The Religion of Death (Part 1)

David sighed and emptied the contents of his backpack onto the bed. Executioners were always confident in themselves and in their opinions; he had to be careful what he said, which was the most difficult thing to do as it required a change of the mind as well.

On the bed sat several witnessing candles and he picked these up now. David crossed the room to a small chest and set them atop it, setting them alight with a match. There were some things he refused to sacrifice.

He sat on the edge of the bed and began to subvocalize. "Crispen?"

- I am here, as always, - came the instant reply. - Does it go well? - "Not really," David said. "They’re all very suspicious of me and I guess I’m not really doing all that much to alleviate their fears. I don’t intend to go out of my way to do so, either. No one’s tried to break into the cruiser while I’m away?"

- Not yet, no. People keep coming to have a look, though. They are a curious bunch. They seem interested in what is restricted to them, which might explain their fascination with the kitties. - Crispen paused for a moment. - That’s surely not the only reason you’ve contacted me. Can I do something for you? -

David smiled. "What do you know of Eurocoma?"

- Not much, - replied Crispen. - It’s a devastating disease that destroys the tissue of organs over a long period of time. It’s caused by some kind of birth defect and cannot be passed on between persons. It’s heredity, in other words. -

"Interesting. Robert Chandler told me he’s infected but didn’t give all that much information. I think it must be the disease those Confederation reports mentioned."

- Give me a moment. I’m checking the Nets for more information. -

David nodded once and lay back on the bed. An instant later, as Crispen filled his mind with new knowledge relevant to the Eurocoma disease, all else around him faded away and ceased to matter.

-------

Chandler helped his wife to clear away the plates and dishes. David had disappeared to his room to do Heaven knew what, and the children had similarly dispersed, leaving them alone save for Mittens. Mittens existed inside their home as a hologram; the cat acted as a real one would, but could not escape the homestead and thus couldn’t damage the environment, the cardinal sin of breaking the non-interference policy. Maria in particular was attached to Mittens; she hadn’t yet made the distinction between fantasy and reality.

He carried his stack of plates into the kitchen and left them near the sink to wash later. He was about to go get more, but Claire grabbed his arm before he passed her. "I thought he was going to be some kind of a bureaucrat or someone you were forced to entertain for awhile, but he’s not. He’s an Executioner, isn’t he?"

Surprised, Chandler struggled to find words and nodded instead.

"You bastard," snapped Claire, pale eyes blazing with fury. "You didn’t even tell me."

"I… I didn’t want to worry you." The words barely emerged from his lips and he immediately knew how feeble and false and just plain lame they really sounded.

"You didn’t want to worry me? Hell, Bobby, this man’s here to kill you for Christ’s sake. You just wanted me to wake up one day and find you dead next to me, is that it?"

"No, I’m just… tired," he managed.

"Tired of what? Of me, of your children, of life?" Claire demanded.

"None of those. I’m tired of the pain, Claire. You know I love all of you."

Now the fury had evaporated from her eyes, replaced with a deep hurt. "Then why do you want to leave us?"

Chandler could not think of an answer so he remained silent.

Silent tears fell down Claire’s face. He held her to him and let her cry against his shoulder, her body trembling against his own. Chandler desperately searched for something of comfort to say but he found nothing.

He held her against him more tightly instead.