Fractured Earth

Chapter 2

It was several days later when the trader Nofis Lovt and his escort, the serpentine Deacon Kaiss, returned to the Missionary camp. The hand-wagon that had been tightly packed with little more than frippery when the pair had left was now stocked with equally meretricious junk from the Nyis villagers. Still, Bishop Voris had to show something for his endeavours, and some vainglorious idiot somewhere would pay well to have one of the native’s pieces of pottery on display in their opulent quarters where they could boast about how remarkable it all was that the backwards mud-dwellers could produce art.

What Kaiss brought back with him was far more worthwhile. A handful of villagers; a ragtag bunch of gormless halfwits who, the Bishop suspected, had left to find purpose with the Missionary because they had no purpose back at home. How pathetic; not even being able to turn their hands to a simple peasant’s life. Oh well – they’d assign them some menial tasks and pay them a fraction of what the clergy earned and they’d still be happy with it.

“Join me for a quiet supper?” Bishop Voris asked the Deacon when the new recruits had been sent to their new quarters.

“As you wish, My Lord,” the Deacon bowed courteously. It wasn’t the full floor-hugging prostration that his rank demanded, but even so Deacon Kaiss managed to satisfy the Bishop’s demand for respect much more than Deacon

Ghas with his scrambling, sweating, infinitely irritating supine abomination.

They walked together to the periphery of the camp, where Bishop Voris’s grandiose canvas quarters were situated – intentionally away from the main bustle of the compound, on the quiet edges where quiet conversations could be carried out with more privacy. Food had already been ordered, and awaited them on a fully laid table at the centre of the main room. If there were any waiting staff present, they were being discreet, the Bishop noted approvingly.

“So,” the Bishop began as he watched Kaiss arrange his napkin across his lap in a fashion much similar to his own. “Do you think we will find many recruits at Nyis?”

“I believe our rewards from the village will be bountiful,” Deacon Kaiss purred. “The village is untouched by Off-Worlder presence save for vague rumours from the outlying towns. We are the first to make direct contact. The villagers lead simple lives and are easily distracted by even the smallest demonstrations of our advanced capabilities. I do not foresee any problem with acquiring a sizable amount of their population as Missionary Initiates.

He had always liked Kaiss. The man was direct, forward and concise. Far more appealing than blathering blubberous Deacon Ghas. It was a shame that he could not request a transfer of his own personal Deacon and take Kaiss in his stead, but even a Bishop had to play by the rules. Especially Bishop Voris, one of the few granted command over a terran mission to bring the Missionary’s good word to the Old Earthers so that they, too, may be blessed by the truth and light.

“The village elder was not opposed to some of his flock fleeing the nest?”

“On the contrary,” Deacon Kaiss delicately sliced his seared calf flank into neat, bite-sized pieces as he responded; “He was most unfazed. Apparently the growth of the surrounding towns has left people short of work, and the clay pit at Nyis can handle far more than currently attend the quarry. Those who leave will be fast replaced.”

“I see. How fortuitous. I assume you are amenable to continuing operations at the village?”

The Deacon finished chewing his morsel, swallowed quietly, and dabbed at his thin, pursed lips with the napkin before replying in time; “Perfectly amenable, My Lord. I await your further instruction.”

Voris’s lips curled a satisfied smile. “Rest here a two-day; let’s not overwhelm the poor barbarians. Return with two or three more Deacons of your choosing and five burro laden with food. Let them feast at our expense. I trust you to follow procedure from there.”