Grace Within Fire

Who would think dreaming of a remote, self-sufficient colony would be so much damn work. We were all brought in for one or two specialties. Most of us wound up becoming jacks of all the trades. But it worked, the colony was able to continue on despite the dwindling amount of supplies from our mother country. There was talk of expansion. The more realistic among us talked of increasing stores and emergency supplies first.

There were many religions and faiths represented by our makeup. Some appreciated this, some did not. The conditions of the colony often meant one practitioner would wind up in close quarters with someone they considered unclean. Or worse, fallen & irredeemable.

I had been quiet about my life before coming to the colony. I knew the trip was one way, and felt solaced by leaving behind much pain and regret. All the colonists knew of me, was I considered my past erased, I played poker better than most, and I could turn the meat substitute into something that was palatable. A few did catch me with tarot cards and freaked out about it. When they realized I wasn’t going to be vocal (read: in their face) about my faith, they relegated that information to “quirk” status.

The second to last shipment from the mother country deposited more than oil and seeds. A virulent virus swept through the unvaccinated colony. (The shipment of vaccines kept being postponed. Heavily rationed back in the mother country.) There were too few able bodied to care for the sick and keep up on maintenance. We appealed for help.

The help arrived last week. An insufficient quantity of expired vaccines. A directive to stop building an emergency cache and start sending all surplus back to the mother country. Volunteer “experts” to rebuild our numbers, and to ensure we pay our tithes.

Yes. Tithes.

I had recovered from the virus unusually quick. So fast, Medical had me donating a few vials of blood every three days in an attempt to home brew an effective vaccine, and to deliver an emergency shot of antibody loaded blood to the most ill. Being O+, all in the colony could receive a transfusion direct from me. (No Rh negative colonists.) In unofficial thanks, an unwritten decision was made to give me a double ration of protein every day. I didn’t think it fair at first, but I quickly understood why.

The new colonists, placed in supervisor and managerial positions by directive of the mother colony, took offense at the practice that was saving the colony. It wasn’t following any approved medical procedure. There was much yelling in Medical, with the attending doctor threatening to shank anyone that approached the refrigerator that held my blood samples.

Some of them looked familiar to me, but I didn’t stop to dwell on it much. I had no time to. The demands on the hydroponics grew 50% with the new colonists arrival. The water filtration system was down again because someone (probably new to the colony) poured waste oil in the toilet. And the very ground under the colony was Not Happy with the arrivals.

There was a colonist, arriving before I did, that recognized me at once the day I arrived several years ago. Bernadette. An Eldress in the Church of the Patronai Mysteries. Last I saw her in the mother country, she was condemning me for my sins against our then shared faith. Her vitriol and toxic betrayals of my secrets given to her in holy confidence wounded me more than any physical weapon could. To see her again, to know I would not be able to escape this time, almost pushed me into suicide.

To my surprise, she walked up to me and said, “That was before. This is now. There is nothing between us except what we choose to build.”. Her eyes carried a deep pain. After that moment, we were fellow colonists, with no grudge between us.

“Be guarded. I heard word of the Patronai becoming the state religion. Most of these new colonists are Patronian, and of a particularly rigid caste version at that.” Bernadette was helping me clean out the solidified waste oil from the filters. “These are worse than you remember. Where those others were content to beat you, these will kill us and call it holy duty.”

Everyday was a new change to the balanced structure we had built for ourselves. First to go was religious tolerance. The Patronian supervisors would destroy the work of others of different faiths and count it against them. They used these false demerits to deprive colonists of their full due of rations. But when the food was tallied for the day, the demerited amount was found eaten. By the Patronian supervisors, claimed as an extra bonus to themselves for dealing with such lazy and inefficient workers. As they physically outnumbered able bodied colonists, there wasn’t much that could be done. Bernadette was arriving to shift work with bruises on her face. Her past had been uncovered and the Patronians were trying to force her back into the faith.

The doctor worked hard to find a way to replicate my antibodies. He was able to do so, but the vaccine’s shelf life was 48 hours at the most. He would not be able to stockpile it. However, the vaccine did not need to be injected. It could be taken orally. He made the largest batch possible and snuck it to Food Services. The workers there heard his plan, and surreptitiously added it to all flavored fluid drinks. Powdered milk, coffee, and tea. The entire colony received a large dose of vaccine within 8 hours. By the next day, everyone had as least three doses. The Patronian supervisors were then told he had created the vaccine, after everyone had been dosed. They ordered him to give the vaccine only to those on their approved list. A list, that was mostly empty. He verbally agreed to abide by the list, but spread the list among the original colonists. In a week, most of the ill had recovered enough to return to duties. But most of the original colonists continued feigning illness. Until enough of their number had recovered to make a swift action against the Patronians that were attempting to turn the colony into a religious commune.

The mutiny was quick and mostly bloodless. We would no longer be a daughter colony. Our numbers restored, we declared our independence. We sent those loyal to the mother country back with the remaining supply ships. We changed locks, digital & physical. We returned to our ways before the virus hit.

Most considered that to be the end of the troubles. Those of us with first hand knowledge of the Patronians knew better. They would kill a person than allow them to leave apostate. We were wary. We were free of the mother country, but vocal Patronians remained. And they were very vocal about their opinions of how other faiths were dragging down the colony’s success.

But things soon quieted down again and the regular patterns of frontier life flowed. The talk was only talk and everyone banged tables and shouted and argued when we gathered for eating. But when it came time for work, the work was done with mutual respect and ungrudged labor.

Until…

“Someone ransacked your bunk!” The words didn’t make sense to me. Why would anyone do that? I had no gold or jewels. The only items of value were my… My tarot decks! I ran to the room I shared with three others. Their storage had only been opened and poked through. Mine was opened and the contents thrown about the room. My pillow had been cut with something sharp and nails & feces stuffed inside. The blankets were ripped to useless shreds. My locker was busted open. The words “Unclean”, “Whore”, “Demoniac”, and “Fallen” were carved in plainly visible letters on every hard surfaced item that was mine. My clothes were piled into a heap in the middle of the room and pissed on.

Just like old times, back in the mother country.

One of my roommates was in the room when it happened. She was now sitting in the hallway, clutching her pillow to herself, visibly traumatized. “It was three of them. Two were men, for sure. They didn’t see me switch pillows. I don’t know why I did. They were screaming at me that we were in an unholy relationship and I had to obey them or I would be killed too!” Security told her to not say anything there but to give a statement in private.

“THAT’S WHAT THEY WANT! They want us afraid! They want us suspicious! They want us to hide and shit! I’m not even religious! I don’t give a fuck about gods! But they were going to slit my throat if I said anything other that ‘Praise The Three’! I WILL NOT BE QUIET! Fuck the Patronai and the cowards that act in their name!”

A few gasps were heard from the gathered crowd. The Head of Security raised his hand. “No vigilantes please. Three maniacs is enough. Innocent until proven guilty, remember.” But mutterings had already began.

She saw me and started to hand me the pillow. But she was shaking so hard, her grip slipped. When the pillow hit the ground, two of my hidden tarot decks spilled out. More gasps. I put a foot on the decks to keep them from being snatched up and drew her into an embrace.

“You should have let them have the decks. They are only paper and ink. If they caught you with them…” I did my best to soothe her, but inside I was raging.

“I surrender nothing!” She was shaking as she cried. “I sent the third deck through the message tube. But I don’t know to who. Whoever was last to receive a message from our room.” I could care less about where it wound up. I came to this colony to get away from this terrorism, dammit. And it has followed me.

Volunteers were present to fix the damages. My clothes had been taken away and was being sanitized, washed, and inspected for damage. I noticed confirmed Patronians were among those cleaning. I reminded everyone to allow actions to speak for faith. “Guilt by association is the weapon of the bigot.”

Friends of my roommate, closer to her than I, came for her. I released her from my hold and thanked her for saving the decks. While I picked up the slightly scattered cards, I heard some watching Patronian managers making comments about dogs and vomit. When I looked in their direction, they smiled smugly and walked away.

Drama over, there are still duties I must attend to. Leaving the rest of the cleanup to the volunteers, I left to return to the hydroponics wing. A manager accompanied me, supposedly to escort me and ensure my safety. But once no one was looking, he reached over from my left side and drew his fingers across my shoulders from right to left. I knew the gesture at once and had to restrain my sudden anger lest I tear him to pieces on the spot.

It is the gesture of a Patronian apostle/prophet that is supposed to burden the soul of the one touched. A spiritual mark of one’s sins carried on one’s shoulders. And the first place to receive blows when undergoing “physical purification”.

To an apostate like me, it is a threat. “Your soul, and your body, will be broken by the will of the Patronai.”

I looked at him crossly, but he smiled the soft smile of a practiced predator. His smile faded when I reached up to my shoulders, made the spiritual mark manifest visibly as a thin red thread, then ripped it off and threw it to the ground. His eye twitched as he realized what I had done.

I made the mistake of walking away from him. The bastard reached out and did it again! He took a step back in reflex, but I was faster. I ripped the mark off as a red smudge on my fingers and with quick smoothness, struck him in the face with that same hand. The mark embedded into his face as three red tattooed vertical lines from hairline, over his right eye, past his lips, to fade into his short beard.

His face registered shock and anger at my action. “You have fallen so far as to strike a true prophet?!”

“I’ll strike any that threaten me. And in equal kind to their action, even. All you know of me is my past. Are you sure you want to find out my present? Now, be a good dog and stay.” Having broken many Patronian taboos with word and deed, I backed away from him for a few steps before turning and walking briskly to the hydroponics wing. He did not follow me, but stood shaking in rage, trying vainly to remove the spiritual mark made manifest on his face.

I entered the hydroponics wing to find Bernadette with the lost tarot deck. She had spread the cards out under a warming lamp and was doting over them.

“A lump came in the message tube. Since it was paper, I thought it was for the digester. But the paper wrapping came off as it hit the digester tank and I realized what it was. I stopped the enzymes from destroying the ink. I’m trying to dry them out evenly now. I’m sorry, I didn’t know!” She was genuinely sorry.

Reconciling all that had happened was too much for me. The woman that had once ordered my beating until a bone or my spirit broke because I dared to say the caste society of the Patronian church was wrong, was now trying to rescue my tarot cards. I just had my atheist roommate threatened with rape just for sharing a room with me. And an abusive church is trying to take over a peaceful community.

I locked the door to the hydroponics wing, sat down, and bawled for an hour. In between breaths, I filled Bernadette on what happened at my room. The look of horror on her face said more than her voice ever could.

As we completed our shift, we checked on the cards. The ink was mottled slightly, and the cards now have a roughened texture to them, but I pronounced the deck saved. She would ask me about this card or that card and how I use them.

“I know you’re still Patronian, just a more open-minded one. Why the sudden interest, Bernadette?”

“Tyrants are afraid of the truth and of anything that allows the truth to be uncovered. All my life, I was told this was evil, demonic, and unclean. But like you have always told me, this is just paper and ink. There’s nothing special about it. I want to know why this is feared.”

I promised to show her more about the symbolism in tarot cards when we had free time together. Our shift ended without incident, and with news that one of the three terrorists had been caught and confessed.

We knew he would claim to be the only one, that there weren’t three assailants, and that he had acted alone. Sacrifice the young to save the old.

The usual lift was down for repairs. Again. And was down for the day. Again. We could either suit up for outside exposure and walk around the wing to the next airlock, an action that would take us two hours to complete, or commandeer the Vega to ride up to the habitation levels with a 20 minute ride. Without worry, we went to the Vega, meeting a third woman also trapped by the downed lift.

The Vega is a portable incinerator. Rather than have each level bring waste down to the Vega, the Vega would make regular stops at each level, opening a small window for waste goods, then continuing down under the colony to submerge itself in an underground lake. Once there, the kiln would heat up, using the non-potable water as an excess heat sink, and incinerate what was inside.

While the Vega would make collections on its own, it required human intervention to begin the incineration cycle. A panel inside the Vega allowed for maintenance workers to override the programmed stops and use the Vega as an impromptu elevator. Any one could ride the Vega this way. But there were only four physical keys that would allow the incineration cycle to start. I have one of them.

Before entering the Vega, I took my key and locked out the incineration cycle. In other words, I disabled it completely. The Vega now confirmed safe, Bernadette, the other woman, and I entered the Vega and I entered the code to raise it two levels to the Habitation deck. Code 92.

The sudden drop of my stomach told me we were not rising, we were descending. Bernadette entered the code again. I watched her. Code 92.

I activated the emergency intercom, identified myself, and told whoever was listening to place the Vega in Critical Failure status. This would lock out all external commands, placing control of the Vega solely with those inside the machine.

“You have no authority, Fallen. Your command is rejected.” Bernadette and I recognized the mocking voice. It was the Patronian prophet that tried to mark me earlier. The other woman began to cry. While the male voice cracking on the intercom began calmly reciting Patronian doctrine, I ripped the panel cover off. The Vega came to a stop with a soft thunk. Fitting my key into the emergency override, I noted new electronics and assemblies had been installed recently. So new, it was not accepting my key. Different tumblers had been installed.

“And so the Fallen shall share the fate of all that reject the pure will of the Glorious Patronai. Ever shall they burn, without ceasing or mercy. Amen.”

I screamed into the intercom, “I know you want my ass but there is an innocent bystander here and a confirmed Patronian! You would murder them to destroy me?”. The heating elements in the walls, floor, and ceiling began to be apparent through the ceramic tiles. The incineration cycle had already begun.

“The true believer will not be harmed. And only believers are made innocent. All else must be purged. I will enjoy hearing you confess your sins before the purging of your flesh.” The intercom crackled as the heat began to increase.

The two women held each other for comfort. They were crying and trying not to panic. But they knew we would be dead in 30 minutes. During that time, we will feel the fat in our breasts boil. Whatever bones were near the elements would crack. We would roast in agony until our skulls cracked.

Skulls. Cracking. A memory of someone else teased at me. The temperature was now 110°F and rising. I will watch myself burn… again… just like…

Lucidity struck me, causing me to fledge out at once. The two women, still holding each other, still standing even though their shoes were melting, looked at me in shock. I could end the dream at once, and save myself from the sensations of being roasted alive. But my sense of responsibility would not allow such an abrupt end. I could not take the chance that the dream would continue without me. I would not end this with the two women still trapped in the incinerator.

I wrapped my wings around them and held them close to me. Within my wings were cool. But my feathers were aflame from the radiant heat. Which is precisely what I wanted. Visualizing the command center of the colony, I pulled the three of us through spacetime. In a blink, we were in the middle of a maelstrom of activity.

I released my wings from around the two women and raised the flaming, yet unburning, wings above me. I had very much the look of an avenging angel, clothed in fire. The control center was in the middle of an attempted takeover by Patronian terrorists. But at our arrival, all action came to a stop. Hostile and defender both stopped in mid-motion and stared at the winged and flaming terror that appeared in their midst.

Calmly, I spoke. “Ladies, are you harmed?” Bernadette looked at me in holy awe, then quickly checked herself and the other woman. Their feet were singed, and the radiant heat had given them both the equivalent of a stinging sunburn, but both would recover within days.

Still aflame and floating off the floor, I turned and looked at the bastard that mocked me. He fell to his knees and cried out praises to the Patronai, declaring me an angel sent to test him and his faith. My calm words dropped the temperature in the room. “I do not serve the Patronai. I have no lord or god above me. You have acted with evil intent and in evil deed. Be thankful, it is not my hand that will judge you, but those of your fellow men.” My answer crushed him. He crumpled before me, wailing in bitter tears.

A colonist stepped forward, asking tentatively, “You’re not a Patronian angel?”. I shook my head. The colonists found their strength and quickly acted to regain control of the command center while the Patronian terrorists were stunned by fear of me. Once the command center was regained, I dismissed the flames and stood as Weaver Ravenwinged before Bernadette.

She reached for my arm. “I have so many questions!”, she whispered in a rush.

I smile sadly. “I can not stay to answer them. I know who and what I am now. To remain here will make this place unstable.” I placed the other two tarot decks in her hands. “There is a tarot primer in the digital library. Ask my roommate for the tarot notes I made, she may have hidden them. If she is hesitant, show her the intact decks. Question everything, and discover your truth.”

I placed my keys in her hands. “Long live Independence.” I gave her a farewell hug, and left the dream.

I woke up pissed at the jackass that tried to kill them to get to me. And sorrowful that the dream reflected more of my past than I’d like.

Make of this, what you may.