On board the St. Laurentia bound for (24475) Ada IV Jokim. 26 days to destination.

Isi smiled at the irony of the St. Laurentia’s cupboards.

A whole ship full of renunciants and they have enough food to feed a Roman legion.

She picked up a can of…something. All the packaging was in Latin to accommodate the passengers. They had many native tongues among them, but most had learnt Latin in their monasteries or convents, or long before in the heavily guarded Catholic schools Isi had only ever seen the barbed fences of. The language had been brought back a few generations earlier, a way of establishing something universal.

Isi hadn’t quite picked it up yet, and the words on the food were certainly uncommon ones, not something she’d be likely to find in the Bible or in the Mass.

She returned the can, letting the cupboard door swing shut. Sometimes she forgot her old life entirely. Most days she woke and remembered nothing before the convent. She dressed, her eyes skimming blindly over her tattoos, she ate the same food, prayed the same prayers, did laundry, swayed slowly to hymns, and she was happy. Other days, something would remind her that she was still new to all of this. She’d only been Catholic, and a nun, for three years.

She’d fully embraced the new-found silence, both her own and the relative quiet of the convent. Relative, because girls were not naturally quiet creatures, particularly when in large groups. That was fine, she enjoyed their giggling and chatter too.

And it will be perfected on New Rome, she thought. A Catholic planet. We’ll have peace there.

“I think your pacifism is admirable.” Brother Perry stepped into the kitchen, Pope Celestine following close behind. “But don’t you believe there is a time for war?”

“I’m not a pacifist,” Celestine said, his gaze traveling around the glistening silver kitchen. Every appliance, counter tops, even the walls were stainless steel, in keeping with the Laurentia’s overall clean and pragmatic aesthetic. “I simply think Siddim should be abandoned. The plan is to evacuate Earth of the faithful and bring them to New Rome. Let those who stay behind fight over that abhorrent drug.”

The Pope smiled at Isi when he noticed her in the corner of the kitchen. He rested his forearms on the counter, taking an orange from a bowl and rolling it between his hands.

“What of the Mites?” Perry asked.

“Big bugs,” Celestine said. “The Church hasn’t called for a crusade on mosquitos.”

Isi smiled.

“What do you think?” Celestine said, tipping his chin in Isi’s direction. “Do you think the Hospitallers should remain on Siddim?”

Isi stared back at him wide eyed, trying to remember the last time someone had addressed her directly. Her mouth gaped open but no sound came out.

“She’s mute, Your Holiness. Taken a vow of silence,” Perry explained.

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Isi said a silent prayer of thanks that she and Perry had been previously introduced and he’d saved her the embarrassment of simply walking away from the Pope.

“My apologies, sister.” Celestine said, straightening. “How long have you upheld this vow?”

Isi held up two fingers.

“Years?”

She nodded.

“That’s commendable. I once met a monk in Ireland who—” Yelling in the hall interrupted him.

He and Perry turned toward the door, listening. The sound of something crashing to the ground followed, then more yelling. The noises echoed through the tunnel like corridors, reverberating off the steely walls.

Celestine rushed into the hallway. Isi, just as curious to see the action behind the disturbance, passed Perry who stood, almost frightened, under the fluorescent hanging lights of the kitchen. She eyed him questionly as she stepped through the doors. He collected himself and nodded, following her into the hall

Two men, a monk and a crew member, were wrestling on the floor in a tangle of limbs and robe. A small crowd had gathered to watch. Sisters in their bright blue habits and the brothers in their gray robes, interspersed with the occasional crew member dressed in the white and navy of the St. Laurentia.

Celestine pushed through them, his white robes whiping behind him. Most of the spectators were too engrossed in the battle to notice who’s elbows were shoving past them, but when they did notice, they made room, stepping quickly out of the Pope’s way. He reached into the fray and grabbed the brother by the collar of his robe, hauling him to his feat. The crew member he’d been fighting saw his opponent restrained and jumped at his open opportunity.

Celestine, still holding the brother’s collar, landed a devastating left hook to the crew member’s jaw that sent the man sprawling to the floor, a stream of bloody saliva arching through the air as he fell.

“That’s enough,” Celestine said, the soft-spoken Pope finding a deep voice that echoed in the narrow corridor. “All of you, back to your rooms. Pray for their, and your own, wretched souls.” He mumbled something under his breath about useless by-standers.

As the group dispersed, Isi turned and nearly ran right into Brother Perry’s chest. She gasped, surprised to find him standing so close behind her when he’d seemed hesitant to even view the fight a moment before.

Perry, at least half a foot taller than her, stared right over the top of her head, as if not seeing her at all.

“What were they fighting about?” he asked, still not looking down at her.

He knew she couldn’t answer that even if she did known. Isi just shook her head and stepped around him.

Isi went directly to her cabin. Penny wasn’t there so she had the small room to herself. She immediately knelt at her bedside, elbows on the bed. She was fairly certain the Pope’s command for prayer had been metaphorical, but she felt compelled to it anyway.

Violence didn’t shock Isi. She’d seen and been a part of her fair share of it. On the streets, violence was spoken as a second language. Part of her had assumed it would be left behind on Earth.

What a foolish notion. Where Man went, violence and every type of vice would follow.

In answer to Celestine’s question: yes. Leave Siddim. Hospitallers died there daily, needlessly. Many criticized their remaining on the planet. Why was it the Church’s responsibility to rid the galaxy of the vile drug? The Church couldn’t eliminate every occasion to sin anymore than it could stop the rain from falling. There would always be puddles to fall in. The job of the Church had never been to fill holes, but to hand out umbrellas and hope people took them.

And yet she’d seen first hand what Source did to people. What it had done to her mother, to everyone she’d ever met. She’d never touched the stuff, but it was as much a part of her as were her hands, her eyes, or her blood. Her life was laced with it. She possessed no memory of her life before the convent that did not involve Source in some way. Usually a painful way.

Children with blue lips, born addicted. Men and women who sold their bodies for a fix. Friends in withdrawal. Or dead. Or worse.

Isi balled her hands into fists, bunching the bedsheet between her fingers.

Still Pharaoh’s heart was hardened, and he would not listen…