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Unreconciled (Donovan #4)
Author: W. Michael Gear

IRREDENTA


   I sit—as I often do—in the observation dome. A transparent bubble, it protrudes from Ashanti’s hull on Deck Three. I look out upon an infinity of stars, see the swirls of nebulae, marvel at patches of dark matter that appear as blemishes upon the composition of light. Gazing at the heavens, I experience the full meaning of awe. To sit here is to dimly, feebly perceive the majesty of Creation. The magnificence of the universe beyond the dome defies comprehension. Reconfirms how small, how absolutely insignificant my existence is.

   A mere mote. Not even a speck upon the face of the deep.

   I need but look out at the universe and the words of the Prophets resonate within me. Understanding pervades my soul: I have been chosen.

   We have been chosen.

   Here, in this most unlikely place. Among these most unlikely circumstances.

   Only after years of doubt, of faltering faith, do I begin to understand: The universe does not make mistakes. It had to be Ashanti. It had to be on this spacing. And it had to be us, the Irredenta, who were chosen to initiate such an immense task.

   What we believed to be tragedy, injustice, and horror was nothing more than the universe preparing us for the ultimate revelation. As seemingly insignificant as we might appear, we are the beginning, the spark that shall ignite the flame. Great things come from tiny beginnings. Consider a microRNA. It, too, seems insignificant at first glance. A mere twenty-two base pairs. It can turn a gene on or off, initiating a chain of events that will change an organism, a species, and an entire biome. From the microscopic to the multiverse.

   So it is for us.

   The Harrowing and Cleansing was necessary to ensure that when we were given the Revelation we would understand. The universe had to lock us in Ashanti’s belly. Onto this one miserably cramped deck. It had to confine us to these few rooms, these short corridors and dim halls. An entire universe condensed into this compact existence. The perfect place to break us, to shatter our illusions. Only through the Harrowing and the Cleansing could we be prepared, made malleable like white-hot iron in a furnace, purified through heat, and ready to accept Revelation.

   The Revelation ran counter to all we once believed, which is the way of illumination. It was the only way we could learn, could see, and finally accept ultimate Truth: The universe is conflict. It is polluted and unclean. The only way it can be purified is by consuming itself and being reborn. Think of the ancient image of the snake devouring its own tail.

   It has fallen to us—to me—to initiate the pulse of rebirth that will cleanse and renew the universe. And I am desperately afraid that I am unworthy of so great a task.

   If Deck Three didn’t have this observation dome, I would never have found the strength to endure the burden. But looking out at the infinite dots of light, the frosting of stars and galaxies that mottle the endless black, I manage to carry on.

   The universe doesn’t make mistakes.

   If it has chosen me to be its messiah, it is because somehow, I will prevail.

   I finger the scars on my arms, remembering the words of the Prophet Guan Shi. How we were horrified as she took a knife to her own skin and began to cut herself, saying, “Pain is purification. It is the path.”

 

 

1


   Watch began at 06:00 ship’s time as Ashanti continued its long deceleration into the Capella star system. For Captain Miguel Angel Galluzzi it was anything but another day in the countdown from hell. He strode down the long corridor from his cabin. Every other light panel had been removed years ago to save energy. Didn’t matter, he could have walked it blindfolded.

   Around him, Ashanti hummed, and he could feel the familiar vibrations of a living ship. Could feel the movement of air on his face as he passed one of the ventilators. It surprised him that he could still detect the stale odor of confinement and clogged filters.

   It had been seven years, ship’s time, since Ashanti’s generators had ceased to maintain the fields that inverted symmetry. When they did, the ship had popped back “inside” the universe and found itself in black empty space. Low on fuel, and 0.6 light-years from the Capella system.

   Since then he’d lived an eternity—one from which he wasn’t certain he’d ever recover. A waking horror without end.

   As if perdition began in Ashanti and would end there.

   Sometimes he wondered if it wouldn’t have been better to have overloaded the reactors. Blown the ship into a brilliant miniature sun. Ended it all.

   He’d committed crimes against humanity, and in the process, he’d heroically saved his ship. But when one sells his soul to the Devil, the dark one will always have his due.

   Galluzzi contemplated that as he passed the Captain’s Lounge and hesitated at the hatch for the Astrogation Center, or AC for short. In another day and age, it would have been called the bridge. After the advent of quantum qubit computer operational systems, navigational functions had been completely removed from human control. That didn’t mean that people didn’t have to monitor systems, that decisions didn’t have to be made.

   A feeling of excitement—mixed with nervous anxiety—began to burn in his breast. And something he hadn’t known for years stirred: hope.

   Staring at the featureless hatch, he swallowed in an effort to still the crawling sensation in his stomach. If the conference came off as scheduled, he would be talking to a Corporate Supervisor. For the first time he would have to confess and defend his actions. Didn’t matter if they hauled him out and shot him as long as his crew didn’t have to pay the price for his decisions.

   The sick anxiety in his stomach worsened; that damnable nervous spasm began: his right hand was twitching like a poisoned mouse. He used to function with stone-cold competence under stress. The twitch had manifested in the hard months after they’d popped back “inside” so far from Capella.

   Doesn’t matter what they do to me. It will all be over soon.

   For the last month, his first officer, Edward Turner, had been in contact with the Corporate survey ship, Vixen. The messages had been simple photonics, which due to the difference in relativity had been a rather drawn-out affair. This morning, as Ashanti came out of its occulted position from behind the system’s primary they were finally close enough for a visual conference. Entangled photonic communications would allow them an almost simultaneous transmission.

   Galluzzi girded himself. Wouldn’t let the others see how fragile and anxious he was. Couldn’t let them know how close to tears he felt.

   The trembling in his right hand was getting worse. He knotted it into a fist.

   Back stiff, composed, he cycled the hatch and stepped into the Astrogation Center to find his officers already in their seats. In the rear, Benj Begay, the forty-five-year-old Corporate Advisor/Observer was seated in one of the two observation chairs. Director of Scientific Research Michaela Hailwood, from the Maritime Unit, sat in the other.

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