Offices of the Supreme Council for the Preservation of the Faith, McNair
Chief Councillor Polk tilted his chair back, the better to see out of the enormous plasglass window that filled one wall of his office. The view did nothing to lift his mood. It was a miserable day, rain sheeting down, the gardens’ brilliant colors crushed under a gray sky that was darkening with the approach of night. What a difference a few months made, he thought. Back in October, he believed the Kraadamned Feds were finished, he really did.
Now he was not so sure.
He scowled for a moment before an innate faith in himself reasserted itself. Maybe he should not be so pessimistic. Maybe the Feds were history. The armistice was a farce. The Hammers still had the whip hand over the Feds, and if his military was even half-right, it was just a matter of time before the Hammer flogged them back to the negotiating table. Since the Hammer fleet had lifted the operational tempo, the Feds had found themselves in trouble right across their sphere of influence: trade disrupted, citizens close to panic at the threat of mass destruction-the concept of mutually assured destruction did not sit too well with the average Fed-all compounded by hit-and-run attacks on targets of opportunity.
Yes, it had been a good month for the Hammer of Kraa, and the Feds had floundered in responding. They had only one result: the destruction of one of Faith’s battle stations after an attack so reckless that it verged on the suicidal. Polk watched the holovid of the Fed attack; he had never seen anything like it. Admiral Jorge had not been able to explain just how the heavy cruiser-Tufayl, that was its name-had managed to escape; by rights, the ship should have been blown to Kraa. Polk reminded himself to ask the intelligence people who the captain was; whoever it was, he was a brave-albeit terminally stupid-man.
Not that the Tufayl operation mattered; all it showed was just how desperate the Feds were. They would never win the war by throwing heavy cruisers at space battle stations one at a time, though he was happy to see them try. This time, Tufayl and the Feds had been lucky; next time they tried the same stunt, they would not be.
Yes, he decided, suddenly reenergized, he should be more positive, he really should.
His good spirits did not last long, his newfound confidence shattered by the diffident tones of his secretary.
“Chief Councillor. Teacher Calverson is here for his meeting, sir.”
Kraa damn it, Polk raged, he had clean forgotten. As a matter of principle, he avoided Calverson like the plague.
“Please ask him to come in. And send in coffee.”
Sour-faced, he watched the man enter his office, a black-robed specter hung with the thick gold chain and sunburst of the Hammer of Kraa’s highest spiritual office.
“Good day, Teacher Calverson,” Polk said, getting to his feet and going around his desk to shake Calverson’s hand before waving the man to take an armchair, fixing a smile he hoped did not look totally false onto his face.
“Kraa’s peace be with you, Chief Councillor,” Calverson said, sitting down.
“Thank you, Teacher,” Polk said, sitting down, trying not to grind his teeth. Polk despised Calverson; the man was rat-cunning, an intellectual pygmy, his mind clogged with all the superstitious nonsense spewed out of the deranged imagination of the Faith of Kraa’s founder, Peter McNair. As religions went, the whole Hammer of Kraa thing was a crock of shit, yet Calverson was its chief acolyte and a powerful man, the enormous machine that delivered the teachings of Kraa to the people of the Hammer Worlds secure in his iron grip. Polk might despise him, but Calverson could not be ignored.
Polk licked suddenly dry lips. One word from Teacher Calverson and within hours a hundred thousand priests and millions of credulous primitives would be calling for his dismissal. That was why Calverson was one of the few people Polk feared. The problem was that Calverson knew it.
After the steward served coffee and left, Polk opened the proceedings. “The briefing note from my chief of staff says you want to discuss the situation on Salvation,” he said with a warmth he did not feel, “but I’m confused, Teacher. It is years since the heretics on Salvation fell from the grace of Kraa. Why are we concerned about them?”
Calverson’s angular face creased with concern. “Because, Chief Councillor,” he said in the tones of a father speaking to a dim-witted son, “those poor souls on Salvation are still of the Faith, and it is our duty to bring them back”-Calverson’s finger stabbed out-“otherwise they cannot enjoy the protection of the Faith of Kraa. They will be damned for all eternity. We owe it to them to bring them back, whether they like it or not.”
What arrant, self-serving nonsense, Polk wanted to say. Wisely, he confined himself to a nod of agreement. “Yes, you are of course quite right, Teacher Calverson. There is no provision in doctrine for apostasy. But, there is the small problem of how we do that. Bring them back, I mean. Salvation is-what? — 170 light-years away? That puts it well inside the Fed sphere of influence. The last time we tried to retrieve the heretics, the … well, let’s just say the operation wasn’t a complete success. In any event, I’m not sure the Worlds are in any position to carry out the operation you’re asking for.”
“Chief Councillor. I am but a humble priest”-with an effort, Polk suppressed a snort of derision-“but I read the strategic assessments provided by your office with great care. Even if they have antimatter weapons, I cannot remember a time when the Federated Worlds found themselves in such trouble, when our strategic advantage was so great. Our attack on Comdur dealt them a blow from which they may never recover. Am I right?” Calverson said.
“Yes, you are, Teacher Calverson,” Polk conceded.
“Excellent, Chief Councillor,” Calverson said, beaming. “So let’s move. We must act while we can. Kraa demands it.”
Polk knew defeat when he saw it, so he gave up. “Yes, Teacher Calverson, I absolutely agree with you on this. Let me talk to Councillor Jones and Admiral Jorge. When the planners have worked out how we can recover Salvation’s heretics, I’ll arrange a briefing for you.”
Calverson’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll expect it a week from today,” he said. “I think that should be enough time, don’t you?”
“Yes, Teacher Calverson,” Polk said through gritted teeth, wondering how he was ever going to justify an attack on a neutral world, never mind the diversion of Fleet assets to pursue something so pointless. For Kraa’s sake! Only a narrow-minded priest would worry about a few heretics in the middle of a shooting war with the Feds.