The Pontiff got up from his desk and approached the window, looking through it. His office room was soundproofed from the outside, but he could imagine the sound of the sandstorm unfolding in full force, scratching the reinforced glass of the dome that covered the palace. The furious sand cloud stirred like a large flock of wasps, and practically blocked the light from the yellow dwarf. He watched this show of power of Pygar's meteorology for a while, and then sat down in a nearby armchair, where he removed a cigarette from a silver cigarette case and lit it with a lighter.
The Pontiff was nervous. He had not slept well for weeks, since events pointed to a new armed conflict in Theta. The community had barely managed to get the settlement up and running in these years, and just when everything was starting to work... Once again everything was in danger of collapsing. His people trusted him. He was the chosen one of Deux to guide them, to take them to a better universe, or at least, that was what the Sacred Codex said. The Pontiff firmly believed that this was the case, but sometimes, and only sometimes, he doubted his own ability to carry out all that was expected of him. After all, Deux was a supreme entity, but he was only a man.
The Pontiff now called himself Gregorious. It was his name as head of the Church, but long ago he was simply Allister MacGowan. He had joined the Church almost from the moment of its creation as one of the followers of Magister Yuri Orlov, a man who had quickly become the right-hand man of Pontiff Paolus. And now he, Allister, was the Pontiff. Sometimes it was almost dizzying just thinking about it.
Gregorious finished his cigarette and put it out in the iridium ashtray on a nearby table. Afterwards, he got up and returned to his desk.
He had to clear his head, not allow himself moments of weakness, not even when no one could see him. If Deux had chosen him, it was undoubtedly because it had to be... That's how it should be, right...?
A voice rang through the transmitter on his table. It was the voice of his assistant, who was sitting at his table on the other side of the office door.
-Your Holiness, Magister Orlov wishes to see you.
-Let him come in, John. -said the Pontiff.
A Pontifical Guard in full armor opened the door and let Orlov in, who passed without looking at him. Gregorius stood up as the Magister approached and walked around the desk. When he came before him, Orlov got down on one knee and kissed his ring. Then, after a gesture from the Pontiff, he stood up again.
-Your Holiness, Monsignor Richelieu has informed us that the shipment of weapons that we requested for the new militia has arrived on the planet. Richelieu's men are preparing to bring him to the settlement.
Gregorius nodded thoughtfully.
-Good, Yuri, I guess that's good news. -he said- I hope that the idea of the militia will serve to maintain order and security in the settlement and on the planet, if necessary.
Orlov smiled, with some malice.
-Oh, Your Holiness, I think they will be useful for much more than that. The Field Maestre's idea is to train them as guerrillas, not as regular soldiers, like the Guard. The Field Maestre will explain to you in a more technical way what the strategies are in case of an invasion by the cretans, but he's confident that we could give them many, many problems if they deploy troops on the surface.
The Pontiff nodded again. Afterwards, he sat back down behind his desk, and looked directly at the Magister.
-Yuri, do you think we're doing the right thing? I mean, do you think we should risk the lives of our people like this?. -the Pontiff lightly ran his hand over his tired eyes- I know His Holiness Paolus would never have done something like that. He would have put the lives of our settlers first, before any struggle. I've disagreed with that way of acting since it happened, but now that I'm responsible for all those people, I'm starting to have doubts.
Orlov walked to the bar cabinet and grabbed two glasses. Then he took one of the pourers and filled both with an amber liquid, it gave off a sweet and alcoholic smell. He took the glasses and carried them to the desk, offering one to Gregorius, and took a seat in the chair opposite the Pontiff. For a few seconds both of them said nothing, while they tasted the liquor. Then Orlov spoke:
-Allister, I'm not surprised that you have doubts. We all have doubts at some point, and those who don't have them are because they are stupid. What we cannot do is let those doubts paralyze us. -The Magister put the glass aside and stared at the Pontiff- That's exactly what happened to Paolus. He was not a bad man, nor was he a coward. He was the chosen one of Our Lord, damn it! Deux appeared to him when he was in cryostasis, you know that well. We are talking about the fact that He personally chose him to found our Church and guide the believers... and yet in the end he failed us all, including Deux.
Orlov smiled again and opened his hands.
-What I want to say is that I understand that you have your doubts, because I understand you feel on your shoulders the weight of responsibility for the lives of all the people who trust you to survive. When the invasion of Freeport 9 happened, you were the first to punch the table in anger, and you immediately wanted to talk to other zoner groups to do something. You said, "This is inadmissible! It cannot be tolerated!", but now that the possibility of having a confrontation with the Corsair becomes more real, you begin to be afraid. Not for you, I know, but for our colonists, whose lives will be in danger once again, only now under your command.
The Magister stood up and walked over to the window as he let Gregorius take in what he was telling him. As the head of the Church had previously done, he watched the storm intently. The silence lasted so long that the Pontiff was about to say something, when Orlov, without turning around, spoke again.
-I will tell you with absolute sincerity. Paolus was never afraid of himself either. Everything he did, what he caused, was for his community, for his people. He didn't want to lose anyone, he didn't want to hurt anyone, and he ended up hurting them all. We fled Gran Canaria at full speed, to prevent our followers from being harmed. But you know what? many also died because they were left behind as there was not room for everyone in the transports. In the only two transportations we had left after years of isolation, caused by his fear. And those of us who could fled, left behind our beloved paradise, our villas and beautiful gardens, and settled on this damned sterile rock that seems to want to spit us into space every time we try to give it some life.
Orlov turned sharply, his eyes blazing, and began to slowly approach the desk.
-But we persevere, you know this well because I 've seen you roll up your sleeves and handle a rock drill when necessary. And now that we're starting to have a place to call home again, they're coming to take it away from us, one more time! What good was it to avoid the fight, if the fight haunts us once again, Allister? Don't you realize that it is precisely this fight that we have to confront by the Sacred Mandate of Our Lord?!
The Magister accompanied his last shout with a punch on the desk that made the glasses rattle. Gregorius jumped to his feet, his face changed, his eyes narrowed in anger.
-Magister Orlov, -he said, with a thread of voice sharp as a saber- remember who you are speaking to, and what your place is. You may have been my mentor, but don't dare to challenge my authority, because it's Sacred.
Orlov slowly stood up and smiled, without a single trace of the previous emotion on his face.
-Indeed, Your Holiness, now I see again the chosen one of Deux, who doesn't hesitate to confront those who challenge him, because he doesn't doubt his authority. Because it's an authority granted by Deux.
Orlov approached the Pontiff and put his hand on his shoulder, affectionately, and looked at him like a father looks at a son.
-I know it may seem difficult, but all concerns disappear when we simply concentrate on following the Path that Deux sets out for us. He wants us to unite mankind to fight the Nomad threat, but there are people who don't want to act with unity, and what's more, they attack those who are already united. We can try to convince them, but many don't want to be convinced, and will continue to try to destroy and corrupt everything good that exists in this universe. They will attack us, they will assault us, they will want us to renounce our Sacred Mission to satisfy their absurd desires for power. We cannot allow it, we cannot always flee, we must confront them and that will cost lives, yes. But if we allow disunity to triumph, it won't matter how many lives have we been able to save, because we will all die when the Nomad avalanche hits with all its power and there is no one to defend.
The Magister bowed to Gregorius, and kissed her ring again. Then he headed toward the door, but before arriving he turned once more.
-You must stop thinking so much about the colonists, and their well-being, and think more about complying with the Mandate of Deux. When you start doing so, you will discover that the more you fulfill the designs of Our Lord, the more you are doing for the lives of our people, and also for those who don't believe in the Faith, but whom we must also protect. In moments of doubt, don't think what Paolus would do. Think what Deux wants from you, and fulfill it.
When Gregorius found himself alone again, he stood motionless for several minutes, thinking.
The Magister was a legend within the Church, he had been Paolus's right-hand man, and also his greatest detractor when the weakness of the previous Pontiff almost destroyed everything created with so much work. He was a passionate man, deeply believing, and totally dedicated to the Sacred Cause. Perhaps Orlov would have been a much better Pontiff than himself...
Gregorius forced the thought out of his head, almost violently. No, that was enough! If Deux had wanted Orlov to be the Pontiff, he would be now, and that was something Orlov himself would have told him. From now on, he would follow the advice of his former mentor, and stop thinking about things so much. Faced with problems, only one question would be asked: What does Deux want?
He drained the last of the liquor in his glass in one gulp, and headed towards the office door. He would request a car to take him to the Guard barracks and would supervise the start of militia training along with the Field Maestre.
Martin got out of the official car in which he had arrived, an old industrial model, the guard was not what it was and everything that fell into his hands was used, no matter how out of place or inappropriate for his rank of Field Maestre of the guard.
The weak sun of Omicron Theta began to shine through the dome and the chaotic and hurricane-like weather outside.
His assistant waited in a standing position holding the door, his impeccable uniform, ironed and ornamented, contrasted with that of the figure waiting for him ahead.
"At his command, Maestre!" said the man, standing at attention, "Lieutenant Colonel Ben Padilla, sir!"
He was overweight, around 60 years old, and his mismatched and worn uniform from years of use only increased the difference between him and his Master dressed in the traditional power armor, with the red sash and the baton, both insignia of his position.
"Rest," he said, waving his cane and without stopping walking, "are the recruits in formation?"
"The volunteers lack experience and discipline, but they make up for it with will and enthusiasm, we will turn them into excellent soldiers Sir, as your father said, we will mold them until they bleed discipline"
"Follow me, they are waiting for you sir," he said as he began to walk and grabbed his cajon hands. "Sir, I must tell you that it is an honor to have you here, you are the living image of his father, I served under his command, an exceptional man if you allow me to say it"
"You have already given permission yourself, Colonel, and yes, many served under his command and they all say the same thing," he responded in a sharp tone.
Again the same refrain, that he was indeed a great man, that he was a severe but close leader, a great soldier... soldiers do not flee.
They continued walking without exchanging another word and soon they reached an improvised platform on the side of the training field, in front of which were the volunteers who would form the 1st Faith Haven Rangers Battalion.
Their appearance was anything but soldiers, their uniforms seemed to be sewn with different patterns, many were too big or too small, and the faces of the men and women present showed that despite trying, they were not even able to maintain a closed order as they did. Deux commands, and even less standing at attention as expected of a true soldier.
Martin, standing on the improvised lectern, looked harshly at the group in front of him, his valet stood aside and Colonel Padilla stood below and in front of the platform.
His cold blue eyes scanned the front rows as silence spread across the field like a pond of oil.
Taking a deep breath he began with a modulated voice to give speeches.
"Men and women of the 1st Faith Haven battalion, the task at hand will not be easy, the future may hold a long and costly war.
The tools for it have already arrived and will be distributed as soon as possible.
If Deux wants it that way, there will be no combat and all the precautions taken will be unnecessary but you are all volunteers, you all know what is expected of you and as the volunteers that you are I will tell you the truth.
If the barbarians land on the planet they will do so with overwhelming force, do not expect a war like the one with the holotapes, there will be no fronts, the entire planet will be the front! There will be no rear guard or evacuation, if we lose orbit there will be no reinforcements or rescue... But you will not be alone, look at the men and women around you, they will be your family, take care of them and they will take care of you, give them trust. that a comrade in arms deserves and you will never be alone, keep them alive, without heroism or seeking glory, surviving to continue fighting will be the norm.
You will not be trained as regular soldiers, you will be trained as guerrillas, hit fast, hit hard and retreat to start again, that requires intelligence, requires agility and requires the will to resist, without faltering, for as long as necessary until the enemy bleeds from the thousand wounds that you will inflict on him.
Many will die, many will suffer wounds, but you will continue to fight, wherever and however it may, without giving up for a moment in the effort and in the belief that victory is not only possible, but necessary.
Many of you have already experienced this, when the Bretons invaded Gran Canaria we did not resist, we packed up and left, this time it will not be the same! This time we will fight! This time we will win! Never again a Gran Canaria!" he said, raising her voice almost to a scream.
The smiles and hopeful eyes of the crowd were replaced by faces of cold and somber determination, the memory of Gran Canaria, although distant, was still fresh and the wound had not healed.
Gran Canaria, that was the beginning and the end of everything, after that his father left with the best of the guard to an incomprehensible exile, leaving his people behind, he was not the man who had raised him, he was a pale shadow and thin of the man everyone remembers with pride, Martin knew the truth, his father was not worthy of such praise.
After the words, silence spread across the field again, only the rustling of the wind on the dome generated by a growing storm of dust could be heard.
"I... -Martin lowered his voice to a whisper- I.... I have made my decision".
"And I will be by your side!" He said, raising his voice.
"When the time comes, I will not take a ship and leave the planet!"
"I will share your joys and your hardships!"
"I will not surrender to despair or death!"
"I will not abandon you!"
"On this planet I have dug my grave!"
"And I will only leave here with victory in my hand or in the hands of Deux our lord!" he said raising a gloved fist.
Colonel Padilla took a step forward and shouted.
"Battalion!, in life or in death!"
"We serve!" the crowd shouted in unison.
With a slight smile, as the future soldiers cheered and shouted the battalion motto, Martin, again whispering, said.
