Blood Impulse

Part 28.1 - THE TECH-MONK

Polaris Sector, Battleship Singularity

By the time Captain Merlyn wandered his way back to the Badger again, the children had returned and most of the workers had scattered. Havermeyer was still there, clipboard in hand as he waited by the ramp, and Merlyn wasted no time approaching him.

The big man had an easy smile, "Welcome back, Captain. We're finished with everything. You have been cleared to initiate departure procedures at your leisure."

"Good," Merlyn grunted. "I'd like to get away from this damned ship." His anger had mostly faded, but he still felt violated by his conversation with the Admiral. Poked and prodded at, old, unwelcome memories had been brought unwillingly back to the surface.

Havermeyer shifted uncomfortably, offense poorly concealed. Smartly, he didn't defend his ship, but like most engineers, it was clear he wanted to. Oddly enough, Merlyn still liked him. "You're a good man, Ensign Havermeyer. I could use an extra set of hands on board." The man was clearly thorough in his work and management. "Any chance you'd consider it?"

Havermeyer's eyes widened a hair. Someone trying to poach off Admiral Gives' crew wasn't just rare, it was utterly unheard of. The Singularity's crew had a general reputation of being vagrants and general misdemeanors, but the Admiral had another reputation entirely – known to deny Command's authority to remove and assign personnel. Crew left of course, as long as the transfer was willing, but the Admiral always ensured they were allowed to stay. With that security, this was less of an assignment and more of a home to all of them. "I appreciate the offer, Captain, but my place is here."

"I admire your loyalty, Ensign, even if I can't possibly comprehend it." Merlyn let out a sigh. "Just watch your back with a commander like that." There was no telling what the man was capable of.

Havermeyer rubbed the back of his bald head, watching Merlyn start up the ramp. "I've not nothing against the Old Man, but he's not the reason I'm choosing to stay." It was complicated. "I'm sworn into service... just not his."

Merlyn stopped abruptly, the clap of his shoes so suddenly silent. Shocked, he turned to Havermeyer. "You're a spy?" A loyalist to Command?

"No!" the engineer gasped, "No. Stars, of course not." Command disgusted him more than most. "No, where I come from, you can't just walk away from a machine. Especially not one like this." He gestured to the landing bay around him. "Especially not a Saintess."

"A saintess?" Merlyn echoed, studying Havermeyer in greater detail. Suddenly, his oddities were clear. Despite obvious youth, the man was bald, head so shiny it was clearly shaven on purpose. A piece of scrap metal hung on a delicate silver chain around his neck, and tattoos poked above the neck of his shirt collar. In fact, his arms were covered in tattoos, but not the ugly marks of slavers, intricate winding tattoos of symbols and iconographies Merlyn didn't recognize. And suddenly, it made sense. "You're one of them," the Captain realized. I've never met one before.

"Yes." He did not wear the traditional robes of his people or speak in the traditional tongue of his sect, but it clear enough by his appearance. "I'm a tech-monk." A Technologist. As if the religious weren't rare enough in the worlds, tech-monks were among the rarest. It was an old belief system, among the oldest still practiced. It was incredibly rare in its truest form. Through the hundreds of years, its followers had divided into sects whose practices could vary widely from the traditional, ancient ways, to those that were nearly unrecognizable. Though often subject to self-imposed isolation, Technologists could blend easily with modern society. The faith and its followers had laid much history, most of it good, but there were radical sects that while Technologist in origin, had become something onto themselves, the most famous of which was, of course, the Ravenish cult.