Shannon was a living paradox. He was a Liberator. He’d killed hundreds of enemies in battle, but he also went to Mass. He was the only clone I ever met with a religious streak. His religious feeling made no sense because, as a Liberator, he knew he was a clone and therefore knew God had nothing to do with his creation. Catholic doctrine held that clones had no souls. Almost every church taught that.
Shannon was intelligent, but he remained blindly loyal to the Republic to his last breath. He died in battle, fighting for the nation that had banned his existence. At the time he died I admired him more than anyone I ever knew, but I grew to despise him. He seemed pathologically determined to devote his life to those who cared least about him—the nation that had outlawed his kind and the God who disavowed his existence.
Since leaving the Marines, I had come to question the line that separated devotion and delusion. Granted, I was still working for the same side as always, risking my life for the same Republic that never shed a tear for Tabor Shannon; but I was different. I had gone freelance. I made money for my services. I was also free to leave. If the Confederate Arms offered me a better deal one day, I wanted to believe that I would take it.
Having seen what I had seen, I did not believe in nations or deities. And as for Shannon, who did believe, I could not decide whether he had been a quixotic hero or just a fool. Either way, I had no intention of following in his footsteps.
CHAPTER SIX
From the Journal of Father David Sanjines, archbishop and chief administrator of Saint Germaine:
Entry: Earth Date June 4, 2483
I received an urgent message from spaceport security this morning. When I called to look into the matter, the captain asked me to watch a feed from his security monitor.
They had detained a marine named Tabor Shannon. I only needed a moment to identify the problem. “Is that a Liberator?” I asked the captain. “Haven’t they been banned?”
“Liberators are not allowed in the Orion Arm,” the captain said. “They can travel Cygnus freely. If you want my opinion, I think they should all be executed.”
The ecumenical council of 2410 held that clones did not have souls and therefore did not fit the Catholic definition of human life, but I did not think that made them machines. Church canon dating back to Saint Francis forbade cruelty to animals. Perhaps this Liberator clone had more in common with a mad dog than a man, but he had blood running through his veins, not oil. He was no machine.
The captain told me that he checked with the U.A. Consulate. “We don’t have to let him on our planet. Should I send him away?”
The captain knew better than to tell me what to do. Saint Germaine being a Catholic mission, I was the one who made the decisions. “Do you know what he is doing here?” I asked.
“He says he is on a pilgrimage.”
“You must be joking,” I said.
“No sh—er, no, Father. I am sorry about that, Father.”
“I understand, my son,” I said. The presence of a murderer on our little planet would put everyone on edge. A religious pilgrimage? I was skeptical to say the least. “He is on a pilgrimage?”
“That’s what he says.”
I asked the captain if he would detain the man in question until I could arrive. I thought that might be soon, but this was Friday and a holy day—the immaculate heart of Mother Mary. I needed to attend to Mass and then I had a full day of meetings. The Liberator would have to wait until tomorrow.
Entry: Earth Date June 5, 2483
I did not know how I would react to meeting a Liberator face-to-face. As a young priest, I served in the Albatross Island penal colony. I was there during the riot of 2472. A force of Liberators came to the planet to stop the rioting. They put down the riot, all right. They also killed the prisoners and the guards and almost everybody on the planet.
Before seeing Liberators in action, I believed that clones were human even if they had no immortal souls. I even questioned the ecumenical convention that decreed clones were created of man and not God. That changed for me on Albatross Island.
You cannot understand a lion until you have seen one devour its prey. I thought that all people were created in God’s own image until I saw the Liberators, demons who looked like men but who rejected all goodness. I saw them kill thousands of innocent, helpless men. Just thinking about that massacre is painful. Once I witnessed the way the Liberators fought and killed, I saw the wisdom of the ecumenical counsel’s judgment. These monsters could not have had souls.
I arrived at the spaceport before lunch and found an office in which I could interview this Liberator. His name was Tabor Shannon. I arranged for us to be alone. I was an old man now, and I had no time to fear devils, not even cloned ones.
Three soldiers walked the prisoner into the room. I dismissed them at the door. The leader of the soldiers did not want to leave. He said I would not be safe alone with a Liberator. I told him I would take my chances, and I dismissed him a second time. All the while the Liberator sat in one of the seats I had arranged in the middle of the room, watching us.
If I ever felt scared during my interview with the Liberator, it was when I turned and saw the way he watched us. I believed his expression was implacable. Now, as I think about it, I have changed my mind. I think that his expression was merely one of curiosity.
“I am Father Sanjines,” I said as I came to sit across from him. We were nearly knee-to-knee, just a foot or two separated us. I knew this man could easily spring from his chair and strangle me, but I sensed that he did not come to do violence. “You are Corporal Tabor Shannon?” I asked.
“That is correct, Father.”
I looked around the room. Maybe I was unconsciously looking for a door through which to escape. What I saw instead was a small wet bar with a crystal decanter. “I am an old man, Corporal Shannon. I took my vows nearly fifty years ago.”
He said nothing.
“Would you like some sherry? We don’t have many fine things on Saint Germaine, but we do have a superb distillery. I personally oversaw the building of it. I’ve been in this mission from its start.”
The clone did not accept my offer. Perhaps he was not much of a drinker or perhaps he wanted to leave a good impression, I could not tell.
“You’ll want to try it before you leave,” I told him.
“What is this about?” the Liberator asked, still trying to sound civil. “Why have you detained me?”
“Mr. Shannon, this mission is nearly twenty years old, and I have been the chief administrator and archbishop here for all of that time. Before coming here, I was a chaplain on a penal planet.”
“Was it Albatross Island?” he asked.
“It was,” I said. “You can imagine my feelings when I received a call alerting me that a Liberator had arrived in our spaceport.”
The Liberator said nothing.
“You claim that you have come on a pilgrimage. Is that correct?”