Amateur Megalomania

The Rolm Affair ended with a whimper.  Reports were compiled, studies done, interviews recorded, and records archived.  For three years, the Expiscor fell through space, approaching the Well of Storms and an intercept with Cicadia Minor.  I was not due for a meeting with the Prefect of my Order for another fifty years or so, but being in the region and costing only an additional year of travel as we passed by, I decided to make the diversion.

Later, I wondered if the guiding hand of the Engineered God had pushed me gently into the path of fate.

The three years passed quickly, as I immersed myself in the news of the quadrant.  Nearly twenty years of backlogged reports were waiting in my queue, and I sifted them with the aggression of a man mindful of the passage of time.  Human space was so vast, and the potential for abomination equally large.  While my sector of responsibility represented nothing more than a pittance of the vast sprawl of humanity, it was enough to task me to the limits of my resources.

First, the list of worlds that had been extinguished held my attention.  An even dozen human occupied planets had been eradicated of all life in the past decade; a small number for even the best of times.  I read through the usual litany of disease, accident, and wars, scrounging the reports for any sign of interference from the Immaterium, and sign of heresy from others like Rolm.

The usual fanatical stupidity made an appearance.  The Islamo-Amish of Targus V seized control in the name of the Hidden Iman, Muhammed the Christ.  In his name, they smashed the terraforming machines and renounced any technology more advanced than an animal drawn plow.  Predictably, the Hidden Iman remained hidden and the forsaken cries of the frenzied faithful went unheeded as the entire planet perished with a year, accompanied by rapturous beheadings and torture.

Faith wasn’t enough to provide oxygen and bread.

I discovered a wonderful symmetry in the world of Secundus, where the technocratic authority embarked on a plan to engineer a viral transmission of immortality, outside of the usual accepted means of direct modification.  In their utopian dream, life extension would be available to all, merely as a consequence of breathing the air or eating the food of their world.  Predictably, but sadly not for them, the effort came to a bad end, propagating wonderfully efficient biological mechanism that could not distinguish cancer from healthy tissue.  The eternal axiom was once again proven true – Nature will always find a way to frustrate the will of man.

Blind faith in technology had given us the Accidental God, and we were still paying the price for that error.

I spent much of my leisure time, as it were, in prayer.  The close brush with Rolm suggested that I may have been neglecting my absolution, and I did not want to see a repeat of that incident.  For six months, I begged for forgiveness from the God which had abandoned us, followed by condemnation of the Accidental God, and finally a rededication to the Engineered God which will someday be.  The requisite rights were followed to the letter, and I held many a Mass for my entourage, resulting in the completely acceptable death of only three.

Three months from our arrival at Cicadia Minor, Pron came to see me.  I had expected the meeting for over a year, but Pron can be surprisingly taciturn when confronted with a problem he didn’t quite know how to solve.  Even as he entered my chamber, I could see the questions on his placid face, yet I knew it would still be several hours of conversation before he would broach the subject that had brought him here.

I received him warmly, closing down my link to the ship’s computer and buffering my workstation for later.  The agricultural data of Saladucia would wait for another time.  “And how is my chief technica?”

Pron bowed slightly before sitting down in the chair before my desk.  “Well, as always.  I have completed the equipment inventory and repair manifest from our last engagement, and am ready to transmit it to the Chapter House.”

An icon flashed in my eye, indicating the receipt of a file.  I placed it in the queue and nodded.  “I will review it promptly and authorize the transmission.”  Curiosity itched within.  I wanted to see how Pron had handled the ‘loss’ of my armor.  Instead, I leaned back casually, breaking the formality of our interview.

Pron did the same.  “Have you received our next assignment, or are you going to chose on your own?”

I shook my head.  “There are certainly enough possibilities to keep us busy for another lifetime, but since we are going to be seeing the Bishop anyway, I am going to abstain and see if he has anything particular in mind.  It would do us well to permit him a little sway over our agenda, even if he has little opinion.”

“The political game then.  You haven’t had much interest in that for many years, Grunner.”

“And I still don’t.  Promotion doesn’t interest me as it does others in my Order.  But the Bishop is rising in the Church, and it would do us well to foster his friendship. Otherwise we might find ourselves without the flexibility we currently enjoy.”

“Are promotions pending then?”

I shrugged.  “Rumors and heresy are the two great constants of our age.  Word comes that the College of Cardinals might cycle soon, and as those worthies pass through to carry the struggle in death, openings might occur.  Returning the dead is never a certain thing, and at such advanced age…some of those Cardinals actually remember a living Earth.”

“Besides,” I continued, “Bishop Remy is a fellow Effectivist.  We share many beliefs, and it would do us well to remind him of that in person every few decades.  Effectivism is in decline, and I’m afraid the damned Fatalists will be coming into power, with their silly sense of the inevitable clouding every judgment.”

Long ago, Pron himself was a Fatalist.  Even I had a touch of it in my ancient youth.  But time burns away our organic perceptions of life and death, and at some point, the endless stretch of years seems as sweet as the passions of a finite youth.  Most outgrew Fatalism.

Those that didn’t seemed destined to control the Church, at least in this century.

As it was, and as it will be again.  The wheel turned, and I increasingly felt the similarities of each age.  Youth still believed they were the unique carriers of truth.

Pron took no offense at my words.  I think he was no longer capable of feeling a slight.  “The Bishop continues to hold you in favor then?”

“As far as I know.  That was three hundred years ago.  He’s had ample opportunity to express displeasure with me if he felt it.”  The Remy Affair had resulted in the burning of an even dozen of the Bishop’s entourage after heresy had taken root within his own court.  A particular acolyte had strayed down a common path, enlisting segments of the Immaterium to our struggle in a misguided attempt to fight fire with fire, as the old saying goes.  The Affair had not implicated Remy, but it did cause some embarrassment none the less.  My investigation was swift and efficient, my techniques heavy and exhaustive, and my list of suspects had included the Bishop himself.  Had I not been so vigorous in my work, the Bishop may not have been so convincingly absolved from blame.

“We have to talk about the suit, Grunner.”

The words pulled me out of my thoughts.  The subject had been broached faster than I had expected.  I stared into Pron’s prosthetic eyes, wondering what was going on there.

“Do we?”

“We do.  You’ll see in the report that I scrapped it due to battle damages, assigning it to a faulty AI system.  Viral corruption consistent with some of the techniques Rolm was known to use.  But it might arouse further investigation of the Chapter House begins to question the security of the AI interface.  I can probably befuddle an investigation long enough to have this written off as a fluke, but I need to know some things.”

I smiled.  “Purely in your capacity as a technica, not out of any concern about my well being?”

“I’ll leave you to answer that in whatever way you please, provided you are a little more forthcoming with me.”  Pron had cast aside our official relationship with the tone of that question, but I did not object.  Friends have certain allowances in the way they can address me, and it was good, from time to time, to set aside the mantle of fear that can be felt by those addressing a Priest of the Chapter House.

“All right.  I’ll speak to you as my friend, and don’t ever doubt the value I place in that relationship, Pron.  But there are some elements of what happened that I am not ready to discuss.  But I will tell you as much as I can.”

And with that, I began to describe the events leading up to the moment when the abomination touched me.  I admit to some surprise at how much difference there was between the words I uttered and the official report I had transmitted to my superiors.

Perhaps the subconscious has thwarted my best efforts to bring it under control.

Or something more sinister lurks within my motives, hidden even from me.

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