Pontiffs
were rare because the laws of the Colonies explicitly forbade collecting all
the Fahuns in one ship unless the situation was so extreme that it warranted
the risk. No one knew what exactly the risk was of course, like so many other
things that their ancestors had believed would never be forgotten; the reason
it was dangerous for the Fahuns to be on the same ship was never explained. Nevertheless
the rules had to be followed. It was crucial to their survival; they knew so little
about where they were going or what was keeping them alive that every rule, no
matter how strange or mystifying, was followed exactly.
Jian
stood in the meeting room, waiting
for the other Fahuns to join him. The New Hope was designed to be the political
centre of the fleet, like the capital city of a country, and as such was the
designated space for high policy meetings. This meeting room was specifically designed for pontiffs,
which had always seemed strange to Jian, to design a room for meetings that
shouldn’t happen. And what a room it was. A perfect circle, embracing a
beautiful, old, round wooden table at its centre, soothingly illuminated and like
all rooms on all the ships the walls were covered with intricate carvings and
murals depicting vivid scenes of long forgotten Terran history. The murals in
this room were particularly beautiful, their colours brighter, the scenes more
evocative and more disturbing. There was one in particular that Jian loved, tucked
away in a corner, he used to run away from the training classes when he had been a child and curl up in
front of the mural, completely entranced. No one had ever found him, except
Bannon. And she had kept his secret.
Her
low musical laugh jolted him out of his reverie and he turned around to see
Bannon regarding him with amusement.
“I’m
having a flashback to training,” she told him as she walked in and sat down at her
place at the table, “what is it about this particular painting you love so
much?”
“I
don’t think I love it Fahun Bannon, I just… It’s important. I don’t know why,”
he continued quickly seeing Bannon open her mouth out of the corner of his eye,
“I just know it is.”
Fahun
Kirja swept into the room as he spoke and favoured them both with a broad,
mischievous grin. “A pontiff Fahun Jian, I’m so terribly excited!” Kirja
dropped into the chair designated for the Fahun of the White Feather and laid a
thick stack of books on the table in front of her. Jian eyed them nervously; it
was always worrying when Kirja brought books to a meeting. It usually meant the
meeting was not going to be a short one, though considering the complete lack
of information on the topic before them, Jian decided he was glad to see the
books after all.
Kirja’s
entrance was closely followed by that of Fahun Korov, and his expression as he
saw the books was equally comical, a mix of dismay and envy. “How,” he asked
without preamble, “did you find so many books about this mess? The Ek Tara
libraries mention nothing about these blaring alarms.” He dropped into his
seat, glaring resentfully at the pile of books, as if each one had just
personally insulted him.
Kirja
immediately launched into an elaborate explanation which included several
slights against the Ek Tara and its libraries, but was mostly a list of reasons
why the work it did was less important than that done on the White Feather. It
was an old argument amongst old friends, and Korov joined in with great
enthusiasm. The other Fahuns had learned as children that Kirja and Korov loved
to argue about minutiae, had put it down to their love and devotion to their
respective sciences, and taken a group decision to remain uninvolved in every
way. Except to share looks of amusement with each other whenever one of these
arguments broke out. Jian and Bannon caught each others eye, and then looked
towards the doors for Fahun Maneyr, who was leaning against the frame, his eyes
brimming with laughter. The three of them grinned at each other, remembering a
time when these fights were more frequent and becoming Fahun was part of a
distant someday that didn’t need too much thought. Then the alarms in the
corridors came to red, blaring life and the moment was gone.
Jian
cleared his throat in the sudden silence, and instantly the mood turned sombre.
Maneyr took his place at the table, gaped in horror at the pile of books in
front of Kirja, who smacked him lightly in response, and then hurriedly
returned his attention to Jian, who was watching them all intently. It had
after all been a long time since they had met in person. Once they had been
sworn in as Fahuns of their own ships, there was almost never a reason for them
to leave. They spoke everyday, over Holo, exchanging news and updating each
other about any problems or developments. There was a lot of traffic between
ships of course, but it rarely required the involvement of the Fahun and
unnecessary visits had always been discouraged. It had been a difficult change.
They had all grown up together, had seen each other for large parts of every
day until the moment they assumed their positions. It was like meeting very
familiar strangers.
Jian took his place at the table. Though
the table was round (indicating equality amongst the Fahuns they were taught)
Jian’s place was indubitably at its ‘head’, his chair subtly larger and set in
the centre of a pool of light designed to ensure that all eyes were on him. It
had always made him uncomfortable, the expectation in the eyes that always
watched him, he was always aware of the responsibility that was his, and had
been his since he was born. He wasn’t just a Fahun; he was the Sar Fahun,
leader of the fleet and responsible for each and every living thing on his
ships. He had to lead his people to safety, but he was as lost as they were.
Bannon
smiled at him, picking up on his sudden nervousness, and he smiled back,
relaxing just as suddenly. “So,” he began casually, “how’s everyone been
sleeping?”
They
all groaned, Korov attempted to throw one of Kirja’s books at him, resulting in
a brief scuffle, but they were all friends once again, not just Fahuns, and
Jian voiced the question that had occurred to all of them at some point in the
last four months.
“Have
we reached it? The place that is safe? Are we there?”
