The Gustav Venus: Restoring the Balance Book 2

By J. Walworth Thorne

This is the story of the priest designate who was lost and was found. It is the story of the days immediately following the eviction of the evil ones from the outer reaches of the galaxy and the freeing of, the People of the scattering, from the malignant influences of the in between place, that had over shadowed mankind almost since the first errant thoughts of the Spirit had become human and dwelt on the plains of the first home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris NZ
• Release date: Dec 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9781499097825

J. Walworth Thorne

Trained as a primary school teacher, J Walworth Thorne has worked, in preschool, primary and secondary education, before moving into adult, education and working for nearly twenty years teaching at a small private, tertiary institution., She lives in Kawerau, a beautiful little milltown in the Bay of Plenty, in Aotearoa, NZ., She has always loved Science Fiction, but feels that women, protagonists are somewhat under represented in the genre.

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Copyright © 2016 by J Walworth Thorne.

ISBN:      Softcover      978-1-4990-9781-8

                  eBook            978-1-4990-9782-5

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted are silhouettes, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Cover photography © Nancy Griffith.

Rev. date: 12/30/2015

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Epilogue

Matthew 5:9

Suggested Mood music for reading this book.

The Planets, Op. 32 by Gustav Holst,

This is the story of the priest designate who was lost and was found. It is the story of the days immediately following the eviction of the evil ones from the outer reaches of the galaxy and the freeing of, the People of the scattering, from the malignant influences of the in between place, that had over shadowed mankind almost since the first errant thoughts of the Spirit had become human and dwelt on the plains of the first home.

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The search

On the Island of the Ninth World there was consternation. The Priests had gathered together for a council of war, if in a gathering of the Concordant mystics such a term might appropriately be used.

The head priest sat down heavily at the top of the Serpentine table. She was breathless from the exertion of walking from her apartments to the council chamber. Several of the younger priests fussed around her, settling her in her chair, finding her a footstool, and arranging pillows behind her head. Until she was lovingly installed no one else took their chairs.

When at last the meeting began it was the head priest herself who initiated the proceedings.

We have lost a child. Her tone was bleak.

For a moment there was total silence.

Then a babble of voices.

That is not possible.

Which child?

How?

The head priest held up her large hand imperiously. I do not know how the child was lost. We have had no report from its parents for many months. We have inquired at their last domicile but apparently they left some time ago and no one knows where they went.

We can track these children.

It is too young and has had no training.

Again the room fell silent as each of the hundred people gathered there pondered the significance of loosing one of their children.

Maybe Lady, it is time we brought the children here as soon as they are identified, ventured one man gently.

The head priest swayed her great head from side to side. No, she said, we cannot do that. These children do not belong to us. All we can do is identify them and then when they reach the age of choosing, make the offer to them. All of us came to the House in this manner. We would become reputed in a way that would hinder what we do if we stole the children from their parents. We are the facilitators, the guardians of peace. We cannot begin with an act of violence. At any rate this is the first child we have lost in many hundreds of turns.

There were nods all around the table. It was true. Many children were identified turn by turn and all eventually ended up in the house to commence their training.

Parents accept the careers that chose their children as their parents accepted the careers that chose them. This way we maintain our order.

Gaelin spoke up, What do we do then?

We watch through out the years for signs that a natural is working. We look for uncontrolled aura. We watch for ragged emission. There will be signs. This child was a force 10. She could begin to work without the unbarring.

And we could lose her completely, Gaelin’s horror was matched by the expressions on the faces of all the assembly. "How many 10s are there in an hundred turn? One? Two?’

Or none, The head priest finished the thought.

We must find this child before she destroys herself as she most certainly will if she is allowed to get into any situation of extreme violence.

The worst scenario, said another priest could be if she became a soldier."

That couldn’t happen, asserted another.

The head priest sighed. There you are wrong. It could very easily happened. This child won’t know what it is she does. It will be like a thing apart out of her control. She may even resolve a skirmish or two before she gets into a big campaign. If she were to be of a particular build she could easily be traduced into someone’s army. A starship hurongrup maybe.

There was silence while the assembly thought this one over.

Then we wait. Gaelin sighed. Wait for the needle to assert itself.

There was a short bark of laughter from the head priest who had an earthy sense of humour. A needle in a haystack is often found when someone sits on it. We should hope for a wounded bum to appear and soon.

There seemed no more to be said so the meeting broke up.

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T he Editor threw up his hands and bellowed. It was not a pretty sight. Arkan folded his wings resignedly and prepared for a long wait. When the boss got really mad he was likely to keep shouting until his store of obscenities was exhausted. It was common legend in the newshone that the Editor knew the foul language of five hundred different worlds. A good oath raising could last an hour or more.

The third trip at a cost of a million international credits and all for no result. He raised his eyes to the ceiling. Arkan shifted himself. The raising was over. The boss never normally used blue language and once the purge was over he did not revert until life defeated him again.

Are you listening, Arkan? He demanded or do I talk to thin air? Three million international credits and for what? Three reporters who say that their consciences will not allow them to divulge what went on. Since when do newsheils merit the luxury of consciences? I ask you!"

I think that everyone in the eastern sector is listening, Arkan retorted.

It made me mad, the Editor said.

They know, Arkan responded with equal simplicity.

The Editor grinned. He was over his rage. Arkan I wanted that story. I still want it. Do you realize how difficult it is to come up with new wonders, mysteries and scandals turn after turn? This was something quite unreported before. It could have sold an entire issue without any backing stories. People are avid for the novel.

Arkan nodded. He did know. He was not first sub-editor for nothing.

Are you going to file it away then? he asked.

I’m in a bind, the Editor admitted. Frankly, the governors and the holders are going to want an accounting for the outlay. If I cut my losses, then they’re going to think that the story wasn’t worth it to begin with, but if all my best reporters keep coming back and developing ethical scruples it is just throwing good money after bad. He shook his head.

If we’re able to finance one more attempt I have a suggestion, Arkan appeared to brace himself. What about freelancers. The Cosmodynin for instance?

He scanned the Editor’s face anxiously. For a moment it appeared that there could be a second out break of hell raising but with a visible effort the Editor managed to keep his voice to a dull roar.

That bunch of oversized out priced ego trippers, he snarled, give them the commission to the best story this side of the empty hub of nothingness. I’d rather go suck a a …" His voice tailed off.

I know Boss,’ Arkan soothed. I know they have several times out paced us and that the stories that we have bought from them are greatly over priced. But they have all been superb stories and fully recouped their outlay in extra revenue and I do know that after last time, when they out manoeuvred you, you swore you’d never employ them again but they do have one virtue. When they do decide to take a commission they only charge on results. You’ll pay through the nose for the copy if they succeed, but if they don’t it won’t cost Dio Newayts a red cetacredit."

As he spoke Arkan could see that the force of his words was beginning to appeal to the Editor.

Look if there’s anyone who could crack this story it’s Pacz.

The Editor nodded so Arkan pressed home his advantage. And she’s one person who’ll never go back on a deal. If she gets a story she gives it out where it was promised.

Don’t I know, moaned the Editor and Arkan belatedly remembered that the Editor had tried to get Pacz on staff several times. It was another bug he had against the Cosmodynin. He often remarked that it was immoral for three such marvelous newsheils as Pacz, El Doren and Corrin to have a hard nosed business associate like Vertgern 5

Okay get them. The Editor seemed to think the matter closed for he swivelled away and began to make notes for his secretary to decipher in the morning. Arkan took himself off to the bar where the leading news reporters on Terralga, and may be in the galaxy, were known to hang out. He prepared himself for a wait. They might be there. Then again it might be a week before they showed. No one knew where they lived or had any idea of their probable movements. But it was known that if one wanted to contact the Cosmodynin this was the bar to visit.

Luck was with him. The reporters were not there, but the tall Verturan woman who managed their affairs was spectacularly in evidence. Verturan women seldom engage in offworld endeavours so that made Vertgern remarkable enough. Her overwhelming presence further marked her out as someone very special. Just now she was regaling the entire bar with the story of the team’s latest escapade. Arkan thought again that the vicissitudes of the reporters was often more entertaining than the story they went out to to collect, but then the auditors wanted sensation and scandal concerning the famous. Time enough when the reporters were too old to tackle the dangerous assignments for them to turn their adventures into stories for the armchair explorers and travellers.

He inched his way up to Vertgern 5 and saluted her. She acknowledged the tilt of his wings lightly. Arkan as a Verran had customs similar enough to those of Vertura for common courtesies to be recognizable.

What brings you here, Cock? asked Vertgern with the freedom of a culture where women know their worth.

Business. Arkan replied. He would rather have done their business with one of the men of the team but he had learned the hard way that there was no chance of that. Vertgern had the hard nosed business sense of a typical Verdemomma used to managing the affairs of her influential family. It was she who made sure that the reporters got full value for the risks they took and even Corrin, the scion of a very patriarchal race never discussed business outside the team, acknowledging that it was Vertgern, who had turned his hard won stories into credits enough to make him a very rich man.

Find a more secluded place then, she said, What are you drinking?

Garlen, Arkan responded and turned to make his way to an empty covey where they could be private. He seated himself and watched her maneuvre herself and two large pots of Garlen to where he waited. It was sense of course but he was not a Verturan even if they were race cousins by a wing beat and the sight of a woman breaking the crowd upset him. He would not have liked to see his wife here in this sort of bar. He switched his thought off and thanked Vertgern for his drink. She sat down and regarded him with a long speculative stare.

Business? she prompted.

Yes. We have a possible commission for the Cosmodynin.

Good, good. We’re always in the market for business. Give.

I’m not empowered to give you any details until you accept the commission.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

This is a big story. Something entirely new. It’s never been done before, not as far back as interworld news gathering has gone. It well mean a boost to our system. We can’t afford to alert any sort of opposition to its existence. It you can undertake to sign a commission contract to gather our nester then we are in business, but if not … He shrugged. He had several times used a similar device to dare hesitant female staff members, having learned that they hated to be thought more timorous than their male counterparts, but he was out if thought that such a subterfuge would work with a Verturan woman. Her eyes narrowed again.

Throwing me a dare, Mr. Deskman Arkan? She seemed to expect no answer so beyond a light grin he offered none. She settled back in her seat and took out a notecal and began some figuring. It took a while and two refills of their pots before she was satisfied. It was as well that she had bought the first round, thought Arkan returning from the bar for the second time. At last she settled back in the cushions of the covey.

I think we can talk business, she said. Normally we would listen to your proposition and then if we liked it take it on our usual terms. Cash on delivery. However we are buying a pig in a poke with this one so I think we may very our terms somewhat. To cover the element of surprise we would need to have our fee paid in advance. Normally we could calculate our expenses into the fee but in this case we would be stabbing in the dark. The expenses could wait to be paid on delivery. She passed the notecal to Arkan. I think this fee, plus expenses, should cover it.

Arkan whistled.

Quite frankly, he said, I don’t like this suggestion at all. We wanted your team because we need to bet on a certainty for our investors. Your projected expenses are nearly as high as if we sent our own people and we still have no guarantee of success. I will have to consult my Editor.

The Verturan woman merely nodded. Arkan got up then and went away.

His return to the newshone was less than jaunty. He had been so sure and now here was the damn woman offering him no more than the in teams could offer.

The Editor when told of the estimate was less restrained, but after a minor bow on the inadequacies of women as business associates and Vertgern in particular as a nasty piece of works, he calmed down and told Arkan he had done his best and there was no more to be said. The matter should have rested there except that the following morning Arkan received a surprise call. It was Vertgern.

I have talked with my associates, she said, and I have a new offer.

Arkan indicated that he was willing to listen so she continued, If you have changed your mind and are willing to state the nature of the mission of course our usual cash on delivery terms would apply however if secrecy is still essential then I can tell you that my associates are willing to undertake the task for half the the fee with the rest included in the reckoning for expenses at completion of the task.

Arkan turned the offer over in his mind. The wrong conclusion he jumped to was that the Cosmodynin was embarrassed for cash, had no work in sight and therefore needed the job. He decided he had the whip hand.

No, he said, prepayment is still out of the question. This is all or nothing proposition.

In that case, said Vertgern, there is no point in continuing the conversation. My team were slightly intrigued by the nature of the assignment. But we are not going out on a limb. We do not accept more than one in five of assignments offered to us as it is. This could very well turn out to be the sort of non event that does not interest us. The Cosmodynin can afford to pick and choose and she was gone.

The Editor was thoughtful. I think, he said finally, that we had piqued the Cosmodynin’s curiosity. It was a mistake to assume that they were short of work. Don’t you know the whole carboodle of them are nearly as rich as the the Old Bilboan himself. Get after that woman and tell her that we accept their terms. It cost four times that amount to put our last team on Siri and then we got nothing, all on account of their ethics. At least we know this lot don’t know the meaning of the word.

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Extracts from dscrips from Gud Verlindra Kali to Gud Jernin Delreydon.

Beloved,

The festival comes ever nearer and my thoughts lift to the blue hills of Elverst.

Has your fever completely cleared? Take care. One worries, though in your usual must be seen strong manner you might say I fuss. Survival is a basic for the would be hero.

I have thought much about what you said regarding a child but I think it yet too soon for me. As I told you earlier my secondment to the lower Koven of the Kronen commences after the lights are out for this season. I think that it will be hard work to begin with. We are both young and the secondment lasts but three years, then I will have seven years before I am obliged again.

I propose we leave the matter until the light burn one season after next. That will be my last season as Krone. The birth coming soon after I finish will give me better time for the nurturing. Will this timetable suit you should the child be male? You need to think out your situation five seasons from now.

I read your last missive with misgiving. I know not what you mean by outworlder menace. There has been no contact with the Kronen. Not with the Koven and not with the old ones. Outworlders oft bring trouble when they take no heed to learn the ways of the world…

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The Diary of Actus First Class: Darling, Brenda.

Well here I am on board this great ship. The Radiant. I am full of impressions that have not yet become integrated.

We were gathered in the Huronhone for our induction. Spirit, was I nervous. I’ve come through my basic training with good grades. My first cruise was a success but being part of an interstellar security ship is going to be a great deal different from working with civilian engineering, groundside.

I keep thinking of my elder sister, Jennifer who is a starship commander on the other side of this sector of the galaxy. It is a long time since I’ve seen Jenny. She took her dioidets many years ago and has her own ship now. Her new husband I met once, but he’s a high flier. Menkhaptan of his sector.

Oh well I have always been the tail ender of the family and I’ll be content with a mundane career as an engineer. Now that my parents have left Terra on a vain odyssy to find my brother Fred, gone to a colony half way across the galaxy even before Jenny left home, there is nothing to keep me on Terra.

I wonder what has happened to the golden boy of the family? We have not heard from him for so long. When Jenny left she often sent communiques home. Fred simply disappeared some twelve months after he had left Terra. We received many ecstatic letters and then nothing. My father tried for several years to pick up some news of either Fred or the new wife he was so happy about, but there were always dead ends. My parents have never accepted that he is dead. Neither do Jenny and I fully accept that our brother is gone. Somewhere there is a solution to the mystery and if we are out among the stars maybe we’ll pick up a lead.

I have to keep alive though. Nearly ended my career on a Hai’ekan shintan. Didn’t realize that I had bold eyed one of the women in a fighting eight. She took exception and challenged me to a duel. Me a grease monkey against a top soldier. I don’t think so.

I talked my way out of it. She was called Kopeka and she came up close to me and breathed in my face.

What’s your problem? I asked. Her breath was redolent of caries and quite unpleasant.

You are offensive to me.

That’s your problem not mine, I responded.

There was a shintan in her hand. I stood my ground. She waved it under my chin uncomfortably close to my carotid artery. I was in a quandary. Bravery did not keep me still but the uncomfortable thought that if I moved I might cut my own throat.

Back off, I said. We are supposed to be crew mates. Save your aggression for the enemies of the ship.

The knife wavered and dropped.

You challenge me. Kopeka said.

Rack off. I retorted. I was angry. She had given me a nasty moment. I am actus not huron. I don’t know where you get off but to all intents and purposes I never noticed you until you singled me out.

She sneered and called me a coward.

I put my hands palm down and nodded.

I don’t have to be a warrior. I do my job. I can do without you buddy. But you sure as hell can’t do without me to deliver you to your war. Now get out of my living space. I turned on my heel and walked off. My back felt naked, tender. I waited to feel the blade separate my shoulder blades. What did happen is that a heavy hand landed on my shoulder and a hearty voice nearly imploded my eardrum.

I turned my head. The fighting eight were all around me. The hand belonged to to leader of the eight who identified himself as Ngarihai.

Friend? said Ngarihai.

I must admit that I was somewhat put out. The bloody woman had practically bisected my windpipe and now they were asking me to be friends.

I scanned all the faces before me. The cast of the brown faces reminded me forcibly of the faces of my compatriots in my home province on Terra.

I nodded grudgingly.

Friends.

Immediately there was a hubbub from all the members of the team. First came apologies for having misinterpreted my gestures and then admiration for the courage with which I had faced the eight of them.

For we are the toughest fighting eight in the whole of the Union service, said one called Alendra, modestly.

They ushered me to the place where they had assembled their belongings. One of the men, Hopenta Joi picked up my pack and added it to the pile. Clearly I was now one of their group. I am a bit shaken, but I have just become the intimate, I think, of one of the most impenetrable groups in the whole service.

I didn’t have time to think this out before the Khaptan came into the hone. He is Terran, tallish with a shock of white hair and an air of easy command. There was a rumour that he had come up through the huronpost. He looks like a military man at that.

Welcome to the Radiant, he said and motioned us to resume the seats we had risen from at his entrance. My name is John, he went on. and I am your Khaptan. This is Menactihuron Des Calvlia 8, the commanding officer of the huronpost.

The Verturan hovering airborne behind the Khaptan landed lightly on his feet and raised his wings to the correct tilt for a superior officer and the huron in the hone saluted in their various ways. I wondered what sort of greeting was expected from us technical staff. Formal training of that sort had not constituted part of the orientation course at TASS (the Terran Academy for Space Studies).

Mencaractus Webb commands the actuary, went on the Khaptan, indicating a tall Terran at his side. "Menletino H/zu**lly*ia, who is our navigation officer, is still on lease so his detail will be picked up by Letino Ursuline Dep. Mencaractus Webb is the senior stringer. Verdavicon Comtyn is in charge of our Science department. Mencoomsary Pervynne heads the Sariat. Each officer acknowledged the greeting according to custom.

They are a varied bunch but I know