Morningstar

The assembly was gathered in the great arena, men, women, children, and the usual delegation of His Shadow's clerics. Such assemblies were typical and encouraged when heretics were scheduled for execution.

"Arch-heretic Milos Thylaster," the holographic judge began, his voice booming across the arena. "You are charged with sixteen counts of blasphemy, nine counts of sedition, and five counts of inciting heresy amongst His Divine Shadows clergy and followers. How plead you?"

The middle-aged man was forcibly bound by electro-magnetic fetters in the center of the arena. His clerical vestments had been stripped as a sign of disgrace and shunning. He had already been flogged, and was awaiting the final sentence. He kept his eyes down, refusing to even glance at either his accusers or the blood-thirsty onlookers.

Another holographic figure was presented, this one a public defender. "The defendant pleads 'Guilty' to all charges," he plainly said.

At this point, the shackled cleric lifted his head and forcibly gazed upon the hologram. "The defendant pleads no such thing, you barbarian!" he shouted. "You can butcher me, scrape the flesh from my body inch by inch, and feed me to the protein bank for all I care, but I will NEVER admit guilt for ANYTHING!!!"

Brother Thylaster then turned to the drooling crowds. "Which one of you sheep are next?" he demanded rhetorically. He saw the small group of younger clerics beneath the image of the judge. They were standing in a queue, at attention, watching the spectacle, many perhaps for the first time as members of the clergy. Thylaster's eyes met with one young man standing near the middle. He was a tall, handsome youth, his vestment showing the rank of initiate, a new fledgling
added to the pack.

"Will it be you?" he asked somberly.

Unmoved by the prisoner's final exhortation, the judge continued, without missing a beat. "Milos Thylaster, having plead guilty to the crimes in question, you are hereby sentenced to death by mutilation and consumption. Upon execution of this sentence, you are hereby cleansed of your crimes against the League of 20,000 Planets. May His Merciful Shadow Fall Upon You!"

The clerical ensemble brought their arms across their chests in unison and chanted together, "We Worship His Shadow."

The spectators arose and cheered like a tidal wave as the arena was quickly cleared, save the convict, and the Cluster Lizards were released. Brother Thylaster's screams were muffled only by the deafening roar of the multitudes.

***

Brother Tristan left the arena with his class of initiates, shaken. He had seen public executions before, having been raised on the Cluster, but had never participated as a member of clergy. He was only a week out of House 37, the training facility where he had lived for most of his short life. His eighteenth birthday had marked the
end of his training, and he and his classmates were now Initiates. Still, no training in the House had prepared him for the spectacle that he had just witnessed, and certainly nothing had made him ready for the piercing gaze of his apostate brother on the rack, and the poignant question which he had been asked.

***

"Brother Tristan, come with me," the Adept called. The time had come. His Divine Shadow's host body was failing, and the need for the Transfer was at hand. "You have been asked to participate with us, brother. It is a great blessing. You and only one other Initiate have been chosen. It is often only a once in a lifetime experience." The Adept's footsteps quickened, as he walked with Tristan toward His Divine Shadow's audience chamber.

"I understand, brother Tallyn," the young Initiate replied, trying to match his superior's pace.

Tristan silently gasped and swallowed as they entered the majestic hall. The hierarchy had already been summoned, and the procedure was about to begin. A new pedestal had been prepared for the next His Shadow, and a receptacle was already mounted to hold a Divine Predecessor's brain.

"The time has come," the Supreme Brother stated. The industrial, rhythmic chanting filled the hall. "Bring him in," the cleric ordered.

A wild-eyed brute of a man was wheeled forward, strapped upright, and gagged. He struggled against the restraints, but to no avail. Tristan watched as his brethren held the probes against the poor man's temples.

"Do it," the Supreme Brother ordered. The clerics activated the probes, sending a burst of searing shock waves into the victim's head. He writhed in agony, then went limp.

"Again," the cleric stated. "Complete the cleansing."

Again the probes were activated, and again the helpless would-be host was sent into a fit of contortions and trembling. Then, nothing.

His Divine Shadow was placed prostrate next to the dead criminal, vis-a-vis. The restraints were removed.

"You must perform the kiss, Divine Shadow," the Supreme Brother softly said to the hooded figure. His mouth was gently positioned near the mouth of the dead man.

Slowly, as if a whisper of smoke was just beginning to rise from a freshly extinguised candle, the vapor of essence passed from the mouth of His Shadow's body into the body of His new host. The transfer was complete. All bowed in reverance as the new host took on His Shadow's form and was raised upon His dais.

"Brother Tristan," one of the supervising clerics said, "your assistance please."

Tristan walked with the brother to the lifeless body of His Shadow's former host. He watched as his associate cut open the skull of the withered corpse, and remove his brain.

"Place it in the receptacle," he said.

Tristan hesitated for a moment, then slowly took the brain and held it in his own hands. It was wet, slimy, and felt warm to the touch. A wave of repulsion came over Tristan, and he felt something churn in his stomach. Not exactly physical disgust, but something else . . . something, inhumanly wicked. It was a presence of sorts. Not really tangible. It caused a feeling of inner nausea. Tristan was barely able to place the lump of flesh into its receptacle and close the lid. When he withdrew his hands, they were trembling.

***

On the way back to his quarters, Tristan had to make a stop at the head to dry-heave into the washbasin. He looked at himself in the mirror above the bowl. He didn't recognize what he saw. It felt as if something from that hideous carcass had contaminated him, polluted his mind.

"Who are you?" he asked himself in the mirror. "What are you doing here?"

The sound of his own voice echoing back from the reflection was the only answer Tristan received. But there was a battle inside of him, raging, not a feeling of peace that he had been told would envelope him through service to The Divine Order. He only knew that he could never again go through what he had gone through today - never.

***

It was the chance of a lifetime! Very few Adepts were invited to become instructors in the Training House. These coveted positions were usually reserved more the more Senior Brethren, those who had served His Divine Shadow as clerics for many years. So it was with great enthusiasm that brother Tristan accepted a fellowship at House 37 (his old stomping ground, in fact) as an instructor in His Divine Shadow's Doctrine.

Three years had passed since Tristan's initiation into the clergy. He had not forgotten his experiences that day in the arena and during the Transfer ceremony. Time had eased, but not quenched, his spirit of doubt regarding the Divine Order. As a teacher, perhaps he could work out some of these festering frustrations!

Most of his pupils were Acolytes, youngsters in their teens who would soon graduate to Initiates. They were such a zealous and ambitious lot, reminding Tristan of himself only a few years ago. House 37 was known for the best and the brightest!

"Master," one of the students asked one day during session, "could you once again please explain to us the relationship between Light and Order?"

Tristan was somewhat amused at the question. It was rather fundamental in nature. Students were encouraged to ask questions during their training - it was their only chance. After becoming an Initiate, it was considered undisciplined and irreverent to question His Divine Shadow's teachings. "Ours is not to question," Tristan was
once told by his own teacher, "merely to trust and obey."

"The Light of His Divine Shadow," Tristan began, giving the textbook answer almost by rote, "emanates from His presence and is used to fuel the need for Order. Without Light, there can be no Order. As clerics of His Divine Shadow, we are recipients and messengers of that Light. We therefore feed Order. Light overwhelms the Darkness, and begets Order from Chaos."

The class was silent. A student chimed his monitor, wishing to be recognized.

"Yes, Acolyte?" Tristan inquired.

"But Master," the young, fair-haired student began, slowly and tentatively, "Is it not true that disorder and chaos exist within the boundaries of His Shadow's Light? If the Light is truly overwhelming, how can there be heresy and darkness, even as close as the Cluster?"

The other students seemed to shift nervously and uncomfortably at their peer's question. They looked at their teacher for resolution. Tristan stood still, his own eyes narrowing slightly as he gazed into the bright, opaque pupils of the young man.

"What is your name, Acolyte?" Tristan finally asked.

"Yottskry, my Master."

Tristan continued to gaze at the young Yottskry, his lips slowly curving into a smile. He walked over to where his student was sitting, placed his hand on his shoulder, and bent over somewhat towards his ear as to limit the range of his response.

"My young brother Yottskry," Tristan said quietly, administering a degree of respect by using a clerical title not given to students, "your question can only be answered when you have a better understanding of what is truly Light, and what is truly Darkness."

Perhaps wanting to say more, the Acolytle opened his mouth, drew in a breath, and was interrupted by a signal chime which came from the squawker on the wall.

"Doctrinal interval is over," the metallic voice said. "All students and teachers will now proceed to Chapel."

The class arose in unison, and with practiced precision, filed out the door of the instruction chamber in twos. Yottskry carefully glanced back, with a puzzled expression to see Tristan smiling and nodding.

When the students were gone, Tristan donned his outer vestment and hood, and walked slowly toward the Chapel. If he was late, what could he possibly miss?

***

The installment of the new Chancellor was to begin in just a few hours. Brother Tristan had released his students early in order to prepare for the ceremony. This wouldn't have been a big deal for the 25-year old House Administrator, except that the new Chancellor who was going to be installed was brother Tallyn, Tristan's former mentor and supervisor during his phase as an Initiate. And it was rumored that His Divine Shadow himself was going to perform the ordination!

As a former trainee and friend of brother Tallyn, Tristan was asked to assist during the ceremony. This was a great honor! After four years of teaching, and during the last six months, administration at House 37, Tristan was anxious to receive some political notoriety and support a friend in a new position. After all, when Tallyn became Chancellor, he might very well remember Tristan and make him a deputy!

Tristan had been careful these last few years. He had been reprimanded mildly early in his teaching for encouraging his students in some unusual "free thinking" as they called it. Nothing had come of it, but his superiors had watched him closely for a while. Now, as an administrator, Tristan had paid his dues, and was ready to move into a position where he could perhaps be more influential.

The ceremonial chamber had been prepared. Aisle upon aisle was filled with clerics waiting to honor the new Chancellor. Tristan observed the surroundings as he walked in and took his place up front. There were robot sentries posted on both ground floor and balcony. Several of His Divine Shadow's elite guardsmen and captains were watching the dais, and reporting to one another on squawkers.

"What's going on?" Tristan thought to himself. Perhaps just extra security for His Divine Shadow. Perhaps something more ... were they expecting trouble?

A voice came booming over the wall-mounted system. "ALL RISE!" The assembly came to its feet regally. All heads were turned to the side entrance.

Brother Tallyn was escorted to the dais by four sentries and two officers. He was seated next to Tristan.

"Congratulations, brother," Tristan whispered to his friend. 

Tallyn winked and nodded to him, and subtly slipped him a quick hand-shake.

The remaining members of clergy and officers were escorted into the chamber. Then there was a deathly silence.

"HIS DIVINE SHADOW!" the voice boomed again.

The remainder of the company stood up, Tristan included. His Divine Shadow entered the room, accompanied by two of his highest ranking generals, and what appeared to be a divine assassin, dressed completely in black with a hair-style that reminded Tristan vaguely of pictures of a long-dead race defeated by His Shadow that he had seen when studying history as a student in House 37. He couldn't recall at present the race's name.

"We Worship His Shadow!" the crowd chanted. His Divine Shadow made his way to the podium, his generals flanking him. The assassin remained at His Shadow's side, unmoving and with an expression as dark and emotionless as his lord's hidden visage.

Tristan eased back into his seat as His Divine Shadow motioned the crowd to sit. He could feel the energy radiating from His Shadow's presence, but he could feel the tension and malice as well.

"My subjects," His Divine Shadow began, his voice cold and dark, "your presence today honors your new Chancellor, and honors the cause of Order." He paused to allow his dripping syllables their full, potent effect.

"Brother Tallyn," he continued, "is a servant of Order, and has been called to take this position to serve ..."

His words were cut short as a scream was uttered from the balcony. Startled, Tristan looked up and saw two robot sentries REMOVE THEIR HELMETS, exposing their human heads! They were heretics, saboteurs! With a signal, several other sentries did the same thing, and began to fire upon the dais and into the crowd with the Black packs.

"Down with His Shadow!" they cried, disintegrating clerics and followers. "Down with Order!"

Tristan was barely able to drag Tallyn down to the deck as the dais erupted in plasma fire. He just caught a glance as the assassin stealthily maneuvered in front of His Shadow, protecting him from energy bursts as they impacted harmlessly on his ebony-covered torso. His Shadow's generals hastily escorted their hooded lord off the dais, and began moving him to the exit.

One of the heretic-sentries near the front was able to get on the dais for a moment, and had his weapon leveled at His Shadow. With an extended arm, the assassin let loose a brace with a blinding flash, severing the false sentry's head, and withdrawing back to his wrist as the heretic's body crumpled to the deck. The assassin quickly vanished behind the dais and exited following His Shadow.

Tristan began to crawl near the dais, in hopes of avoiding fire and trying to safely make it to an exit. The chamber was in chaos. Clerics were climbing over one another to scramble out of the way of plasma shots, and the loyal sentries and guards were attempting to fire back upon the heretics in hopes of taking as many down as possible.

Tristan noticed one of the false sentries trying to escape under cover using a nearby exit. Tallyn, crouching next to him, jumped up and made a lunge toward the heretic.

"Infidel!" he screamed. "How dare you defy His Shadow!"

"No, Tallyn, DON'T" Tristan called out, attempting to pull his friend down out of the line of fire. Too late, a sizzling burst erupted from the heretic's firearm, dissolving Tristan's companion in an eruption of light.

For an instant, Tristan locked eyes with the heretic. She was young, pretty, and had that look of desperation and zeal that every heretic had. She gazed back at the cleric for a moment before scurrying out the exit.

Checking the scene overhead, Tristan made a quick leap to the same portal, loosing his encumbering robe and hood. He caught a quick look back at the exploding chamber before barreling down the hallway after the woman.

Confused as Tristan was, he was certain of one thing. This sabotage could not have been planned and executed by heretics alone. Someone had helped them!

***

Tristan ran down the corridor as fast as he could, checking his flanks and angles as he rounded each corner. He could no longer hear the fleeing footsteps of the woman whom he followed, but his instincts told him he was on the right track. He had paused for a moment to catch his breath, when he noticed the control pannel to his right.

Above it was the flashing alarm which had been activated after the attack by the heretics on the ceremony. Tallyn was dead, and the ordination had been thwarted. But what Tristan noticed was the pannel below next to an unopened portal. This particular portal required a pass key, and judging from the indicator on the switch, such a key had been used on this door only seconds earlier!

Tristan delicately entered his clerical code, and stepped back cautiously as the portal opened. The room was dark, and Tristan inched his way along the side of the entrance, until his body was beyond the aperture. He could still hear the commotion coming from hundreds of meters away as the ceremonial chamber continued to be filled with fighting and disarray. He slipped past the entrance, and quickly fumbled for the light pannel as the door closed behind him. His hand touched the switch, as he convulsed under the impact of a powerful, blunt blow to his head. Then, darkness, as if the light had never come on.

***

Tristan opened his eyes, but the blackness around him was as thick as the room he last remembered. He couldn't see a thing. He got up, rubbing his tender scalp, and made two steps before running into a wall. His hand touched a familiar pannel, and the bright light enveloped the room - the armory. The same room which he had opened and gotten thumped in! But now he was alone. His attacker, whoever she was, was gone.

Tristan checked his chronometer - three hours had passed! The alarm was no longer wailing. He tried opening the door with his code. Rejected? Not possible! He tried it again. Same result. Tristan was not an expert with firearms (his clerical training only required basic familiarity), but he figured it was the only way. He took a
black pack from the rack, leveled it at the door, and fired away.

When the fumes cleared, Tristan entered the corridor and proceeded back towards the chamber. Everything was unusually quiet, until the familiar chime of the corrections console began an announcement from a nearby squawker on the wall.

"ATTENTION CITIZENS!" it began. "The following individual is wanted for immediate correction and criminal disposition. Tristan Rashile, cleric, rank Prefect 2nd class, is wanted for assassination of Chancellor-elect Tallyn Brystar. Last known whereabouts, armory section 53. Please detain and report."

"Assassination? What the ..." Tristan couldn't believe it! He had seen Tallyn killed himself. He was the closest one to him, he had tried to stop him from . . . oh, no! The heretic! She had escaped and the only other possibility could have been ...

Tristan suddenly felt quite sick, and definitely terrified! It all seemed quite pointless now. His efforts to support the Order, to teach the young. He was now branded as a traitor!

Keeping the weapon at his side, Tristan hastily made his way past the corrections center, and to the nearest lift. He started to enter his code ... wait a minute! That was exactly how corrections had ascertained his last position in the armory. Besides, his code was now useless. He quickly turned to head out of the lift, when one hand shoved him back inside and another covered his mouth.

"If you want to live, keep quiet and do as I say," the female voice said to him, quickly dispatching the black pack from his hand.

As the hand was slowly removed, Tristan saw her - it was the woman from the chamber, Tallyn's murderess. She was no longer disguised as a sentry. Instead, she was wearing a dark colored jumpsuit, with a utility belt on her waist and a phase rifle strapped on her back. Her hair was light brown, long, and she had green eyes.

"Who are you?" he asked her.

Not answering, she entered a code (probably pirated, Tristan thought) into the lift, and the door closed. Relaxing a bit, she eased off her captive, and removed a device from her belt.

"You're in a lot of trouble, Mr. Rashile," she finally replied. Almost smiling, she continued. "I ought to be thankful, actually. You've been given the credit for my handiwork." She imitated a gunshot with her hand.

Tristan looked away, angrily. "Tallyn was my friend," he said in defense.

"Some friend," she stated.

Tristan turned sharply and faced her. "Look, I don't know who you are, but ..."

The woman stopped him short. "No, you don't know who I am," she said, calmly but directly. "But I know who you are, and if you want to keep on being who you are, you'll shut up and do exactly as I say!"

The lift slowed, and came to a stop. The door opened as the woman drew her rifle and slowly began her trek down the long corridor towards the shuttleport, beckoning Tristan to follow her.

"What choice do I have?" Tristan said to himself, as he followed the woman's lead to possible escape.

***

"Here, put this on," the woman whispered to Tristan, as they approached the shuttleport. She handed him a cloak and hood resembling those of a bio-scholar. The guard would be tight near the bay, as His Shadow's forces would undoubtedly be looking for possible escape attempts.

Tristan quickly pulled the garments over his tunic. The couple walked casually around the next corner, and headed directly towards an awaiting Escort-class vessel, with unusual markings. They made it as far as the hangar entrance before being detained.

"Code, please," the Security Guard 2nd class said to the woman as she approached. Tristan made a considerable effort to keep his face down, although the hood kept him almost hidden.

The woman handed him a transactor cartridge with a comfortable degree of poise. The guard studied it for a moment, then looked back up at the two.

"Who's your passenger, lady?" he asked.

"A bio-scholar," she replied, although by appearances it should have been obvious. The guard was being justifiably careful given the present circumstances. "He's en route to Sector 9 on behalf of Special Projects." She paused in order to determine if that was sufficient to get them by.

It wasn't. "Where are his orders?" the nosy guard asked again.

The woman impatiently pointed to the cartridge that she had handed him. "Authorized and signed," she said, sighing.

The guard gave one last scrutiny of the unusual personnel. Should he hold them for verification? They were on alert status, after all. Nah, these guys weren't heretics, he thought. Couldn't be.

He scanned the cartridge and handed it back to the woman. "You're cleared," he said, giving a lazy salute/wave gesture. "Have a good flight."

The woman gave a quick, graceful bow of "thank you," and walked with Tristan up the ship. Tristan was avoiding the guard's gaze.

"Oh, I almost forgot," the guard called out as they were almost on board. Tristan nearly froze, his heart missing a beat, at least! The woman also slowly turned, moving her hand to where she could reach her rifle, just in case.

"May His Shadow Fall Upon You!" the guard stated cheerfully. Tristan gulped, and silently repeated the phrase, thinking to himself how never before had he dreaded hearing those words as much!

***

The woman was obviously a skilled pilot, as she maneuvered her vessel away from the dock and set course for the perimeter. She relaxed considerably after take-off, letting Tristan get out of her line of sight for the first time since he became her "captive."

"Just how do you expect to clear the perimeter?" he asked from the passenger lounge as he was quickly preparing a snack from the vessel's auto-galley.

The woman made a couple of adjustments on her console, checked the "auto-pilot" relay, then got out of her seat to join Tristan in the lounge.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," she said easily, taking a seat at the table. Tristan had already taken off his disguise, and was sitting in only his tunic. The woman removed her outer vest, revealing her fine figure in a halter top. Tristan shifted his eyes a bit, not wanting the woman to notice that she had already been
noticed.

"Actually," she said, continuing while helping herself to some of Tristan's repast, "this gives us a few minutes to get those annoying, unsettling ice-breakers out of the way."

"Ice-what?" Tristan asked, confused.

The woman laughed. "They sure don't teach you much about the outside world in that House, do they 'Brother'?"

Tristan shook his head anxiously. "They teach manners at least," he said. "I still don't even know what to call you."

The woman smiled in compliance. "My name's Arcadia," she said, offering her hand. "From Ostral-B."

Tristan accepted her hand. "Ostral-B, huh? Is that where you're taking me, Heretic-Haven?"

Arcadia withdrew her gesture quickly. "I'd be careful who you call a 'Heretic,' Mr. Public Enemy Number One!" she stated angrily. She stood up again, and began moving back towards the cabin.

Tristan followed her, a little ashamed at his sarcasm. "Look," he said, apologetically. "I'm sorry. You just got me at a real hard moment. I mean, this hasn't exactly been the best day for me. One minute I'm ordaining my friend to the highest position in the Order, save His Shadow, of course, and the next I'm being surrounded by plasma fire, then bonked on the head in the dark, then accused as a heretic, and now fleing as a fugitive. Cut me a little slack here, okay?"

Arcadia sighed, then smiled sheepishly, and walked back with Tristan to the lounge. She paused next to him for a moment and touched the silver pendant hanging on a thin chain around his neck, the only jewelry he wore. She palmed it briefly, then let it drop again to his chest.

"A Junior Medal For Conspicuous Gallantry," Tristan said, anticipating the question. "I got it as an Acolyte when I was sixteen. They awarded it to me and to three others for turning in a group of heretics to the Order." He chuckled quietly and continued. "I guess it hasn't done me much good lately." He paused, with a change of reflection and said again soberly, "I guess nothing much has."

Arcadia listened, with a new interest in her associate. "You could still live up to its image, I suppose, and turn me in," she said. "I'm the only survivor from the assault on Tallyn's installation. You could return a hero instead of a traitor - set the record straight."

Tristan gazed up at her, and answered her solidly, "No, I couldn't do that. Whatever gamble you took in letting me live and helping me escape, it's paid off."

Arcadia gripped his shoulder gently, standing up as she was about to return to the pilot's seat. "It was no gamble," she explained. "I knew that you were going to work out just fine. That's why I'm taking you to Morningstar."

Tristan looked up at her. "Morningstar?" he started to ask. "But isn't that just a myth?"

Arcadia smiled back from the helm. "That's what you're going to find out, brother Tristan Rashile."

The cleric went to lay down on a cot in the cabin to catch a little sleep before reaching the perimeter. What if this was for real? he thought. What if Morningstar really did exist? And why was he just now getting the chance to see it? He closed his eyes, and drifted off to slumber.

***

Tristan awoke, this time to lighted and somewhat familiar surroundings, as Arcadia was calling him to the helm.

"We're approaching the frontier," she explained. "We'll need a clearance code. You'll find what you need at the comm station." She motioned to a seat next to hers.

Tristan sat down, reluctantly. "We'll cross that bridge, huh?" he said, remindingly. He glanced at the unfamiliar design. "Why can't you give the code?" he asked his pilot.

"Because I'll be keeping my hands glued to the helm in case we need to run," Arcadia answered.

Tristan sighed as he activated the comm panel, and checked for the clearance code. Pirated, of course. He nervously began setting the sequence as the vessel loomed closer and closer to the frontier station, and the ominous Foreshadow lurking nearby.

The station master came on screen within the expected range. "Escort-class vessel, we have you on our screen," the officer said. "Please provide clearance code."

Tristan went to work entering the code. Arcadia made some adjustments to the helm, looking as if she was entering some kind of strange coordinates into her nav-comp.

Tristan sent the code through. Although it seemed like ages, only seconds passed before the reply came in.

"Pilot of Escort-class vessel," the officer said, "your code is outdated, and therefore invalid. Please respond by presenting a current voucher or direct transcript of orders. Failure to comply will result in immediate destruction of your vessel on the orders of His Divine Shadow, Interstellar Traffic Code, section 48."

Tristan hesitated, then turned to Arcadia. "What do I do now?" he asked.

"Hold on tight," she replied, pushing a series of buttons on the nav-comp and defensive array, and applying thrust.

The small ship buckled, then phase-jumped past the perimeter, the station, and Foreshadow. Tristan felt as if his stomach had somehow been separated from his torso, and was floating behind in space-normal.

"New technology," Arcadia explained. "Experimental, but we figured it would be our only chance of escape past the frontier." She re-settled her figure back into the helm chair comfortably.

Tristan was still in shock. "What in the world happened?" he asked.

"We phase-jumped," Arcadia stated. "It's a blend of propulsion and phasing technology, very new and quite honestly unstable. We could have been phased out of existence, but as it turns out, we're now on our way to Morningstar." She made it sound as if she did something like this every day. Tristan wasn't sure if he was beginning to like Arcadia, or if she just really scared the hell out of him!

***

As it turned out, Morningstar wasn't really a planet at all. It was the only natural satellite of a lifeless world in the Bemmy system. The moon, however, was lush, beautiful, full of resources, and also naturally shielded. It had a peculiar orbit around Bemmy 7, so peculiar that harmless radiation from a binary star, coupled with the planet's gravitational pull, made Morningstar invisible to scanners, and elusive to the naked eye. It was a likely candidate for a concealed outpost, as the Bemmy system was uncharted and unexplored by the League.

Tristan was quickly introduced to the leaders of Morningstar, and given his orientation.

"The brethren of Morningstar are all former clerics of the Divine Order," the Magistrate said. His name was brother Soren, an outcast who had disappeared from the Cluster nearly a decade earlier.

"Some of us have been publically branded, and could never return to the Cluster in sight, or risk death," he continued. "But some are still in good standing, either on sabbatical (their TRUE location unknown, obviously), or engaged in His Shadow's affairs removed from the League's immediate supervision, and working for us undercover, so to speak."

"Several citizens of Ostral-B are also here," Soren said. "Arcadia is one. They do a lot of our work which requires transit, often at their own risk, I might add."

"The question is, Tristan, are you willing to devote yourself to our cause, and if so, would you be willing to give your life in service to Morningstar, even if it meant never returning to the Cluster again?" Arcadia asked, interjecting on the Magistrate's behalf.

Tristan wasn't honestly sure how he would answer up to this point. He had struggled with the decision to challenge the Order's ways for the past seven years. He had used his position among the clerics to quietly explore his own agenda, especially as a teacher of younger minds. But that time was past. He could no longer be a silent rebel. He had past the point of no return. What could he do?

"You know, brother," the young cleric began, drawing near to Soren's side, "I once told a student of mine that our faith in His Shadow's doctrine depended on how we perceived Light and Darkness." He paused in order to give a long, steady look at Arcadia. "It occurred to me some years back that what I perceived to be Light was in fact great darkness, and what I perceived to be darkness was in fact the True Light. Perhaps I better understand the distinction now."

Tristan Rashile, heretic and exiled cleric, began walking with Soren and Arcadia toward the commons where above, on the horizon, a new dawn from Bemmy's sun was making its appearance, greeting the brethren with a new day. He held Arcadia's hand in his own and said to his fellow disciples, "at Morningstar, I have found Light, and I will serve it to bring a new and better order to the universe!"

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