Kinder des Schicksals 4 (Xeelee 9): Resplendent

waved a hand. A Virtual of Mara’s head coalesced in
the air, and Futurity saw a miniature of himself pop into existence
in the little diorama of her cabin. So he had been put in contact
with this bomber.
    He tried to read her face. She looked younger than her thirty-six
years. Her face was a neat oval, her features rather bland - her nose
long, her mouth small. She would never be called beautiful, though
something about the shape of her skull, exposed by the close shaving
of her hair in the Ideocratic style, was delicately attractive. As
she studied him, evidently without curiosity, her expression was
clear, her brow smooth. She looked loving, he thought, loving and
contented in herself, her life. But tension showed around her eyes,
in hollow stress shadows. This was a gentle woman projected into an
horrific situation. She must be desperate.
    A smile touched her lips, faint, quickly evaporating. She said to
him, ’Aren’t you going to say anything?’
    The Captain rolled his eyes. ’Our terrorist is laughing at you!
Good start, acolyte.’
    ’I’m sorry,’ Futurity blurted. ’I didn’t mean to stare. It’s just
that I’m trying to get used to all this.’
    ’It’s not a situation I wanted,’ Mara said.
    ’I’m sure we can find a way to resolve it.’
    ’There is a way,’ she said without hesitation. ’Just take me home.
It’s all I’ve asked for from the beginning.’
    But that’s impossible. Futurity had never negotiated with an armed
fugitive before, but he had heard many confessions, and he knew the
value of patience, of indirection. ’We’ll come to that,’ he said. ’My
name is Futurity’s Dream. I live on the planet below, which is Base
478. Our government is called the Ecclesia.’
    ’You’re a priest.’
    He said reflexively, ’Just an acolyte, my child.’
    She laughed at him openly now. ’Don’t call me a child! I’m a
mother myself.’
    ’I’m sorry,’ he mumbled. But in his peripheral vision he checked
over the manifest details again. She was travelling alone; there was
definitely no mention of a child either on the ship or back at
Chandra. Don’t contradict, he told himself. Don’t cross-examine. Just
talk. ’You’ll have to help me through this, Mara. Are you of the
faith yourself?’
    ’Yes,’ she sniffed. ’Not of your sort, though.’
    Since the fall of the Coalition, the religion Futurity served,
known as the ’Friends of Wigner’, had suffered many schisms. He
forced a smile. ’But I will have to do,’ he said. ’The Captain turned
to my Hierocrat for help. Mara, you must see that to sort out this
situation you will have to talk to me.’
    ’No.’
    ’No?’
    ’I have to talk. That’s obvious. But not to an acolyte. Or a
priest, or a bishop, or a, a - ’
    ’A Hierocrat.’ He frowned. ’Then who?’
    ’Michael Poole.’
    That ancient, sacred name shocked Futurity to brief silence. He
glanced at Captain Tahget, who raised his eyebrows. You see what I’ve
been dealing with? Perhaps this woman was deluded after all.
    Futurity said, ’Mara, Michael Poole is our messiah. In the age of
the First Friends he gave his life for the benefit of humanity by -
’
    ’I know who he was,’ she snapped. ’Why do you think I asked for
him?’
    ’Then,’ he said carefully, ’you must know that Poole has been dead
- or at least lost to us - for more than twenty-three thousand
years.’
    ’Of course I know that. But he’s here.’
    ’Poole is always with us in spirit,’ said Futurity piously. ’And
he waits for us at Timelike Infinity, where the world lines of
reality will be cleansed.’
    ’Not like that. He’s here, on Base - ’
    ’478.’
    ’478. You people keep him locked up.’
    ’We do?’
    ’I want Michael Poole,’ Mara insisted. ’Only him. Because he will
understand.’ She turned away from Futurity. The imaging system
followed her, but she covered her face with her hands, so he couldn’t
read her expression.
    Captain Tahget said dryly, ’I think you need to talk to your
Hierocrat.’

 
II
     
     
    The Hierocrat refused to discuss such issues on a comms link, so
Futurity would have to return to the surface. Within the hour
Futurity’s flitter receded from the starship.
    From space the Ask Politely was an astonishing sight. Perhaps a
kilometre in length it was a rough cylinder, but it lacked symmetry
on any axis, and its basic form was almost hidden by the structures
which plumed from its surface: fins, sails, spines, nozzles,