Death of a Starship Read Online Free

intuition.
    “ I don’t often admit to what I’m
about to say, but I believe you need to consider it. If I have a
position, I suppose you’d say I was an Internalist. It doesn’t
affect my work, I have come to that position from a perspective of
intellectual consistency more than anything. Nonetheless, here I
am, wondering if that thought exercise of mine has the ring of
truth somewhere inside it.”
    That was a fascinating position for
someone as hard-headed as Sister Pelias. “Internalism is difficult
to demonstrate logically. How do you explain the supposed presence
of xenics in the halls of government and commerce?”
    “ No explanation. Insufficient
data, and too much speculation in the literature.”
    “ I...don’t take either position,
Sister. As you probably know.” Menard’s specialty was physical
evidence of xenic presence. Of which there was remarkably little,
and none of that incontrovertible. In practice, that meant he spent
a lot of time looking at oddly-shaped asteroids or wandering
through overgrown jungle sites. He’d made a sideline in profiling
xenic methods and motives. It was something to do during the long
periods of travel. “But you believe something’s up.”
    “ I believe something’s
up.”
    After all the centuries, was
it possible? Was the human race finally about to meet someone else?
Angels might well have once walked the earth, in Biblical times,
but Homo sapiens had been alone in space since Gagarin first went to
Mars.
    The thought chilled Menard’s bones,
a mixture of thrill and fear. Maybe it was real. He thanked God
that this possibility had come in his lifetime, and prayed that he
might have a role.
    ‡
    Bishop Russe walked into Menard’s
office as Menard was checking the timestamps and action receipts on
his filings. Menard had sent his mission report in from system
transit, as soon as the Church courier he’d hitched a ride with had
dropped in from c-space to decelerate toward Nouvelle
Avignon.
    “ What did you find on Ancira?”
Russe asked.
    Menard sighed. Russe had already
receipt-and-acknowledged the reports. “What do I ever find?
Enormous stone blocks deep in a jungle more green than death,
snakes thicker than your waist. Proof? If I wanted to wish hard
enough, I could have convinced myself they’d been carved by
xenics.”
    Russe laughed. “We might be on to a
change.”
    I’ll bet , thought Menard. I was in the same
meeting you were in . “Your
Grace?”
    A thin, spidery arm slid across
Menard’s shoulders. “This could make all our reputations. All the
way into the Grand Basilica. If we uncover evidence of a threat to
the Empire, a threat to the Church, a threat to our very souls, if
we expose the serpents that walk freely among us already...we will
be heroes, Jonah. Saints someday, perhaps.”
    Menard didn’t particularly
want to be a saint. And the Bishop wasn’t inspiring his confidence.
But this was his moment, a potential tipping point in history.
Perhaps God had set Russe’s obsessions into motion as a sign to
Menard. Though he hated the politics of office and hierarchy, he
tried to play the games when they needed to be played. He had to secure leave to
pursue this. “Indeed, sir?”
    “ Think, Chor Episcopos. Our own
people say the data indicates it’s happening in the Front Royal
sector. Halfsummer seems likely. The xenics are gathering at
Halfsummer, looking for something. Will you go there and lend your
expertise?”
    Menard almost shivered once more
from the chill in his bones. He could feel the prickle of
inspiration. “It would be an honor, Your Grace. A calling,
perhaps.”
    Russe smiled. “I knew you could be
counted on, Jonah. Go there and find me a xenic.”
    “ Oh, believe me,
I shall.” With God as my
witness . Menard knew he suffered from the
sin of pride, but sometimes pride was necessary to drive a man to
new heights.
    ‡
    Golliwog: Powell Station, Leukine
Solar Space
    Golliwog was strapped in on his
back in the question