Prophets

Please, Gram, let me talk to him.

“Mr. Jorgenson, you did not have authorization—”

“That’s bullshit.” Flynn stood up, and the move was fast enough for the restraint collar in his neck to send a warning pulse that fired a nasty wave of numbness down his legs and arms. “There was an impact in my survey zone, and it turns out that I had some particular knowledge—”

“Any investigation needed to be cleared before—”

“So I broke a regulation; you don’t imprison someone for that. Sure, fire me. But what the fuck is this?”

Sheldon reached up and clasped Flynn’s hands, lowering them. Sheldon’s hands were cold and hard, like being touched by a headstone.

“Lower your voice, son. I am here as a favor to your father.”

“My father’s dead.”

“Sit.”

“Are you going to explain—”

“Sit!” Sheldon’s voice changed, making Flynn realize that, up to this point, Sheldon’s voice had still retained a trace of human warmth and character to it; characteristics that evaporated in the single command.

Flynn sat.

“Mr. Jorgenson,” Flynn noticed this time that Sheldon seemed uncomfortable using the address.“Do you realize what would happen to you if I did not intervene on your behalf?”

“My behalf?”

“Quiet!”

Flynn shut up.

“You may know one of the Founders, but you seem to have forgotten why they came here.”

No, Bobby, Flynn remembers just fine. It’s you assholes who decided to misinterpret and take things out of context—

Gram, not now.

Sorry.

“Contact with the decadent cultures beyond this planet is a grave assault on our purpose here. A violation of the commandments of our Founders.”

“But—”

“Please listen.” Sheldon placed his hand on Flynn’s shoulder and almost sounded human. “The thing that makes us what we are, our communion with the past, that would be the first thing they take away from us.”

Inside Flynn’s head, a quiet voice whispered to itself, Christ on a crutch, I’m going to be sick.

“I told you what this is. You know it isn’t some Confederacy artifact.”

Sheldon shook his head. “You are young and haven’t known enough of our history to understand. We cannot allow this kind of disruption to our way of life. It matters little where this thing is from.”

“Disruption?” Flynn shook his head. “This thing is from a culture that’s so far beyond the Confederacy the Founders escaped that it’s nearly inconceivable. Just understanding the smallest bit of it could—”