us all. There is a
  saying among the Phazûl: Weaving webs around the sun.”
  “What?” I said, surprised.
  “It means to support the Lifeweb, to renew the light.”
  He paused for a moment, as if trying to figure out how
  to say something difficult, something hard to translate from
  one tongue to another, when a sword thrust out from his
  chest. He stared down at it in shock, and Erian, standing
  behind him, withdrew her rapier and quickly slashed it
  across the air. His head rolled forward and thumped to the
  floor. His body’s spider legs twitched momentarily before
  the body collapsed.
  I stared in shock.
  Cardanzo stepped forward and emptied his blaster into
  the body, turning the carcass into an ashy husk. Summoned
  by the blaster fire, Inquisition troops bolted down the street
  and through the door. As soon as they saw the scene and
  the sizzling body on the floor, remnants of its spider legs
  still apparent, they nodded quietly.
  Erian wiped her blade on a nearby sack, and the In-
  quisition leader stepped over to her. “Well done, my lady.
  May I know your name?”
  “Erian Li Halan,” she replied coldly, as if speaking to
  her social inferior. “And this is my entourage. Cardanzo,
  my bodyguard, and Alustro, my confessor.”
  Her attitude worked well, for the Inquisitor, cowed
  somewhat by a noble and her brave deed, bowed slightly.
  “I thank you for catching the Symbiot menace and send-
  ing it to Gehenne. We will clean up the remains.”
  Erian, without any delay, walked out the doorway.
  Cardanzo followed, but I was still too stunned to realize
  that this was our cue to exit. I stood looking down at the
  body, my thoughts in turmoil.
  One of the priests placed his hand on my shoulder.
  “It’s evil is done with. It cannot harm you now.”
  I must have looked at him like he was mad; he com-
  pletely misunderstood the cause of my confusion. But the
  startled look on his face brought me back to my senses. I
  bowed my head. “Yes. Yes, you are right. I was… unpre-
  pared.”
  He nodded with sympathy and I walked through the
  door. Erian and Cardanzo had not waited for me, but walked
  slowly so that I could catch them. As soon as I came to
  them, they increased their pace, and Cardanzo whispered,
  “Hurry before they think to search us for taint.”
  As we moved through the woods past the sty and to-
  ward our ship, my consternation was clear. Erian looked
  at me with worry. “It’s all right, my priest. You see the best
  in men, and not their lies.”
  “But… the web. The web in the sun. It was in my
  vision. What does this mean?”
  “I cannot say. Are not lies seen as a tangled web? Per-
  haps your vision warned you against his deception.”
  I nodded, but I knew that was not the answer. There
  was a deeper meaning here, and I feel our prejudice and
  fear silenced the answer before I could ask the question.
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  42
  Look for new excerpts from Alustro’s journals in each forthcoming Fading Suns book, or archived on
  the web at: http://www.holistic-design.com. Follow the links to the “Fading Suns Universe” page.
  Also find information on:
  • upcoming releases and new products from Holistic Design
  • gossip from across the Known Worlds in the Town Criers Guild reports
  • online product ordering
  CORE BOOKS
  FADING SUNS SECOND EDITION (HARDCOVER) - It is the dawn
  of the 6th millennium and the stars grow dim... Feudal lords rule the
  Known Worlds, vying for power with fanatic priests and scheming
  guilds. Adventurers encounter aliens, psychics, lost worlds, and an-
  cient ruins. #202, ISBN 1-888906-18-9, Price: $34.95
  GAMEMASTERS SCREEN & COMPLETE PANDEMONIUM - A
  screen including all the Second Edition rulebook charts and tables
  a gamemaster needs, and the “Complete Pandemonium” book, pro-
  viding ample adventures to inflict on players. #203, ISBN 1-888906-
  19-7, $12.95
  FADING SUNS PLAYERS COMPANION - New character roles:
  Knightly orders, Church sects, religions, guilds, military units, de-
  tails on sentient alien races and the genetically engineered
  Changed. #229, ISBN 1-888906-07-3, $25.00
  FICTION
  THE SINFUL STARS - The world of the Fading Suns is revealed
  in the tales of its people: An Ukar quests for an ancient mythologi-
  cal relic — a crown that bends time; a priest finds absolution from
  his tortured sins in the storms of Pentateuch; a scientist studying
  nanotech awakens an evil from Second Republic. # 234, ISBN 1-
  888906-14-6, $15.95
  FACTIONS SERIES
  LORDS & PRIESTS - Deluxe reprint of two classic Fading Suns
  books, “Lords of the Known Worlds” and “Priests of the Celestial
  Sun”, revised with new pages of material. #243, ISBN: 1-888906-24-
  3, $27.95
  MERCHANTS OF THE JUMPWEB - The nobles and the Church
  may vie for the leadership and minds of the Known Worlders, but
  the merchants own the stars. This book details the histories and
  modus operandi of the Merchant League guilds. #231, ISBN 1-
  888906-09-X, $20.00
  LEGIONS OF THE EMPIRE - The Known Worlds’ most danger-
  ous people and places are detailed — including the Symbiot-fight-
  ing Stigmata Garrison! New weaponry and war tech provide nu-
  merous excuses to blow things up. #237, ISBN 1-888906-16-2, $20.00
  CAMPAIGNS
  BYZANTIUM SECUNDUS - Details the center of the Known
  Worlds, the capital and seat of the Empire, where the fates of mil-
  lions are determined. Includes new character roles for the Imperial
  Eye - the Emperor’s intergalactic spies. #275, ISBN 1-888906-02-2,
  $18.00
  WEIRD PLACES - Explore some of the varied sites of the Fad-
  ing Suns universe, encountering mystery and danger along the way.
  #227, ISBN: 1-888906-05-7, $12.95
  INTO THE DARK - A book featuring numerous scenarios for
  gamemasters, providing challenging and harrowing adventures and
  mysteries at the edge of the known. #247, ISBN: 1-888906-28-6, $20.00
  STAR CRUSADE - Alexius’ Empire is not the only star-faring
  power — rival human cultures rule over the planets of barbarian
  space. This sourcebook details the worlds and ways of the Vuldrok
  Star-Nation and Kurgan Caliphate. #239, ISBN 1-888906-20-0, $25.00
  LOST WORLDS: STAR CRUSADE 2 - The jumpgates to the bar-
  barian worlds are open once more. Questing Knights, adventurers,
  seekers and scoundrels of all stripes now risk life and limb to ex-
  ploit the riches of these new worlds. #240, ISBN 1-888906-21-9, $20.00
  WAR IN THE HEAVENS: LIFEWEB
  The first in an epic trilogy, “Lifeweb” details the Symbiots, ex-
  plaining for the first time who and what they are. Also included is
  an adventure pitting player characters against Symbiots, with the
  fate of the Empire at stake. #235, ISBN 1-888906-12-X, $20.00
  WAR IN THE HEAVENS II: HEGEMONY - The second of a tril-
  ogy, “Hegemony” reveals the enigmatic Vau. People from all over
  the Known Worlds - both high and low class - have been envited to
  meet Mandarin ambassadors on Vril-Ya, initiating a flurry of recruit-
  ment by intelligence agencies. But can anything prepare them for
  what lies ahead? (It is not necessary to own “Lifeweb” to use and
  enjoy “Hegemony.”) #244, ISBN: 1-888906-25-1, $20.00
  Holistic Design’s Fading Suns
  Product Catalog
  
  My Time Among the Stars
  43
  IMPERIAL SURVEY SERIES
  The Emperor has sent his Questing Knights across the Known
  Worlds to bring back word on the state of his empire. Ever the canny
  propagandist, he has published their reports in affordable gazet-
  teers for his citizens to read.
  HAWKWOOD FIEFS: IMPERIAL SURVEY VOL. 1 - The first re-
  port reveals the Hawkwood Fiefs: Delphi, Ravenna, Gwynneth and
  Leminkainen. #236, ISBN 1-888906-15-4, $6.95
  AL-MALIK FIEFS: IMPERIAL SURVEY VOL. 2 - The second re-
  port reveals the al-Malik Fiefs: Criticorum, Shaprut, Istakhr and
  Aylon. #238, ISBN 1-888906-17-0, $6.95
  HAZAT FIEFS: IMPERIAL SURVEY VOL. 3 - The third report re-
  veals the Hazat Fiefs: Aragon, Sutek, Vera Cruz and Hira. #241, ISBN
  1-888906-22-7, $6.95
  LI HALAN FIEFS: IMPERIAL SURVEY VOL. 4 - The latest report
  reveals the Li Halan Fiefs: Kish, Midian, Icon and Rampart. #245,
  ISBN: 1-888906-26-X, $6.95
  ALIEN EXPEDITIONS SERIES
  VOROX - The first book in the Alien Expeditions series gives
  readers a cornucopia of information gathered by observers and
  natives about the six-limbed Vorox: their history, culture (both civi-
  lized and feral), and the vicious flora and fauna of their homeworld,
  Ungavorox. #246, ISBN: 1-888906-27-8, $17.95
  SOURCEBOOKS
  SPIES & REVOLUTIONARIES (Secret Societies 1)
  The Emperor’s intelligence chief presents dossiers on a
  plethora of underground organizations throughout the Known
  Worlds. #248, ISBN: 1-888906-29-4, $20.00
  FORBIDDEN LORE: TECHNOLOGY - The weird world of Fading
  Suns technology is revealed, from starships to ominous psychic
  artifacts. #225, ISBN: 1-888906-03-0, $15.00
  THE DARK BETWEEN THE STARS - Details psychic covens,
  Sathraists, Antinomists and the many entities and forces involved
  in the supernatural universe. #230, ISBN 1-888906-08-1, $17.95
  CHILDREN OF THE GODS: OBUN & UKAR - Details the histo-
  ries, cultures and unique powers (theurgic and psychic) of the Ur-
  Obun and the Ur-Ukar. #232, ISBN 1-888906-10-3, $12.95
  SINNERS & SAINTS - A rogues gallery of people and crea-
  tures from the Known Worlds and beyond. Each comes on its own
  sheet for ease of use by both players and gamemasters. # 233, ISBN
  1-888906-11-1, $16.95
  LIVE-ACTION ROLEPLAYING
  PASSION PLAY RULEBOOK (5.5" x 8" Tradeback) - Innovative
  live-action rules, allowing players to conspire, fight, use psychic
  powers, call upon holy miracles, and even use forbidden cybernet-
  ics. # 242, ISBN 1-888906-23-5, $14.95
  CHARACTER MINIATURES
  KNOWN WORLDERS - 10 fully painted, 28mm scale character
  miniatures! Includes: Hawkwood noble (male), Charioteer pilot (fe-
  male), Decados noble (male), Brother Battle (female), Adventurer
  (female), Priest (male), Vorox, Vau Mandarin, and more! #507, ISBN:
  1-888906-57-X, $39.95
  NOBLE ARMADA STARSHIP MINIATURES COMBAT GAME
  ***All supplements are approved for use with TRAVELLER®***
  NOBLE ARMADA (Rules Box Set) - A starship miniatures game
  of broadsides and boarding actions in the Fading Suns universe.
  Command frigates, destroyers or dreadnoughts to carve a fiefdom
  from the stars! Includes 32 plastic starship miniatures. #500, ISBN
  1-888906-50-2, $55.00
  CAPITAL SHIPS: HAWKWOOD & DECADOS - 6 large, highly
  detailed metal miniatures: 1 Hawkwood Vladimir class cruiser, 2
  Hawkwood Griffin class destroyers, 1 Decados Grigori class cruiser,
  and 2 Decados Tupok’ta class destroyers. #502, ISBN 1-888906-52-
  9, $24.95
  DREADNOUGHTS: DECADOS & IMPERIAL STARSHIPS - In-
  cludes 1 huge Imperial Maestekulos class dreadnought (used by
  Imperial and Hawkwood fleets), 1 giant Decados Anikrunta class
  dreadnought, 2 Hawkwood Vindicator class landers and 2 Decados
  Defiler class landers. #503, ISBN 1-888906-55-3, $42.95
  HAZAT SHIPS: THE RED TALON FLEET - 12 metal miniatures
  from the Hazat fleet. 4 Stalker class explorers, 4 Scorpion class frig-
  ates and 4 Xerxes class galliots. Also includes new deckplans and
  ship display. #506, ISBN: 1-888906-58-8, $29.95
  LI HALAN SHIPS: THE AMETHYST CROSS FLEET - 12 metal
  miniatures for NOBLE ARMADA from House Li Halan’s fleet. 4 raid-
  ers, 4 frigates and 4 galliots. Also includes three poster page
  deckplans and two new ship displays. #509, ISBN: 1-888906-60-X,
  $29.95
  AL MALIK SHIPS: THE EMERALD DJINN FLEET - 12 metal min-
  iatures for NOBLE ARMADA from House Al Malik’s fleet. Four ex-
  plorers, four frigates and four galliots. Also includes three poster
  page deckplans and a new ship display. #510, ISBN: 1-888906-61-8,
  $29.95
  DECKPLANS
  LETTERS OF MARQUE: STARSHIP DECKPLANS - A collection
  of 25mm-scale deckplan maps for use with the Noble Armada min-
  iatures game or the Fading Suns roleplaying game or for use with
  Traveller®! #501, ISBN 1-888906-51-0, $14.95
  LETTERS OF MARQUE II: TROOPSHIP DECKPLANS - 4 starships
  are featured with 25mm-scale maps: a speedy Hazat explorer and
  frigate, and Hawkwood and Decados Galliots. #505, ISBN: 1-888906-
  54-5, $14.95
  
SOURCE: textdata/thevault/Fading Suns/Fading Suns My Time Among the Stars Volume One - Novitiate.pdf