Outcasts
9.0 Gendou II
Sister Akagi Ritsuko was glad to be finished with the black habit and headdress. As a member of the Order of Curie, she still had to dress conservatively. She wore a modest black kimono with a narrow white collar and charcoal sash. Her dark hair was cut to shoulder length. Wearing the habit and headdress was not safe in Nippon. Some memories ran long, especially in near farms where many grandfathers had died. Some believed that the coming of the Church had been an affront with the Son of Heaven, then in Kyoto, and had sparked the civil war.
This was her first time in the stone corridors beneath the old fortress. She walked under a harsh pool of anabaric light. Her shadow lay as a dark band to her left flank by a pair of smoke colored sisters. Another pool of light lay ahead and another lay behind her. The wiring hung exposed along the walls and the softly buzzing bulb was hooded with sheet metal. The air was musty. Her footsteps hung in the still and quiet air. Her gray cat daemon gingerly walked along side of her. He wrinkled his nose at the dust coated floor.
She had wandered the empty hallways for a time before she heard a pair of familiar echoing voices. One was the intense and husky. It did not speak so much as state and declare ironclad phrases. The other was dignified and reminded Ritsuko of a well worn book. The two men paused in the hallway for her under the harsh light. Ikari Gendou was a stood tall and square. His cobra daemon wrapped around his upper body. It flicked its tongue in the air. Fuyutski resembled a professor with his iron and silver hair and refined mien.
"Father Ikari, Father Fuyutski," Ritsuko greeting them with an incline of her head.
"Sister Akagi," Fuyutski replied. Gendou merely nodded.
The men continued their walk and Ritsuko matched them stride for stride.
"Were you well recieved in Manila?" Fuyutski asked.
"Yes," Ritsuko replied. "My refinement for rating the efficiency of numerical computation on Babbage Engines was not controversial or particularly interesting."
"Even in experimental theology there are dogmas and politics we must contend with," Fuyutski said.
"More like skirt around," Ritsuko said. "I have checked with the Northern Shipyard. The Quince and the Cormorant are on schedule and within budget. The quality of the laborers have turned out better than expected. The training program implemented by Brother Makoto was quite successful."
"Good," Gendou said.
Quiet white wings flapped past them in the corridor. An owl daemon flew past them and landed on a distant unused iron sconce. The air grew fresher and Ritsuko looked overhead to see a metal duct hung into the ancient ceiling. The ventilation gave the rushing noise that confined wind makes.
A pair of green uniformed and jack-booted soldiers waited at the end of the corridor. They lowered their bayonet mounted rifles for a moment before raising them to their shoulders. The young men and their canine daemons stood at attention. They snapped a stiff salute. Gendou acknowledged them with the barest nod, and the soldiers lowered their hands. Gendou and Fuyutski approached one of the walls and claimed heavy and drab wool cloaks from the pegs. Sister Akagi followed suit. The soldiers heaved the doors open. Chilled mist poured through the open doorway.
Fuyutski's owl daemon flew into the cavernous chamber and perched on the railing of a raised platform of riveted steel. Ikari Gendou paused for a moment to wipe the fog from his glasses. Five house sized machines dominated the room. The rest of the room was infested with pipes and wiring. Mist hissed intermittently from the pipes, and the hum of anabaric power vibrated the air.
One large device sat in front of the platform. The other four were placed two to each side of the space between the first machine and the platform. Each machine was mass of struts, riveted steel, and a convoluted mass of piping. At the center of each machine was a great convex lens made of an alien mating of steel and glass. Trumpet shaped pipes projected out from each machine.
They ascended to two steps to the platform with clanging steps. The structure was rectangular on three sides and curved where it faced the assembled machines. A waist high railing was mounted on three sides. There was enough room for twenty more to stand comfortably.
The anabaric hum became a purr. A mechanical whirling sound drew Ritsuko's attention to above the platform. Several black boxes with smaller glass-steel lenses shifted on articulate arms to aim at the three. An array of brass trumpets also shifted. Flood lights snapped on, causing Ritsuko to wince. Fuyutski gently cleared his throat and Ritsuko turned her attention back to the lenses.
A fingertip of light appeared at the center of each lens and expanded like liquid vortices running in reverse, up a drain.
The images were grainy and gray. The first machine showed a powerfully built man sitting at a desk. His advanced age was evident in his wrinkles, discolored patches of skin, and white hair. He wore a slotted visor over his eyes. A large raven daemon perched behind him on his chair. The other four images wereof men shrouded in darkness and shadow. From their profiles, Ritsuko saw that they were foreigners.
"Your excellency," Gendou said with an incline of his head. Fuyutski and Akagi bent their waists to the virtual assembly.
"The time is nearing," the visored man intoned in his granite baritone, which projected with a metallic tone into the chamber. "How is the schedule?"
"The vehicles for the expedition are on schedule," Gendou replied confidently. "The supplies are being assembled and the crew has been prepared. Lord Horaki has consented for us to use his name for the expedition. It is all going to plan, Pope Lorenz."
"Care must be taken not to be noticed," a nasal voice interjected from Father Ikari's left. "If the Court notices us, it could cause complications."
"Caution has been exercised," Father Ikari answered.
"A ship yard. A pratical man heading a quixotic mission. A castle next to a river producing hundreds of kilowatts of anabaric power, how have you hidden this?" a rough voice demanded from the right.
"Nippon is a large place," the Ikari replied. "Lord Horaki is known for his interest in experimental theology, especially after his wife's death."
"Money, time, man hours all poured into an insignificant diocese," a deep voice said from the far right. "We know where it is and what it is. We should secure it."
"We know your views," the visored man replied to the last speaker. "We must take into account Asrael's presence. He too is interested in Northern Eurasia. He is not just another disgruntled man. Only the Authoriy fully knows his role."
The deep voice spoke again. "One of our agents is headed to Tokyo from Manila. He will assist you."
"We will carefully review your request for more funds," the nasal voice said.
"Your role is critical, Father Ikari," the visored man warned. "Do not fail us."
"Failure is not an option," a fifth voice warned. "The Authority watches us and we shall watch you."
"Thank you for your presence," the nasal voice said.
The five lenses switched to the black lines of the sephiroth on a newspaper shade background.
"So that is the committee," Sister Akagi said finally.
"Yes, and that was our third meeting," Fuyutski responded. "So, do we call his excellency Pope Lorenz III, Lorenz II, or Anti-Pope Lorenz II?"
"There is only one," Ikari answered.
"I find that hard to believe that after 115 years," Fuyutski said. "Also, wasn't Lorenz I's daemon a canine? The Anti Pope's was a drake."
"Nevertheless Fuyutski, there remains one Lorenz Kiel, there has only been one Kiel," Ikari Gendou stated.
9.75 Misato's Memories
The weather in and around Edo had been unusually wet, but also unusually warm for that time year. A pair of heat spells had managed to fool several insects into crawling from their winter shelters.
While listening to the false summer sounds, Katsuragi Misato sat at the wooden dresser with her back to the dim room. A gaslight burned steadily nearby. Her reflection looked back at her and saw a nearly thirty-year old woman. Tonight, she felt every year distinctly and heavily. She looked at the faded photogram of the woman and two children. She took a sip of green tea and placed the cup back on its coaster. She took a puff from her cigarette holder and placed the scented tobacco back on its ash tray. Beside the photogram were her make-up, perfumes, and small leatherbound volume. The pages were yellow with age.
"Old memories," she said to herself.
She looked again at the open letter. It had been folded and creased in exact thirds; the folds ran length wise. The handwriting was impeccable. The characters were
soldiered from top to bottom and neatly furrowed from right to left. Sakura had had an unusual tightness around her eyes when she handed Misato the envelope. The
young woman had bowed stiffly afterwards. It bore the dark red Church seal. In the lighting, the melted wax resembled a lump of congealed blood.
To Katsuragi Misato,
It has been a while. I now serve the Nipponese Diocese as a member of the Order of Curie, which specializes in experimental theology. We should meet to have a drink sometime.
This is not an entirely social message. I am also writing to you to ask if you would be willing to share some knowledge concerning your late honored father's expeditions to Antartica and the Yucatan Peninsula in Mextique. We believe that his observations may be invaluable to our research into elementary particles.
Also, I believe that my superiors would be interested in employing you and your associates. If you would consent to meet with me in the near future, please write me back
at your earliest convenience.
Very truly yours,
Sister Akagi Ritsuko
The seminary. Misato grimaced at that memory; she did not remember the Mother Superior fondly. It had been an awkward time and place for the fifteen year old. The good times had been spent with a brilliant, but withdrawn girl, Akagi Ritsuko. They had rolled their first cigarettes and stolen sips of sake together during the six short months there. Actually, it had been Misato who had been the first of the two who smoked and drank.
Ritsuko had written intermitently over the years. Misato would not have minded seeing her schoolmate again, but she did not know what to make of the request about her father's so-called work. The subject had come up once before, when they first met.. Honored was another word she did not use in the same sentence. She tapped the refolded letter against her lower lip for a few seconds while listening to the cricket chirps outside. Her idle fingers picked up the cigarette for another puff. She put down the smoking tobacco and pulled out her ink, brush, and paper to compose a suitable response.
