Flag In Exile

errors.'

'His errors!' Burdette's fists clenched on the desk, and his jaw tightened like a steel trap. 'Since when has it been a sin for a man of God to speak God's will?'

'My Lord, it is not my place or wish to debate with you,' Allman replied calmly. 'I am simply a messenger.'

'A messenger?' Burdette barked a laugh. 'A lap dog, you mean, yapping the 'message' you were ordered to deliver!'

'A messenger,' Allman repeated in a harder voice, 'charged to deliver the decision of God's Church, My Lord.'

'The Sacristy,' Burdette said coldly, 'is not the whole body of Father Church. It consists of men, Deacon, men who can fall into error as easily as anyone else.'

'No one claims otherwise, My Lord. But the Tester requires men to do their best to understand His will... and to act upon that understanding.'

'Oh, indeed He does.' Burdette’s smile was thin, cold, and ugly. 'The pity is that the Sacristy chooses to forget that in Brother Marchant’s case!'

'The Sacristy,' Allman said sternly, 'has not forgotten, My Lord. No one has attempted to dictate to Brother Marchant's conscience. The Sacristy has found him in error, but if he cannot in good faith agree with the judgment of the Church, then his refusal to do so does him credit. Matters of personal faith are the most difficult Test any of God's children, even those who serve His Church, must face, and the Sacristy is well aware of that. Yet Father Church also has the duty to expose error when it perceives it.'

'The Sacristy has been seduced by political expedience,' Burdette said flatly, 'and it, not Brother Marchant, has set itself in opposition to God's will.' The Steadholder's voice went harsher and deeper, and his eyes glared. 'This foreign woman, this harlot who fornicates outside the bonds of holy marriage and poisons us all with her ungodly ways, is an abomination in the eyes of God! She and those who would turn our world into no more than an echo of her own degenerate kingdom are the servants of evil, and the Sacristy seeks to spread their unclean ways among the true children of God!'

'I will not debate your beliefs with you, My Lord. That is not my function. If you disagree with the Sacristy's ruling, it is your ancient right, both as Steadholder and as a child of Father Church, to argue your case before it. It is also the Sacristy's responsibility, as the elected, ordained stewards of Father Church, to reject your arguments if they conflict with its understanding of God's will.' Burdette snarled something under his breath, and Allman continued in the same dispassionate tone. 'The Sacristy regrets its inability to grant your petition, but the Elders cannot turn aside from their joint understanding of God's will for any man. Not even for you, My Lord.'

'I see.' Burdette’s eyes, harder, and more contemptuous, than ever, surveyed Allman from head to toe. 'So the Sacristy and Protector command me to strip Brother Marchant of the offices God has called him to.'

'The Sacristy and the Protector have already removed Edmond Marchant from the offices he held in trust from God and Father Church,' Allman corrected without flinching. 'Until he heals the breach between his own teachings and those of Father Church, someone else must discharge those offices for him.'

'So you say,' Burdette said coldly. Allman made no reply, and he bared his teeth. 'Very well, Deacon, you may now bear my message. Inform the Sacristy that it may be able to drive a true man of God from his pulpit and publicly humiliate him for remaining true to Faith, but it cannot compel me to join its sin. In my eyes, Brother Marchant retains every office of which he has been wrongfully deprived. I will nominate no replacement.'

The cold blue eyes glittered as a flash of anger crossed the deacon's face at last. Allman clenched his hands behind him, reminding himself he was a man of God and that Burdette was a steadholder, and clamped his teeth on a hot retort. He took a moment to be sure he had command of his voice, then spoke in the calmest tone he could manage.

'My Lord, whatever your differences with the Sacristy, you, too, have a responsibility. Whether the Sacristy is in error or not, you have no right as a ruler anointed by God to leave the offices of His Church unfilled and His children unministered to.'

'The Sacristy has done that by removing the man of my choice, and God's, from those offices, Deacon. For myself, I, as the Sacristy, have a duty to act as I believe God wishes me to act. As you say, I am a steadholder, and, as such, as much His steward as the Sacristy. To defy God's manifest will is a sin in any man, but especially in one called to carry the steadholder's key, and I refuse to do so. If the Church wishes those offices filled, the Sacristy has only to return them to the man God wishes to hold them. Until the Sacristy does so, however, I will never nominate a man repugnant to God to hold them! Better that my people should have no priest than a false one!'

'If you refuse to nominate anyone to the pulpit of Burdette Cathedral, then Father Church will make its own choice, My Lord,' Allman said in a voice of steel, and Burdette lunged to his feet at last.

'Then do it!' he shouted. He planted his fists on the desk and leaned over it towards the deacon. 'Tell them to do it,' he hissed in a voice more deadly still for its sudden icy chill. 'But they cannot compel me to attend services there or to accept any man not of my choosing as my chaplain, Deacon! We'll see how the people or Grayson who remain true to God react when a steadholder spits on whatever gutless weakling the Sacristy chooses to foist upon Father Church's holy offices!'

'Beware, Steadholder.' Allman's voice was less passionate but equally cold. 'God denies no man who seeks Him with an open heart. The only path to Hell is that of a man who chooses to cut himself off from God, but that path exists, and you set your feet upon it at your peril.'

'Get out,' Burdette said in a flat, frozen voice. 'Go back to your boot-licking masters. Tell them they may fawn on this foreign whore and attempt to pervert the order God has ordained if they will, but that I refuse. Let them profane their own souls if they so choose; they will never take mine into damnation with them!'

'Very well, My Lord,' Allman said, and bowed with frozen dignity. 'I will pray for you,' he added, and strode from the office while Burdette glared after him in fury.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It was late, and Honor wore a silk kimono over her pajamas as she finished the final report, closed the file on her terminal, and tipped back in her comfortable chair with a pensive expression. She rubbed the tip of her nose for a moment, then reached for the cup of cocoa MacGuiness had left on her desk. He'd given her a severe look, then glanced pointedly at the chrono before he withdrew, and she smiled in memory as she sipped the thick, sweet beverage, swiveling her chair back and forth, but she was far from ready for sleep.

Battle Squadron One remained far short of anything she could consider battleworthy, but her own staff was becoming a crisp, responsive machine. Mercedes Brigham's calm, quietly competent personality was exactly the right balance wheel between Commander Bagwell's humorless detail consciousness and Commander Sewell’s freewheeling irreverence. Coupled with Paxton's sharp, analytical intelligence, Mercedes, Bagwell, and Sewell, as the staffs senior members, were proving a formidable instrument, responsive to Honor's orders and able to carry out the tasks delegated to it with smooth efficiency.

But a squadron depended on more than its commander's staff, and this one's COs were still making mistakes no one of their seniority should. Which was understandable, since every one of them had been forced up under glass and required to assume ranks for which they simply didn't have the experience. They were still feeling their way into the potential and power of their ships, and the time their flagship was spending in the slip wasn't helping. Lieutenant Commander Matthews and Terrible's engineers were working hard, but she'd displayed an alarming number of minor post-refit problems, just as Yu had half-predicted, and her repairs had restricted the squadron to too many sims and too little time on actual exercises. Add a squadron commander who still woke herself with nightmares upon occasion, and one had an excellent prescription for disaster in combat.

And yet...

She took another sip of cocoa and made a face. Terrible as things might be, they were infinitely better than