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Sister Miriam’s Confession
Zion was beautiful in the evenings.
Situated on a small bay whose shores were gently lapped by the tides produced by Chiron’s twin moons, it faced west, across the sea to where the distant hills of the Morgan territory could be seen. When the gravitational pull of Nessus and Pholus combined, the tides became significant, but for the most part, the rise and fall was gently soothing. The base itself rose gently up from the shoreline as you traveled east, until a few clicks away you were standing atop a large plateau we had dubbed The Sunny Mesa.
When the suns were setting was a particularly evocative time, as the long shadows were cast up the hillside and the yellow reflections cast by the setting Alpha Centauri prime shimmered over the water towards us. The orange orb that was Hercules grew fainter as Planet turned slowly on its axis until it too disappeared below the horizon. The alien colors were beautiful, with the ocean a rich azure blue. Patches of the native kelp could be seen swaying gently in the current, glistening in the suns rays. Chiron’s winds had usually calmed by then, and it was a time for relaxation and reflection by our small community. On rare days when the twin moons were aligned, we could see two touching crescents, with blackness between. It truly was an awe inspiring sight that caused Sister Miriam to pause and marvel afresh at the manifest glory of the Lord’s creation.
One of the first buildings we had constructed was the Temple – a small chapel, really, with a modest spire that rose about three times my height into the sky. It was situated on a small ridge on the hillside, with the altar positioned at its west end, so that when the citizens knelt they were facing the ocean. The ocean from whence had come our salvation.
(Cynically, I thought, facing the Morgan empire, from whence had come our salvation.)
There was a small plaza in front of the Temple that served as a general meeting place for the Base’s inhabitants, and a favorite pastime was to sit on the temple steps on these quiet evenings and contemplate our deliverance.
With so few, the eldership was not really active. Sister Miriam presided over a communal meeting where everyone was able and encouraged to speak their minds. This after all was a new beginning where free thought and discussion were the norm. The old days, where Sister Miriam had been transcendent, ruling with an iron fist in a velvet glove, were gone. She referred to herself now as a thinker, one of many, with no one voice predominating. Oh, she was still our leader. Her own charisma would ensure that. But she had been humbled by the experience. It was of that we talked, one evening, sitting on the Temple steps, watching the suns set.
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“Tell me, Sven”, she asked, “was I so wrong to be so idealistic? I thought that if we built New Jerusalem as a monument to the glory of the Lord, a beacon of His righteousness, that people would flock to us from all over Planet. The only people attracted to us were Zakharov’s troops.”
I laid a gentle hand on her arm. I dwarfed her physically, with my genetically enhanced limbs and torso, and my muscular forearms bulging with their implanted weaponry. She was frailer than I had remembered when first I saw her, and with a touch more gray in her hair.
“No,” I responded, “you were not wrong. It is never wrong to be idealistic. But idealism must be tinged with realism, and in my opinion it was unrealistic to expect to survive and prosper with just one base. I said so at the time, and I still think so. We need to separate as soon as possible to build a second – and a third and fourth – here before much longer.”
“But we are so few,” she said “and I fear that if we divide we will be the weaker for it. Together we will grow strong, ensuring our survival. Divided we will fall to the first faction that quarrels with us. And don’t forget that the price of our redemption is vendetta against the witch Deirdre and her worm loving followers.”
I conjured up a mental map of Planet. “But she is halfway across Planet,” I said, and by the time she comes calling we will be stronger. Already the Morgan technicians are talking about sharing scientific discoveries and weapons technology. And,” I added somewhat cynically, “if you preach a procreation sermon all your followers will rush home to have sex and start families. And don’t forget the power of your sermons and the allure of your faith. Some of the Morganite people have been seen in the Temple during your services, as have some of the Peacekeepers from up north. Convert a few of these and we will add population quickly.”
She turned her gaze on me, her eyes probing into my very soul. They were of a deeper blue than the azure color of the ocean itself. I returned her gaze levelly. I would not be browbeaten by this woman. Had I not earned the right to be listened to, having rescued her from certain death?
“Sven, Sven.” she said. “So cynical for one so young. But such wisdom too. I am not afraid to admit that I was wrong, pigheaded almost. That came to me as I awaited shipment to University Base for questioning and torture. I was afraid – yes, we all were. Would I be able to withstand the pain of torturing? Would I be like Peter and betray my Lord to the atheistic antichrist? And what of my people? Poor weak Beatrice, who would rather have the good life than that of the ascetic. How would she have survived torture? And Gwynneth. Escaped from the University troops only to be captured along with me. And Jessica. She will be my successor some day. Such faith, such devotion. Such common sense. And such an empathy for Planet.
“We will commission another base be built, in the north quadrant of the island. You will set out in the morning with twenty five of our faithful and select a good site, easily defensible. And take Gwynneth with you. She will make a good Base Administrator.”
My heart leaped in anticipation.
Zion was beautiful in the evenings.
Situated on a small bay whose shores were gently lapped by the tides produced by Chiron’s twin moons, it faced west, across the sea to where the distant hills of the Morgan territory could be seen. When the gravitational pull of Nessus and Pholus combined, the tides became significant, but for the most part, the rise and fall was gently soothing. The base itself rose gently up from the shoreline as you traveled east, until a few clicks away you were standing atop a large plateau we had dubbed The Sunny Mesa.
When the suns were setting was a particularly evocative time, as the long shadows were cast up the hillside and the yellow reflections cast by the setting Alpha Centauri prime shimmered over the water towards us. The orange orb that was Hercules grew fainter as Planet turned slowly on its axis until it too disappeared below the horizon. The alien colors were beautiful, with the ocean a rich azure blue. Patches of the native kelp could be seen swaying gently in the current, glistening in the suns rays. Chiron’s winds had usually calmed by then, and it was a time for relaxation and reflection by our small community. On rare days when the twin moons were aligned, we could see two touching crescents, with blackness between. It truly was an awe inspiring sight that caused Sister Miriam to pause and marvel afresh at the manifest glory of the Lord’s creation.
One of the first buildings we had constructed was the Temple – a small chapel, really, with a modest spire that rose about three times my height into the sky. It was situated on a small ridge on the hillside, with the altar positioned at its west end, so that when the citizens knelt they were facing the ocean. The ocean from whence had come our salvation.
(Cynically, I thought, facing the Morgan empire, from whence had come our salvation.)
There was a small plaza in front of the Temple that served as a general meeting place for the Base’s inhabitants, and a favorite pastime was to sit on the temple steps on these quiet evenings and contemplate our deliverance.
With so few, the eldership was not really active. Sister Miriam presided over a communal meeting where everyone was able and encouraged to speak their minds. This after all was a new beginning where free thought and discussion were the norm. The old days, where Sister Miriam had been transcendent, ruling with an iron fist in a velvet glove, were gone. She referred to herself now as a thinker, one of many, with no one voice predominating. Oh, she was still our leader. Her own charisma would ensure that. But she had been humbled by the experience. It was of that we talked, one evening, sitting on the Temple steps, watching the suns set.
__________________________________________________ _________________________________
“Tell me, Sven”, she asked, “was I so wrong to be so idealistic? I thought that if we built New Jerusalem as a monument to the glory of the Lord, a beacon of His righteousness, that people would flock to us from all over Planet. The only people attracted to us were Zakharov’s troops.”
I laid a gentle hand on her arm. I dwarfed her physically, with my genetically enhanced limbs and torso, and my muscular forearms bulging with their implanted weaponry. She was frailer than I had remembered when first I saw her, and with a touch more gray in her hair.
“No,” I responded, “you were not wrong. It is never wrong to be idealistic. But idealism must be tinged with realism, and in my opinion it was unrealistic to expect to survive and prosper with just one base. I said so at the time, and I still think so. We need to separate as soon as possible to build a second – and a third and fourth – here before much longer.”
“But we are so few,” she said “and I fear that if we divide we will be the weaker for it. Together we will grow strong, ensuring our survival. Divided we will fall to the first faction that quarrels with us. And don’t forget that the price of our redemption is vendetta against the witch Deirdre and her worm loving followers.”
I conjured up a mental map of Planet. “But she is halfway across Planet,” I said, and by the time she comes calling we will be stronger. Already the Morgan technicians are talking about sharing scientific discoveries and weapons technology. And,” I added somewhat cynically, “if you preach a procreation sermon all your followers will rush home to have sex and start families. And don’t forget the power of your sermons and the allure of your faith. Some of the Morganite people have been seen in the Temple during your services, as have some of the Peacekeepers from up north. Convert a few of these and we will add population quickly.”
She turned her gaze on me, her eyes probing into my very soul. They were of a deeper blue than the azure color of the ocean itself. I returned her gaze levelly. I would not be browbeaten by this woman. Had I not earned the right to be listened to, having rescued her from certain death?
“Sven, Sven.” she said. “So cynical for one so young. But such wisdom too. I am not afraid to admit that I was wrong, pigheaded almost. That came to me as I awaited shipment to University Base for questioning and torture. I was afraid – yes, we all were. Would I be able to withstand the pain of torturing? Would I be like Peter and betray my Lord to the atheistic antichrist? And what of my people? Poor weak Beatrice, who would rather have the good life than that of the ascetic. How would she have survived torture? And Gwynneth. Escaped from the University troops only to be captured along with me. And Jessica. She will be my successor some day. Such faith, such devotion. Such common sense. And such an empathy for Planet.
“We will commission another base be built, in the north quadrant of the island. You will set out in the morning with twenty five of our faithful and select a good site, easily defensible. And take Gwynneth with you. She will make a good Base Administrator.”
My heart leaped in anticipation.