Central Penal Cluster, Bevira VII

  Falling stars filled the night sky. Even after space flight had become a common occurrence, people continued to be fascinated by the phenomenon. Somehow, the burning chunks of space debris had maintained their magical allure throughout the centuries. In that regard, it could be said that Bevira VII was among the best planets in human space to view it from. Not a night would go by without streaks of gentle sparkles being seen. The reason the local occupants didn’t share most people’s admiration was that this was a prison planet. Thousands of penal clusters covered the planetary surface, keeping the “cancer cells of society” away from the rest of the population. Some of the most dangerous criminals in the sector were sent here. Too valuable to be killed off, or too well connected to suffer the ultimate punishment, they were sent to Bevira to be forgotten and slowly rot away out of sight.

  Lying on her back, Iva counted the clicks the automated guard made as it passed her cell. Protocol demanded that an in-person check be performed every two hours for prisoners in solitary confinement.

  It had taken the woman years to train her senses to pick up the faint sounds. Between that and ration delivery, there wasn’t much that kept her from losing her sanity. Ultimately, that was the purpose of this place—to slowly push her beyond the breaking point. The overseers were itching for an excuse to fill her up with sedatives. It was the easy way out. Many of the prisoners actually preferred it. Not Iva. There was too much she wanted to remember.

  The clicks stopped as the droid moved further away from her cell. It wouldn’t be long before the lights in the prison complex were turned off. Then, Iva would have the right to sleep and maybe even dream. The next day everything would start all over again. The lights would turn on at six, followed by the first “in-person” check. After that, she’d be given the first ration of the day. Check-up, food, alone time, check-up, food, alone time…

  In theory, prisoners were allowed daily physical activities, as well as a weekly shower. Iva was anything but an ordinary prisoner. The only way she’d set foot outside her cell was with the written authorization of a deputy-warden.

  Turn off. Turn off. Turn off. The woman kept on repeating as she stared at the dull lights on the ceiling. This was the most torturous part of the day.

  She had only herself to blame for ending up here. Looking at her, she was the last person one expected to find on a prison planet. Despite her pronounced muscle tone, the woman was small; some would say petite. All proportions of her face and body were as close to the golden ratio as was humanly possible. An entire team of top-level bio-surgeons had made sure of that, transforming her into a work of art. The only imperfection was a crude tattoo of an exploding star on her left biceps.

  The lights in the cell turned off. Iva had barely closed her eyes when they lit up again. That was unexpected.

  The woman rose from her bed. Experience had taught her that any and all changes of a routine were always followed by trouble.

  “Stand up and put both hands on the wall,” the order boomed within her cell.

  Iva instantly obeyed. For the entire time she had been locked up, she had never received a visitor. The only time another human had set foot inside was when they had brought her there. Whatever had warranted this had to be extremely important.

  A loud click came from the cell door. Two guards in full protective gear came inside. One remained at the door, while the other placed a neck restrictor around her neck. A single command from any one of them and she’d be on the floor writhing in pain.

  Without saying a word, the guard grabbed her by the shirt collar and pulled her a step back.

  “No sudden movements,” he said, directing her towards the exit.

  “I know the drill,” the woman whispered beneath her breath.

  Two more guards stood in the corridor with stun batons at the ready. If Iva were anyone else, there was a good chance that they might have shocked her a few times just for the sake of it. There was no chance of that happening to her, for despite her current situation, Iva remained baptized. In other circumstances, people wouldn’t have dared to look her in the eye, let alone approach her. The Church had done a good job of putting the fear of God within the general populace. Baptized, neo-baptized, then everyone else; that was the order of the universe.

  The group continued along the corridors of the prison complex until they reached a small metal door. The surface was smooth to perfection to the point that one could wonder whether souls hadn’t been sealed within it to endure centuries of imprisonment. The church was against the practice, but there were always rumors of exceptions.

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  “Stop here, please,” one of the guards ordered.

  Iva obeyed, of course. The added “please” didn’t escape her. Hearing it almost felt endearing. Even now, when she was shackled, they were still afraid of her.

  The door slid to the side, revealing a wide white room. Three black crosses could be seen on the walls, but that wasn’t what caught the woman’s attention. In the center of the room stood a tall priest in a simple black cassock. The lack of military insignia or other identifying markings suggested that this wasn’t one of the common battle clerics Iva had dealt with in the past.

  The woman paused, uncertain what to make of the situation. Her hesitation was rewarded with a strong shove from the prison guards, forcing her inside.

  Bastards, the woman thought as the door slid shut behind her.

  It was at this point that the priest finally turned around. His face was elongated and much darker than she had initially expected. The only remarkable features were the complete lack of facial hair and the pair of black glasses that completely hid his eyes. Iva was about to make a comment about it when she saw the cross attached to the left side of his collar: the lower part was in the shape of a sword.

  Chills ran down the woman’s spine. No wonder none of the guards had entered the room.

  “You know who I am, right?” the priest asked, seeing her reaction. His voice sounded slightly higher for a man his age.

  “I know who you represent,” Iva said. “The Order of Michael.”

  Iva had every reason to be afraid. Of all the Orders, this was among the few that led a hidden existence. Founded during the hundred-and-third Orthodox Conclave, it was supposed to be little more than a prestige order. Officially, it had no specific function, no dedicated members, no special charter. Any priest of a high enough rank and proven dedication could automatically join. Even the clergy largely viewed it as little more than a club. The truth couldn’t be more different. The charter and authority of the Order were very real, as were its members. They never said much, but when it came to facing unusual threats to the Orthodoxy, they always tended to show up. Iva had seen a few of them on one of her combat missions. All details were classified, but the top brass were outright terrified. That had piqued the woman’s curiosity, causing her to use her substantial family connections to find out more. The few trails had led nowhere, but less than a week later, she had received an unexpected visit.

  The person who came was unassuming, just like the cleric standing before her now. A few words had been exchanged, chief among them the warning not to look further. Needless to say, Iva had complied. Doing otherwise was folly and stood a chance of ruining her military career; that was before she found a completely different way of ruining it.

  “And do you know who you are?” the man asked.

  “You’ve read my file,” the woman replied. “I’m—”

  “You’re a sinner,” the man continued, ignoring her as if she hadn’t said a word. “A woman with ambitions to get closer to the Almighty, but stumbled along the way.” He took a step towards her. “Your fall hurt a lot of people.”

  I know, Iva thought, but the words didn’t leave her mind.

  “Some demanded to be executed due to your wrath. Wrath born out of pride.”

  Two of the seven deadly sins. People had been executed for far less.

  “But you think you can still save me,” she whispered. “Despite everything I’ve done…”

  “Because of everything you’ve done,” the cleric clarified. “All of us are sinners. Only those who have fallen and become aware of their faults are given the opportunity to earn forgiveness.”

  Were they recruiting her? It was rumored that only the most dedicated could aspire to join the ranks of the Order. Was this a test? Or was it a pretext to execute her? Probably not. No one needed an excuse to kill her off. Now that she had fallen from grace, even her own family had no way of checking on her. Technically, she had ceased to exist. Her name had been struck from all military and civilian records. She had become little more than a footnote on the planet’s prison ledger.

  “Not too many would agree,” the woman found the courage to say. “As you said, a lot wanted me dead.”

  “Only your answer matters. Nothing else.” The man stepped away, making his way to the nearest cross on the wall. “You’ve probably guessed that I’ve come with an offer from my Order. If you decide to join, we’ll be off this planet within the hour. If not, I’ll leave, and you’ll spend the rest of your life in a cell, repenting for your crimes.”

  “I thought your Order only accepted clerics with indomitable faith.” Currently, Iva was neither.

  “Anyone could join the Order of Michael as long as they respond to the invitation and pass the trial.” The man reached out and brushed off a layer of dust on the top of the cross. “Your name was among the potential candidates. Since your faith is weak, your trial will be significantly more challenging.”

  “And if I die along the way?”

  The cleric looked over his shoulder. It was as if he didn’t expect her to ask such a question, or any for that matter. Many in Iva’s place would have been content with getting a second chance. The woman, however, had always known how to pursue her interests. That had allowed her to climb the ranks in the past, and likely it was the same reason she had been made the offer to begin with.

  “Depends on your performance.” The man’s tone changed. “Do well enough, and some of your crimes will be erased. You might even be allowed to have a public funeral.”

  “What about my children? Will I—”

  “Those who set out on the path of the Lord have to bury their past. In order to live, you’ll first have to die.”

  There was the catch. If Iva had had a glimmer of hope that one day she might be reunited with her family, it had just been snuffed out. There was no reason to think otherwise. The Order wasn’t in the business of making exceptions, not even a baptized. At best, her name would be cleared, and she’d get to live the rest of her life outside of this hellhole.

  “How might I serve the Order?”