Chapter 3 - Dispatches

            Xanthe stalked up the main corridor of the Nicodemus which led from the main common room to the bridge. The ship was silent and lighting was at nighttime levels, Xanthe guessing she was the only one still awake at this impossibly late hour. She too would have liked to be in her warm bed, fast asleep in preparation for what promised to be a busy day, but the message had come through while she was still cognizant, and she knew the requested task needed to be taken care of sooner rather than later.

            Dispatches not received, please resend, The message had said, the sender having been one of the contact’s associates on Novaterra. How the Bartlett Group had found out they were on Novaterra was anyone’s guess, Xanthe more concerned with the final part of the message she had gotten: Until dispatches are received, payment will be delayed. That had been the part to get her out of bed. It would likely take days for the payment amount to make its way through the banks and their lengthy approval processes, and the longer that took the worse off they’d be.

            What the hell are they doing over there? Xanthe thought with much chagrin. She knew she had sent the initial dispatches and if this had been the first time the Bartlett Group had failed to receive, she would have chalked it up to some sort of transmission glitch. It wasn’t the first time that Bartlett had dropped the ball on receipt, however, this sort of thing happening every time they did work for the group.

            Xanthe had come to the bridge door thinking of all the passive-aggressive things she could include on the message to Raera Dorsett, their Bartlett contact, when she caught the sounds of speaking from behind. From the cadence it wasn’t two actual people but instead a holo-recording of some sort, indicating that someone was still awake and watching something. Xanthe sigh. If that’s Aves watching some crappy holofilm on the ship’s main computer again…

            The doors automatically slid open as she got close enough, and Xanthe was greeted with the cramped bridge of the Nicodemus, shrouded in darkness save the light of the main holoprojector, projecting a decimeter-high representation of what seemed to be some sort of news interview. At her sudden interruption the hologram froze in place, and there was movement in the room. As her eyes adjusted she caught sight of the lumbering form of the ship’s resident guard dog, Cupertino, shambling his way over to her. The lazy, turquoise-furred retriever barely lifted its head to look at her, instead nuzzling his nose around her hand, looking for the only two things he ever wanted: food and attention. Xanthe didn’t have the former and could only provide the latter. Kneeling, she gently caressed the dog’s head. “Good evening, boy.” The animal panted appreciatively, and another voice spoke out from the darkness.

            “Good evening, Xanthe. Couldn’t sleep either?” Xanthe looked up to the pilot’s chair to see the pale glow of the hologram illuminate half of the face of Judith Rigby.

            “No,” Xanthe replied, sourly. Cupertino, having heard his master’s voice, suddenly became tired of Xanthe’s attention and lumbered back to Rigby’s side, leaping up onto one of the consoles where she could easily reach him. Xanthe gave Rigby a wry smile. “He gets special treatment, I see. You’d threaten to leave us at the next starport if any of us so much as put a foot up on there.”

            Rigby grinned, scratching the dog behind the ears. “He’s been with me longer than any of you save Father Thomas; he’s earned a little special treatment around here.”

            Xanthe shrugged. “Then maybe it’s about time he started earning his keep.” As if to punctuate the point, the dog lolled its floppy-eared head in her direction, an expression of pleasure on his face.

            “I gave up trying to find a more practical use for him years ago,” Rigby replied, intensifying her scratching of the dog’s head. “Anyway; what brings you down here? I thought you headed off to bed with the others after Compline.”

            Xanthe sighed. Night prayer had been the desired way to end the evening, but apparently work had other intentions. “I was trying to, but a message came in from one of Bartlett’s people on-planet. Apparently Raera Dorsett didn’t get the dispatches from our last job, and they’re holding our payment until I send them.”

            A knowing grin came to Rigby’s face. “I’m not surprised,” She said. “All these years, and yet Bartlett still hasn’t managed to screw its head on correctly. They probably misplaced those coordinate dispatches in the same place they lost our last five.”

            “Well, they better get their act together soon; I have no interest in doing my own job twice.” Xanthe came to the chair of the small comms station, arrayed with the various religious cards and images she had affixed, before she stopped and instead directed her eyes to the paused hologram. “What exactly were you up to, down here, anyway?”

            A thoughtful look came to the Captain’s face as she peered into the hologram. Xanthe could see now that there were two women in the picture, the first sat next to an eclectic side-table and the other seated in a red armchair. It was the standard setup of one of a million different Novaterran interview holocasts, this one with a host Xanthe didn’t immediately recognize. The older Human woman seated next to the table had all the accoutrements of the standard Horizon District-based holocast host, right down to the expensive dress of glittering orange and bevy of necklaces adorning her neck, a flaunt of her status.

            Across from the host was a young woman sporting the blue skin of a Dorylaetian, dressed nicely but markedly more modestly and less sumptuous. This woman sat cross-legged in the armchair, a comfortable look about her. Rigby tapped a finger against the edge of the hologram’s base. “I couldn’t sleep, so I’ve been watching Euphemia Sethell interviews. I’m trying to get a read on the girl we’re meant to find.” Rigby replied.

            At that realization, Xanthe got a better look at the young woman seated in the red armchair. Indeed, she could now see that despite how well she carried herself the young woman wasn’t quite a woman yet, but instead a teenager. The large, thick eyebrows characteristic of the Dorylaetian were smoothly curved, and her long forehead ridges were still shallow and not yet weathered with age. “I knew about the activism, but I didn’t realize she did interviews, too.”

            “She’s done a few here and there, but nothing terribly high-profile.” Rigby waved a hand at the Human host. “Mariova Dreykell is hardly even second-rate when it comes to Horizon District reporting.”

            With a wince, Xanthe re-assessed the host. “That’s Mariova Dreykell?” She hadn’t ever seen the woman’s show, but the name had garnered a reputation as a reporter who was more fluff and sensationalism than serious news. “This is the same woman who released that hit-piece against Cardinal Cordova last year?”

            The Captain nodded. “The very same.” Xanthe sneered at Dreykell’s image. The Cardinal in question was head of the Holy Office back in Rome, Pope Landus’ doctrine chief. A good-natured but somewhat hot-headed man by all accounts, Cordova had been in an interview with Sonny Becker – one of the more prominent Union holocast hosts – and had gotten pressed on the Catholic Church’s stance vis-à-vis the Union’s controversial handling of the Narin Uprising the previous year. Although a born-and-bred Unionite himself, Cordova held fast to Pope Landus’ vocal criticism of the military’s response and gave a rather excoriating and animated criticism of the event. A flurry of anti-Church sentiment came as the response to that, Mariova Dreykell the chief offender. The woman had gone to great lengths to paint the Cardinal in the worst possible light, not rebutting his criticisms but instead dredging up poorly sourced allegations and lurid insinuations into his character. Does this woman have any shame? Xanthe thought.

            “Have you learned anything useful from these interviews?” Xanthe asked as evenly as she could, forcing her anger away and instead focusing on the actual subject, that being Euphemia.

            Rigby shrugged, motioning to the co-pilot’s chair. “Have a seat and see for yourself.” Xanthe did just that, sitting down and pressing the button on the chair’s arm. Slowly the co-pilot chair rose and spun to face front, raising up a half-meter or so from the floor-level to where the controls were. Here, she could get a better look at the holocast. Rigby pressed a different button, and the two frozen holograms sprang back to life.

            “…against any enemy forces, for so long as this treaty remains in effect.” Dreykell said, reading off the holopad in her hand. Her eyes raised to the girl. “Is there anything objectionable in that description?”

            “She was reading the Entente Charter,” Rigby clarified, filling in all Xanthe needed to know.

            Euphemia turned a cool look on Dreykell. Xanthe guessed that the interviewer had intended the reading of the charter to be some sort of hardball smackdown of some sort, but the girl didn’t seem phased. In that instant, Xanthe recognized that same serenity Senator Sethell brought to his interviews. “I don’t find anything objectionable in the wording, of course.” Euphemia replied, her voice coming out more confident than Xanthe would have assumed of someone her age. “The charter was written during a specific time, under very specific circumstances by men whom I deeply respect. The speech of mine which you had referenced wasn’t disputing that, but instead disputing its continued application today.”

            Dreykell returned to the holopad. “You said, and I quote: ‘…it’s the word ‘enemy’ to which I object. In a post-war galaxy, who are our enemies? Do we still consider the Ruutharii and Felxarans as such? Is it the League of Murman? Or is it the various groups of our fellow citizens who – due to circumstances outside of their control – feel their only recourse is to violence?’.” Dreykell shifted forward in her chair, leaning in as if a predator whose cornered its prey and is ready to pounce. “I’m sure you understand my confusion, and how any reasonable person could imagine that you’re criticizing people like Jefferswith Piett and Ioannes Tanaka who originally drafted it.”

            Euphemia gave the woman a patient grin. “Without the proper context, I understand how it may come across, and I assure you I have no intention of insulting either Consul Piett or the late Emperor of happy memory. The rally in question was to commemorate those who lost their lives in the Sirius Rebellion of ’84. I think both you and I would agree that the force utilized by the Union and Confederacy Armies during the invasion was excessive, do you not?”

            Dreykell seemed to chew on that for a second. “Congress has agreed as such.” She replied, reluctantly. Xanthe considered that. In a decade of restlessness and trouble, the Sirius Rebellion was indeed one of the few instances when the result had been so disastrous that the Union Congress had needed to get involved. Due to the provisions of the Entente, the Union had been able to call the Parfful Confederacy in for military assistance, and the ensuing military action to quash the rebellion was rife with accusations of excessive force, not to mention the criticism of involving a foreign power to end an internal dispute.  

            “Right.” Euphemia continued. “But the open question in that case was whether the Entente’s provisions for mutual self-defense applied to internal conflict. When the document was signed back in 3471, it was the external threat of Ruutharii and Felxaran invasion that prompted it. Since the war ended and its initial purpose was fulfilled, it’s mainly been employed to these internal conflicts. So, the question arises: did Consul Piett and Emperor Ioannes intend ‘enemy’ in this case to apply to just external threats, or did they also intend it to refer to internal conflicts and squabbles? It’s no secret I believe the latter, as I couldn’t imagine Consul Piett would have approved involving foreign powers to target Union citizens. Plus, what’s happened since the war – Union involvement in the Parfful Civil War and Parfful involvement in our uprisings, along with the continued Union occupation of multiple systems in the Quorth Commonwealth – is outside the bounds of an outdated document. And we both know that the Union is priming to get involved in the mess that is the Talosian Civil War.”

            Xanthe instinctively tensed up at the mention of her home nation. Recalling the still-fragile nature of the Quorth Commonwealth brought back painful memories of the war, and the utter devastation which the Ruutharii had wreaked across all of Quorth space. The Entente – with the Union at the forefront – had since been helping to restore the shattered nation, a divisive issue which Xanthe had heard countless arguments for and against. She didn’t quite know enough to have a firm stance but did have that one haunting caveat always hanging like a loose thread in her mind: If the Union pulled out of the Entente and the Ruutharii decided to invade and start another purge…

            No, Xanthe immediately countered the thought, scolding herself. We’re not going to think about that now. Not tonight. She forced the thoughts of home out of her head, along with the darker memories they threatened to unleash.

            “Are you okay?” Xanthe returned to the present to see that Captain Rigby was staring at her, having paused the recording.

            “Yeah,” Xanthe replied. “I’m fine. Just thinking about home and…” She shook her head. “Never mind, this isn’t the time for it.” Falling firmly under the Captain’s maternal gaze, Xanthe was quick to change the subject. “Euphemia’s definitely very confident in her politics and can articulate it very well. I’m impressed with what I’ve seen so far.”

            Rigby held her in a suspect gaze a moment longer, before appearing to leave Xanthe to her privacy for the time being. Xanthe knew it wouldn’t be the end of that, and the Captain was sure to follow up to see how she was doing, but figured she could worry about that later. “That’s what I’ve gathered from the other interviews I’ve watched. She’s very bright.” Rigby agreed. “Growing up in Sethell’s household helped, no doubt.”

            From the look on Dreykell’s frozen face – one which she was trying to hide but doing a poor job at – she hadn’t been assuming such a clear rebuttal from Euphemia. “It’s nice to see Dreykell squirm a bit.” Xanthe added. Nodding, Rigby resumed the holocast.

            The interviewer couched her surprise by leaning back in her chair, shifting to a more rigid position. “Be that as it may, it seems like a question for diplomats and lawyers to adjudicate, not for us to make rash assumptions over. People like your father have much more experience on such matters.”

            If the question had been intended to trip the girl up – and to Xanthe that seemed an apt guess – Euphemia didn’t let on. Instead, she gave a playful laugh, moving her hand as if to gently swat away the question. “Mariova, as you know, my father and I disagree on many things, and this is no different. I may be young, but I’ve met with plenty of diplomats, lawyers, and even military types who have many more years of experience and agree with these conclusions. Besides, I’m a firm believer in not looking down on anyone due to youth, but instead to taking their example and ideas, judging them on their merits.”

            “That’s First Timothy,” Xanthe said, recognizing the Biblical allusion immediately. “At least, a paraphrased bit of it.”

            Rigby nodded. “‘Let no one despise your youth, but set believers an example in speech, conduct, love, faith, and purity’; First Timothy, Chapter 4. It looks like Euphemia was paying attention in her Catechetical classes.”

            “I see,” Dreykell continued, drawing their attention back to the hologram. “So then, if your assessment of the Entente is true, then why not try and adjudicate for the proper understanding? Why pushing against its renewal?”

            “Because, as I’ve said, the document is outdated. It’s been grossly misinterpreted because – I will admit – the understanding of that passage is unclear. I’m confident that the original intent agrees with the way I understand it, but as we’ve seen, many politicians beg to differ. I think it’s become too clouded in controversy and has too many provisions for an impending war which we’ve already fought. We need a new treaty, but in the meantime this current one needs to end. It’s costing lives every day it stays in effect.” Euphemia explained. Xanthe winced at that, the sudden uncomfortable feeling coming before the grin of satisfaction even entered Dreykell’s face. Euphemia was making decent points, but her over-zealous idealism was about to run her up to the main issue with her argument. 

            “So you’d want to leave us without a defensive treaty while Congress fumbles to draft a new one?” Dreykell’s inflection revealed what she thought of that idea. “Do you have any idea how long it took for the Entente to be negotiated, drafted, and approved? It’s an awfully long opening for the Ruutharii to slide in for another war.”

            “That’s assuming that the Ascendancy is ready for another conflict,” Euphemia countered.

            “They’d sure like to go back to war, that’s for sure.” Xanthe said to Rigby. The crew had been in Ruutharii space several months before and had seen first-hand the types of military construction they were undertaking. And that was only the border systems; there was no telling how much more buildup was happening in the Ruutharii core worlds.

            “The latest reports from the Ascendancy is that their military spending has greatly increased over the past decade.” Dreykell said, voicing Xanthe’s concern. “That definitely sounds like they’re ready for another war.”

            Euphemia seemed amused by the comment. “Putting aside the question of how long before the Ascendancy military is up to battle-readiness, are you assuming that the Union isn’t prepared to handle such a conflict ourselves? It’s no secret we’ve been spending trillions on our own defense budget. The amount of defense contractors awarded contracts just in the last year for all sorts of new weapons systems practically quadrupled.”

            Dreykell crossed her legs as she flicked through her holopad. “Ah yes, and that’s another one of your causes if I recall correctly. The size of our defense endowment.”

            “Another consequence of the Entente,” Euphemia insisted. “So many conflicts both home and abroad, so of course we need to keep producing more and more. Meanwhile, our border systems aren’t getting the help they need, and more uprisings occur. It’s almost a self-perpetuating cycle. A famous Old Terran statesman and philosopher once said: ‘Beware the defense industrial institutions’. Whenever there’s a lot of money in the practice of war, then it’s in the self-interests of those involved to keep war going.”

            Dreykell scoffed. “Surely you aren’t accusing military contractors of perpetuating conflict for profit.”

            “Not outright, no.” Euphemia said. “But it’s a distinct risk which is involved. It’s like they say, ‘the love of money is the root of all evil’.”

            Xanthe perked up. “There’s St. Paul again.” The passage was another quotation – this one more direct – from the same letter to St. Timothy.

            Dreykell still wasn’t buying Euphemia’s worldview, evident by the expression which entered her face. “So if I’m understanding your position correctly, you want to do away with the Entente and draft a new treaty, cut down on our defense budget, and trust that the Ruutharii won’t invade in the year or five it’ll take for us to complete that work?”

            “I agree with the substance of it, though not your rather pessimistic attitude about it,” Euphemia said. “I’ve spoken to representatives of several senators and delegates, and they’ve all assured me that their bosses can work to get a treaty drafted inside a year. As for the Ruutharii, even if they did invade in that time and nobody came to help us, I wouldn’t count the Union Military out of that fight. But that’s of course assuming the Ruutharii do invade.”

            “And what if they do invade, but don’t invade the Union?” Dreykell countered. “They could always invade the Parfful Confederacy.” She paused, carefully readying her next point. Xanthe could tell the unwelcome direction it was going and wasn’t at surprised to hear the next part. “Or start another Quorth purge.”

            Xanthe’s stomach tightened as her attempts to shove thoughts of the Quorth Purge back to the recesses of her mind disintegrated all in that moment. Images of the horrors of her childhood – replete with images of family, friends, neighbors, and fellow Quorthwenne rounded up and murdered by the Ruutharii death squads – flashed before her mind. That catastrophe had happened because the Chancellor of the Quorth Commonwealth had been too stubborn to join the Entente, forestalling the mobilization of assistance. Their complacency had meant death and destruction, and for the Quorthwenne, the Entente had been a salvation. Amidst all of the debate pro- and anti-Entente the past few months, Xanthe had been trying to avoid that uncomfortable thought. She generally opposed war and the structures which emboldened the proliferation of it – like the Entente – but couldn’t shake one counter thought. Is the Entente necessary for the safety of my people?

            “Xanthe?”

            The sudden question snapped her out of another daze she hadn’t realized she’d sunken into. Xanthe looked up to see that the hologram was again paused, and Rigby had a concerned expression turned on her. “Yes?”

            “Are you okay?” Rigby asked, a bit more seriousness in her voice. From the tone, Xanthe knew Rigby wasn’t going to let it drop this time.

            Xanthe nodded, allowing herself to remember where she was, who she was with, and how long ago the dark events in question had been. “Yeah, sorry Captain.”

            “Don’t be sorry. I apologize, I hadn’t realized they’d keep dragging the Quorth Purges into this interview.”

            “It’s a part of our history, isn’t it?” Xanthe added, leaning back. “I can’t hide from it.”

            “No,” Rigby agreed, resignedly. “I suppose you can’t. But that doesn’t mean you have to continually expose yourself to it. If someone’s trying to quit drinking, I’m not going to bring them to a bar.”

            Xanthe allowed the hint of a smile to grace her lips. “I wish it was that simple. Nobody needs to go to a bar. I can’t avoid recent history which is constantly plastered on every holodisplay and newscast from here to Talos.” She turned towards her comms station, where her religious pictures were interspersed with the few remaining pictures of family that she had, that of her father, aunt, brothers, and sister. The pictures were simple flat, unmoving images – not nearly the fancy moving pictures that people in a place like Novaterra could afford – all creased and bent around the edges from years of abuse. Xanthe mentally said a single Ave Maria for the peaceful repose of their souls, then turned back to the Captain.

            “Was there anything else in the interview?” She asked, moving on from the topic of the Purges. Rigby didn’t respond immediately.

            “I’m not going to force you to talk about it,” She said, finally. “But you’re allowed to not be okay. The Quorth Purges were a calamity, the likes of which the galaxy hasn’t seen in generations. You managed to live through that, and it’s left its mark on you. You can’t just shrug it off like it’s nothing.”

            Xanthe frowned. “It’s been nearly a decade; I’ve had plenty of time to process it.”

            Rigby’s face hardened. “You and I both know the last ten years have been tumultuous for you. And we both also know that you’ve buried it deeper and deeper into your subconscious each time it surfaces.”

            Xanthe’s shoulders dropped. There was no getting one past Captain Rigby. “What do you want me to do about it? I hate thinking about it.”

            “Don’t keep it inside,” Rigby was quick to reply. “Talk about it.”

            “With who?” Xanthe asked.

            Rigby’s response was a finger which she raised upward. “Have you spoken with Him about it?”

            Xanthe sigh. “No, not in a while.” She begrudgingly admitted.

            The Captain nodded, knowingly. “He can’t help you with it if you don’t want His help.”

            Xanthe compressed her lips. She always felt so strange dredging such things up in prayer, feeling like focusing on the past instead of what was to come was a step back. “Okay,” She said, finally. “You’re right. I’ll pray about it, and I’ll bring it to spiritual direction when Father Thomas gets back.”

            Rigby’s face softened as a pleasant smile creased her face. “Thank you.” She left it at that, having said what she wanted to say on the matter. “Now, what are your thoughts on Euphemia? I think you’ve gotten a good taste of her style and politics.”

            With a breath, Xanthe allowed herself to move forward. “She’s definitely optimistic – some teenage idealism, undoubtedly – but I think that’s more or less the standard anti-Entente fare.”

            “That fits with what Partash told us, along with what’s common knowledge.” Rigby agreed.

            “She seems sharp,” Xanthe said. “She doesn’t seem like the type to go running off with a random guy.” That part was admittedly still a bit nebulous.

            “This is her public persona,” Rigby pointed out. “She’s the daughter of a politician, and a budding politician in her own right. I’m sure when we speak to Senator Sethell tomorrow, we’ll get the other side of it.”

            “Have you spoken to Vess? Is he going to let you speak with the Senator?”

            Rigby nodded. “I managed to get him to agree to it, though he wasn’t too keen on the idea. Partash and Senator Kran will be joining us, too.” She said. “Tobias and I have a meeting about a half hour after Mass.”

            “Fine by me,” Xanthe replied. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll hang back at the cathedral for a bit. I need to clear my head. And pray.”

            “Of course,” Rigby replied, with a grin. “Go get some sleep, I’ll resend those dispatches for you.”

            Xanthe blinked. “Captain, are you sure? That’s my responsibility.”

            “And you did it correctly once. Let me handle it for you. Besides, I somehow doubt I’ll be getting a good night’s sleep tonight.” Rigby replied.

            Xanthe wasn’t about to argue. “Thank you!”

            “Have a good night, Xanthe.”

            “You too, Captain.”