It was the holiest spaceship in the Empire, and he was the most pious baboon. Even if he'd been given to selfish hopes, he'd not have dreamed his life would have led him this high: to have become a cardinal was unthinkable enough, but to be granted an audience with the Papio himself? It was impossible, but it was happening anyway— in the way all the best miracles did.
Since he'd arrived on the Vaticus, Cardinal Bless had been humbled by even the most minor members of the ship's crew. He knew what it was to feel small, of course, just like anyone who dimly understood the Lord, but he couldn't remember feeling so inadequate when seen against a fellow baboon. He'd studied Christian thought to the highest level, but these people seemed to embody it, to make the Word of God real through the acts of baboon. But the awe he'd felt at them shrank to nothing as he approached the Papio's chambers.
Everything melted away as he entered the great gold doors. There must have been scores of soldiers and bodyguards in that room, but to Bless it seemed only two people were present. There was him, and there was God's representative in the universe. For a moment that was all there was, and that was the only thing that mattered.
The Papio gave his full attention to Bless, his submissive pose somehow utterly dominating the room.
"Cardinal," said the Papio. "Blessed by name, and blessed by nature! I do think what we're called has an influence on our calling. But what the Primature's asking you to do— well, there are those who'd say it wasn't blessed at all."
"It's a righteous cause," said Bless unflinchingly. "All lives are precious in the eyes of God, of course. Even his. But the Lord is not endlessly forgiving. And his actions, his works… I see why they're worthy of His judgement."
"We've lost so many to that man's teachings," said the Papio. "It's almost no matter if they venerate or shun him! They all turn from the Lord in the end. But the Lord's followers, of course," he snarled, "are graced with a great many teeth."
The Papio yawned in exactly the right way to bare his canines to everyone in the room.
"Our church has always had her military wing," he continued. "Her assassins in the shadows. Not following our Lord's more recent practice, perhaps, but still essential to His design. And the one you are to assassinate has fallen further than most."
Above the two baboons, a hologram of a face sputtered to life. The technology was ancient – like everything else on the Vaticus – but the strange shape of a man's face could still be seen in its light. The cardinal shuddered at the sight of it, unable to help himself. If you exercised your imagination, you might see how that face resembled a baboon's— but to do so would feel utterly repulsive. The man's skin was meat-pink and his teeth were slight; grey hair sprouted from his head in places you wouldn't expect.
The Cardinal shuddered, against his better instincts. He knew ugliness was no marker of sin; there was no connection between the awfulness of the man's appearance and crimes. But the ugliness would make it easier, he knew, when the time came to end his life.
"We have new information about our target," said the Papio. "Our sources say that he's changed, more than we ever thought possible. You might find he is not what you had expected. You might not even recognise him."
"It makes no difference," said the Cardinal. "A man can change in a thousand ways, but the only one that matters is submission to the Lord. And that, I fear, is a path that may be closed to him."
"Then you must stand firm, however you find him," said the Papio. "Do what you must— and bring me his head."
"I shall," whispered the cardinal.
"Bring me his head!" repeated the Palio. "Whatever he says, and whatever he pleads! Bring me the head," he cried, "of Professor Charles Darwin."