Today we continue our pursuit of the outlaw. Supplies are short, the sun burns, and each new horizon is more difficult to reach than the last. Despite the difficulties, we prevail steadfast, faithful and attentive.
All our suspicions were correct. This place, far from war, is a breeding ground for perversions and heresies. No need to worry, I was not heartbroken, I acted with the same diligence with which I performed in the thousand Polynesian islands. The big difference is that, instead of rocks and sea, what separates us from the infidels are miles of arid land plagued by barbarians and beasts.
Regarding Brother Frederick's health, I regret to report that he did not survive the ailments. I gave him an assault rifle and a target, but he was too ill to handle a firearm or even stand upright. According to tests, a mutated dengue variant is what killed him. Radiation is another latent problem, both fauna and flora have been drastically affected. A reminder of the atomic cataclysm we must avoid at all costs. There is no glory in absolute destruction.
The holy cost remains our priority. We will deliver lessons, clear and hard as lead from bullets. The slavers are aware of the importance of the great math and try to stay out of it, while the savages are mostly unaware of it, although for me ignorance was never an excuse. It is complicated to choose which of the two examples deserves a harsher treatment. If you could enlighten me with your wisdom, I would be most grateful.
-Australia, June 10, 2222, Presbyter Myers.
Ronan finishes typing on the computer, rips the paper from the printer set up next to the screen and glances at it to make sure the message is sensible, respectful, and well-written. In his opinion, the text's appearance is important like personal appearance, hence there is not a single hair misplaced in his hair or in his short beard. While reading he keeps the back straight in the wooden chair. Outside, the dry wind pushes the tent folds.
Ronan is a 32-year-old man, well maintained thanks to diet and training. Whenever he appears in public, he wears the infallible cassock, the brass cross, and the black uniform with wide lapels and a red belt. Is the kind of man who never forgets his purpose in the world, to the point that some within his own order consider him an extremist.
Extremist...
The word makes him wield a half- smile humorless.
Ronan is satisfied with the letter. He places the text in a paper envelope, closes it, and sinks the side of his silver ring. He feels a prick on his finger and the slight vibration of a tiny motor, but his face does not move an inch. The ring burns and pricks blood, which coagulates quickly and firmly to seal the paper.
"Marie, come in" Ronan calls.
A young girl with an oval face, fair skin, small nose, big eyes, and short straight brown hair walks into the tent. The partisan looks with the readiness to deliver, both by the AK-47M she carries on her back and by her gentle smile. She wears an Italian bustle, a black shirt, an olive green skirt that reaches above her calves, and field boots. The girl carries a pouch full of grenades in a belt, and a necklace with a crucifix and a bullet casing around the neck.
Ronan hands the letter to Marie and orders her to send it to the Vatican. Marie nods, grants Ronan a military salute, and prepares to leave the tent, but Ronan stops her and notifies the girl of a bloodstain on her right shoulder.
"A thousand apologies, Reverend. Since the last raid we battled I haven't had a chance to fetch water or soap," says the young woman, and deep down she feels the urge to comment that the wood for the crosses doesn't collect itself, but with willpower she silences that whiny side.
"Some people say that necessity sharpens the wit. The next time I require your service, better be as pristine as a church lady should always be" Ronan warns.
Marie nods and withdraws from the tent. The man turns back to the desk and computer work, opens a drawer overflowing with artificial chocolate candies (Truly natural ingredients are rare and a luxury). He grabs a candy, removes the lead paper wrapper, and pops it into his mouth.
Marie walks through the camp. The others partisans patrol, pray their morning orations, or just get ready to have breakfast. They left the Vatican with a group of 30, and now only 14 remain, including Ronan. Australia is a difficult and treacherous land.
Above the camp, on crosses 4 meters high, sobs, cries and pleas for help come from people nailed to inverted crosses, also known as St. Peter's cross. There are five crosses, and a sixth under construction. They are slavers who tried to assault the military chariot: a white, modular, armored vehicle with 12 wheels designed to overcome extreme terrain.
"You have no idea who I am! When Deathmask finds out what you're doing to me, he'll make you pay!" The trembling threat of the slaver tied upside down on the cross, evolves into a shrill scream when a partisan plunges the nail with the hammer, piercing the wrist. Another partisan pulls a metal syringe from a steel case and injects it into the man's side. The syringe contains one of the 38 miracles of the Virgin Mary, a technology developed by the Vatican and shared with the Church of Belichology.
The nanobots enter the bloodstream and soon emit electrical currents that tighten muscles and paralyze. The tiny machines spread and heal internal damage. The nail soon melts with the skin. Marie helps to remove the restraints and with ropes, the inverted cross is lifted from the ground to join the rest.
The miracle of Lourdes is not perfect, it may lose its effectiveness over the years. But the slavers will continue to writhe in the inclement sun and under the cold moon several weeks after Ronan and his group pack up camp and move away from the area. After vultures eat eyeballs, insects nest, and flesh transforms into virulent pouches held together barely by miraculous technology, the men would continue to be conscious and begging heaven for mercy even when it lacks a mouth.
It is a reminder to anyone who would belittle the sacrifice Ronan advocates: There are fates worse than death. And if it comes to a choice, a noble death is preferable to a meaningless life.
...
Nadjela and Chester continue traveling.
By noon the sun was beating down, and in the evening they were visited by a bitter cold lacking in humidity that forced them to hide under a boulder barely more than five feet high. If Nadjela knew about the sea, she would compare the way the wind moves the dust and dirt, with a swell.
After Chester's unsuccessful attempts to start a fire with branches so brittle they turn to powder when touched, Nadjela pulls off her necklace and it projects a white light sphere that surrounds them, chasing away the shadows and discomfort. Even the wind feels gentler under the white light. They stretch their bodies in that little corner of comfort. Chester whistles in awe and asks how the orb works.
"It's impossible to explain," says the princess. "I only know that it helps me when I need. It's a magical power that takes care of me"
"Do you believe in magic?"
"You don't...?"
"I find hard to believe in anything my sword is unable to cut"
"You came from the sky, flying on a giant. Isn't that magical enough for you?"
"All that has a logical explanation, see..."
Chester opens his mouth to respond with ideas of technology and science, but his lips remain quiet, like if he was noticing how unintelligible he finds these technicalities.
"If the toothy dwarf who gave me North Star were present, I'd have a thousand complaints to spout. Stuff about physics, engineering, and aerodynamics, that someone as dumb as I am would never understand... You know what? I prefer your version! May it all be magic and let's keep rolling"
Still accepting that, Nadjela asks Chester what physics, engineering, and aerodynamics were, eager to expand her knowledge. Chester's forehead prickles with sweat.
"Science is not my specialty. I'm an action guy. A air-head, even"
"In heaven there are dwarves?"
"Not many, but yes"
"In La Cuna any deformed baby is considered cursed and sacrificed by the elders, being thrown from the top of the temple" Nadjela comments, her tone of voice not reflecting that she had said something barbaric.
"Up," Chester points to the sky. "You don't have to be deformed to be seen as cursed or erased"
"How cruel"
"And the elders you respect aren't cruel?"
"It's different..." She turns her face away, suspicious how easily the swordsman raises the question. "Deformed children contribute little and die young, and during their short lives they receive only shame and pain. In comparison, being sacrificed to the divine is a merciful fate"
The princess repeats the words she was taught. Chester laughs. Nadjela looks disapprovingly at him.
"Sorry. I can only laugh at that rotten sympathy. We love to choose over others, don't we? As if our lives are perfect, or are free of shame and pain, or we know all the answers. Cruelty is cruelty, and murder is murder. No matter how you paint it, you're still denying someone the chance to experience life, to laugh and cry, to find happiness if there's a measly chance they'll get a taste of it, even if it's for four poorly counted moments"
Chester pushes with the heels to take off his boots. With one hand he holds up the blade scabbard. Putting his other hand on the hilt, he unsheathes inches of metalcorona, reflecting his scarlet gaze on the blade.
"That's why I'll never be a savior, or a hero from the comics, or the movies. At the end of the day I'm just an outcast whose only talent is cutting things in half." He closes the blade and lays it on the rock between them. "What redeems me, more or less, is that I understand that those four happy moments worth it"
Nadjela wants to tell him that he is not an outcast, to remind him that thanks to his efforts they are still alive. But Chester looked so longing and hopeful searching the horizon, looking for who knows what secrets or confirmations, that the princess decided to keep silent and contemplate the horizon with him.