The Service of the Sword woh-4 Page 7

  No one challenged them as they entered the hangar. Ephraim, jealous of keeping his wealth in the family, employed his sons as free labor and crew. His desire to bring an impressive entourage to the conclave meant that all but those sons least in favor were with him. This meant that in turn the nonfamily employees were being kept very busy handling unaccustomed duties—and Dinah had promised that various small catastrophes would keep these unfortunate souls quite distracted indeed.

  "First," Judith said, keeping her voice very soft, "Flower."

  Mahalia and Rena nodded. Judith thought Mahalia looked a bit pale, nor was she certain that the fanatic light that brightened Rena's eyes was any better. Then she caught her own reflection in a highly polished side panel. She looked scared stiff.

  She grinned at that frightened young face, and her own fears vanished. This, after all, was the easy part.

  The pass-code to open Flower's hatch was changed every sabbath, but Judith had found it easy to learn what the new one was. When Ephraim routinely copied the pass-code to those of his crew who might need to go aboard, unbeknownst to himself, he copied it to Judith as well.

  There was no other security precaution in use here where Ephraim was secure. As soon as Judith pressed in "God hath made man upright; but they have sought many inventions," the hatch slid open, admitting them into a wide area lit only by stand-by lights.

  Without further discussion, they went in three different directions: Mahalia to the small engine room; Rena to the cargo bay, and Judith to the cockpit.

  She was running a standard systems check, trying to calm herself by imagining this was just another sim, when Mahalia signaled her on one of the small tight-beam communication units Dinah had somehow acquired for all of Exodus's most essential personnel.

  "Isaac here. I have the engines warming," Mahalia reported, her voice very tight.

  "Good. Meet me at the hatch in five," Judith said. "Routine check here will take me that long. I'll com Abraham to have cargo prepare for loading."

  Dinah had insisted that they use code names, just in case some imp of Satan caused their communications to be overheard. Judith was Moses. Dinah was Abraham. Mahalia was Isaac, and so on. As a further precaution, the communication units transformed their voices into voices other than their own—and all selections were male.

  Since Judith knew that Ephraim had several programs on Aaron's Rod that permitted him to display false images when contacting other vessels, she suspected that these communications units had been acquired to facilitate some similar ruse. It was all one to her. If they could turn Ephraim's pirate tools to the Sisterhood's good, it was a further sign that God approved of their cause.

  Once Judith was certain Flower was in good running order and the systems warm-up was proceeding according to plan, she left the cockpit and joined Rena and Mahalia.

  "Abraham says his sons are rising up to go into the Promised Land," she said, trying to sound confident. "We'd better deal with Blossom."

  Judith had protested that she could disable the second shuttle herself, but Dinah had insisted that she take the others.

  "They will have nothing to do but wait, as I understand it. In any case, you may need help."

  A different code, "The dogs shall eat Jezebel," opened Blossom's hatch, and instantly Judith was grateful Dinah had insisted she bring help. Before them, lounging in the very comfortable seat that was reserved for Ephraim himself, sat a large fair man of arrogant mien.

  His name was Joseph, though he was more commonly called Joe. Joe believed himself Ephraim's bastard, and took liberties on this presumed kinship that a wiser man would not. Twice he had patted Judith on her rump, stopping only when she had threatened to tell Ephraim. She knew he also stole from ships stores and did a little trading in prohibited items.

  Doubtless Joe resented the fact that Ephraim had not summoned him to attend the conclave along with the rest of his sons and this hiding from his proper duties was his little rebellion. If so, it was very brief.

  Rena jerked something from the pocket of her baggy coat. There was a sharp barking sound, and Joseph lay still, blood spreading from his chest.

  "Is he dead?" Judith asked, in a hushed, hoarse whisper.

  Rena touched the man, then nodded.

  Judith tried to think of something to say. She hadn't even known Rena was armed. Then she decided it didn't matter. Rena had done what was needed, and what Joe would have done to them if he had gotten the upper hand did not bear thinking about. Turning them over to Ephraim would have been the least of it.

  "Right," she said, her voice strong again, "I'll lock down the cockpit. You two know what to do."

  Mahalia was already moving toward the engineering station.

  Rena gave Judith a small smile before moving to her own assigned task.

  "Trust in the Lord, Moses, and he will provide."

  She patted her pocket and trotted aft to the cargo bay.

  Judith shivered, and hurried forward.

  The first of the Sisters arrived soon after. These were well known to Judith, for they were from Ephraim's own household and the households of his sons. First among them was Naomi, a slight, pretty woman with hair as light as spider silk and nearly as fair. Gideon had never looked beyond her beauty to see the wisdom in her dark gray eyes, and she, in turn, had never raised her voice for him to hear.

  Hated by Gideon's first wife—a stolid, extremely traditional woman whose resentment of her husband's second marriage was her only rebellion from the role Masadan society had cast for her—Naomi had turned to Dinah. In her father-in-law's first wife she had found more than comfort and understanding. She had found dreams that had made her bear Gideon and all that came with him in patience.

  Under Naomi's direction, the Sisters set about reconfiguring the cavernous cargo hold of the freight shuttle so that all those who would take part in the Exodus could travel safely. Much planning had been done in advance, and now Judith found herself reminded of some elaborate church ritual, everyone moving in calm but intensely emotionally charged order.

  There were not enough vac suits for everyone—nor would there be on Aaron's Rod. This lack was a weakness in their plan, but one they couldn't avoid. Straps and padding could be scavenged from existing supplies and even ordered without raising comment, but there was no way that several hundred vac suits tailored for female plumbing could be acquired without raising comment. She wondered if that many suits even existed on all of Masada.

  There were, however, a number of very nice military surplus hardened vac suits in the lockers, used, as Judith knew all too well, for boarding parties. These were issued to a handful of women code-named Samson's Bane, women who had proven their willingness to offer violence to men if needed.

  Fleetingly, Judith wondered just how they had proved this willingness, but that hadn't been her department, nor did she doubt Dinah's judgement. Look at what Rena had done. . . .

  Judith had her own suit, and Dinah had insisted she wear it.

  "It's noble of you to want to take the same risks as so many of our Sisters must, but the reality is that without you we have no chance at all."

  Judith accepted this, a touch reassured by the fact that the groundside warehouses had contained sufficient suits for the rest of the command crew and a few other key personnel. Aaron's Rod did have rescue capsules, and the plan was to move the most vulnerable into them in case of emergency. But hopefully, that would not be necessary. Hopefully they would simply launch, get to the hyper limit, and make the translation into hyper before anyone on Masada could catch up with them.

  Judith's duty station for this stage of Exodus was in the cockpit. After donning her suit, she headed there and began working out the details for Flower's rendezvous with Aaron's Rod. Happily such maneuvers were routine. Once she'd entered in the merchant vessel's parking orbit and a handful of other parameters, the computer could do the calculations.

  Judith had deliberately left the cockpit door open, and was aware of a gradual
rise in the noise level behind her as she worked. Crying of small children mingled with the soft voices of women soothing them and stronger voices giving orders. Subconsciously, then, she was prepared when Dinah's voice sounded over her com link.

  "Abraham to Moses. We have everyone we're going to get. A few Sisters did not make the contact points, but God is with us. We have a full hold."

  Judith felt her heart beating incredibly fast, but her voice was calm as she responded:

  "Moses to Abraham. Close hatches. Report to cockpit. Moses to Exodus. Disconnect personal communication devices. Use shuttle intercom in case of emergency."

  A handful of women had been filing forward as she gave her orders. Judith glanced over at the woman sitting at the sensors and communications station.

  "Odelia, Naomi knows that we're in God's hands now, but even so, you may get calls regarding our passengers. I don't want to hear any of them—even if someone goes into labor. The only things I'm to hear are if something goes wrong with ship systems. Dinah will be primary on sensors, so only pass something on to me if she's missed it."

  Odelia, a plain but strong woman from the household of a Senior Elder—and therefore someone with whom Judith had had only limited contact—nodded curtly.

  "I'm on it, Moses."

  Without giving any further instructions, Judith hit the release that opened the shuttle hanger doors. They slid easily and almost before she could wonder, Dinah reported:

  "Scanning. No indication of any alarm sounding."

  Judith brought up the shuttle's contragravity and fed power to its air-breathing turbines and watched the hangar walls beginning to move as it glided easily forward. She could tell from how Odelia's hand rose to her ear-set that the anticipated flurry of calls had begun. Odelia muttered into her throat mike, then Judith's own ear-set went live.

  "Jacob in Engineering," came Rena's voice. "Everything looks good."

  Judith resisted an urge to snap at her. Procedure was to report only problems. Then she forced herself to relax. After all, she was glad to know.

  "Moses here. We'll be shifting to full flight mode. Ready?"

  "Ready," came Rena's confident response.

  Dinah commented almost casually, "We've been noticed. There are men running out onto the tarmac."

  "Odelia, warn them back," Judith ordered. "I'm shifting for take-off."

  Odelia touched her throat mike, and Judith knew that possibly for the first time since the Faithful had come to Masada the amplified voice of a woman giving orders—even if masked—was sounding.

  She didn't have time to think about this, though, but concentrated on remembering the take-off and orbital boost sequences. The computer could have done it, but she wanted to prove to herself that she was more than back-up for the automated systems.

  Her delight when the ship obeyed and launched gracefully from ground to sky, then began climbing was so enormous that she cheered aloud. The surprise on the other women's faces was such that Judith momentarily felt embarrassed, but she forced herself not to apologize.

  "We have angel's wings," she said instead, letting them share her joy. "According to the computer, we'll rendezvous with Aaron's Rod right on schedule."

  There was a palpable reduction in tension, and Odelia relayed the information back to the passenger cabin and cargo hold. They weren't home free yet, but although Masada did have intercept vehicles, the rights of Elders were so firmly established that any domestic air traffic enforcement would waste valuable time before interfering with a vessel belonging to Ephraim Templeton.

  Odelia had a file of appropriate responses to use if they were queried and an appropriate male dummy to fill her screen. Oddly, nothing came from the surface but an automated confirmation of their course and reassurance that there were no impediments.

  "Could it be," Odelia asked, breaking the listening silence in the cockpit, "that everyone is so busy watching the Manticorans that they have slacked off on domestic traffic control?"

  "I suppose so," Judith agreed, but she didn't feel at all confident.

  The next strange thing happened when they approached Aaron's Rod. Judith was about to command the shuttle bay doors to open, when they slid apart on their own.

  "Sisters," she said, checking and double-checking the angle and cutting back on the shuttle's speed. "Something isn't right."

  Chief Elder Simonds of the Faithful of the Church of Humanity Unchained was without a doubt the oldest looking man Michael had ever seen. His face was deeply lined. The skin sagged on his neck, but had drawn tight around the swollen knuckles of his hands. Eyelids drooped, but did not conceal a penetrating gaze.

  Despite his appearance, Simonds was not the oldest man Michael had ever met—not by far, since the Faithful had decided that the use of prolong was an abomination against God—and so Simonds was quite likely younger than many of Michael's instructors at Saganami Island. Unlike them, however, Simonds had aged without even the slowing of that process that those first generation prolong recipients could expect.

  For the first time in his life, Michael realized that there was a strange power that came with the physical trappings of age. In Simonds' wizened face numerous deeply graven lines proclaimed not only his years, but made one imagine some wisdom must have been gained in his long life. It was an interesting lesson, and Michael suddenly understood why Quentin Cayen had tinted his hair to create the appearance that he was graying. Cayen knew the Masadans would respect the signs of age and had sought to acquire them.

  For a fleeting moment, Michael wondered if he should have tried something similar. Then he rejected the idea out of hand. He was a prince of Manticore. Nothing would change that, and no cosmetic alteration would make him any more himself.

  Greetings were framed in praise of God and His wisdom, but Michael had not grown to maturity in Mount Royal Palace without learning to hear the notes of self-congratulation in a man's voice—nor were they especially hard to detect here. Chief Elder Simonds was a man very pleased with himself.

  With what Michael hoped would be taken for the modesty of youth before age, he set himself to listening silence while Ambassador Faldo and Mr. Lawler said the appropriate, flattering things to the Chief Elder, his attendant Senior Elders, and the very few mere Elders who had been permitted to attend this first private conclave.

  He was doing very well until the doors slid open to admit a small contingent who were most definitely not Masadan. Like Ambassador Faldo's diplomats, they wore civilian clothes, but the styles were not Masada's flowing robes. Instead they were in the neat, trim-lined tailoring currently in fashion in the People's Republic of Haven.

  As Ambassador Faldo handled introductions, Michael remembered that the Peeps also were wooing the Masadans. Chief Elder Simonds was too canny a politician to ignore this opportunity to show his other suitor the presumed mark of favor Michael's presence was assumed to be. Michael remembered the Moscow and forced his lips to keep from twisting into a cynical grin.

  We see your heavy cruiser and raise it by one Crown Prince, he thought, but he let nothing of his amusement touch his manner as he replied to introductions.

  Indeed, that was easy enough to do. Michael was one of a bare handful of people who knew that King Roger III's death had not been an accident, but an assassination—an assassination planned by and paid for by the People's Republic of Haven. Beth had been convinced against her own inclinations to keep the matter secret, and so Michael must do the same, but his tone was cool as he accepted Ambassador Acuminata's congratulations on his completing Saganami Island.

  "I understand you are specializing in Communications," Acuminata continued. "That's an interesting choice. I would have thought Tactics, or perhaps Engineering would be more the Winton way."

  Michael pressed his fingernails into his palm, well-aware that he was being accused of cowardice and lack of ambition. Acuminata was only echoing what some of the more obnoxious newsies had been saying for years.

  He forced a smile.


  "Communications are very valuable. You wouldn't believe what you can learn if you only listen and watch, then draw the obvious conclusions."

  Acuminata blinked, but what he might have said in reply was lost when Chief Elder Simonds, aware he was no longer the central focus of the gathering, coughed.

  "Shall we adjourn?" he said, and without waiting for a response swept out of the room.

  The conclave was being held in an enormous hall where, to Michael's relief, the Havenite contingent was seated some distance away. To keep himself from glowering at them, Michael sought to distract himself by studying those individual Masadans who stood out from their fellows. The Faithful largely wore their hair and beards long, after the model of Old Testament prophets. Their formal wear continued the motif, consisting of flowing robes enhanced with heavily embroidered arm-bands and belts that almost surely marked achievements in individual careers.

  Here and there, however, were men who wore their hair shorter, shaved their beards, and seemed less at ease in the long robes. Michael knew from Lawler and Hill's exhaustive briefings that Masada had a large navy, enhanced by a civilian merchant fleet. Doubtless these men had sacrificed their hair out of the practical considerations of space travel.

  Michael's dark Winton complexion had drawn more than a few stares ever since they left the shuttle. Here he understood why. It was one thing to read that the bulk of the original members of the Church of Humanity Unchained had come from a limited segment of Earth's population. It was another to see it so openly demonstrated. Not only had the Masadans come from one stock, unlike the Manticorans, they clearly had not encouraged any immigration.

  He noted a family resemblance among many of those seated together, and a seating order that seemed to indicate that age was given precedence. That made sense, given that their equivalent of a king was a chief elder.

  Maybe we can work with that, he mused. We respect family, so do they. Titles and such are passed down in order of birth in the Star Kingdom. I'd bet anything that there's a preference for age and experience here over youthful ambition.