The Void

The dome bustles.

Two hundred feet high and that again around it extends, an unbroken arc of thick glass uniformly dimpled with hexagonal facets, stainless and clear. Afternoon light streams through its westward side, tinting gold the marble floors and stairs and suffusing the entire dome with an irresistible feeling of warmth. The irregular shadows of cars flying overhead do nothing to break the sensation – indeed, the sounds of their rushing blends in seamlessly with the noise of the people inside, the easy flow of well‑dressed, smiling folk. Outside the city gleams, the afternoon reflecting orange in high-rise windows. Beautiful, almost inspiring; but the man takes no heed.

Tall and dark-haired, he sits alone on a verdant corporate ottoman, his eyes on the gigantic statue in the centre of the dome. The Great One, His hands outstretched. The man says nothing, only staring, contemplating, as waves of footfall and conversation wash steadily around him.

He is waiting, and before long his wait is answered. Another man, shorter and older, wearing simple grey robes a shade darker than the streaks in his well-kept beard, approaches without fanfare.

“Shepherd Moran.”

Tal Moran looks over, then a moment later remembers himself and clambers to his feet, leaning quickly into a half-bow.

“Cardinal Eristead.”

He takes both of the older man’s hands in his and bows his head, and the Cardinal accepts the gesture with neither pleasure nor impatience.

“Shall we?” he asks.

They begin walking across the open dome in the direction of the statue, looming a hundred feet above. As they move people mill around them, some smiling at Tal or Eristead, a few stopping to bow. Both return these gestures with their own smiles, Moran initially pausing to make good the greetings but soon striding to keep up with the Cardinal’s pace. They walk in silence, save for the lull of people around them and the rush of cars overhead. Upon reaching the statue’s base Eristead holds up his hands and without contact a hexagonal segment the width of three men opens. The pair step through.

“Thank you,” says the Shepherd and Eristead nods. The door glides shut behind them and they continue down marble corridors. Their footsteps turn to whispers on the plush carpet.

“Your flight wasn’t too long I hope?” Cardinal Eristead asks after a few moments of quiet.

“Oh no,” replies Tal, “We jumped straight from Hawkins and got very close. I feel like I blinked and we were re-entering.”

The Cardinal chuckles. “That trip took 4 days when I was growing up,” he states. They turn a corner. “A dozen jumps and then straight-haul from Ganymede. Horrible voyage. Drove me nuts.”

Tal winces in sympathy. “That sounds tough.”

“Well, everything in perspective,” Eristead sighs. There is a long pause. “I suppose congratulations are in order.”

A slight pink spreads to Shepherd Moran’s cheeks, but he works to keep his voice steady. “Well yes, thank you. It’s a great honour. I just hope I’ll serve well.”

“So hope we all,” murmurs Eristead, and the pair once more lapse into silence. The Shepherd glances at his surroundings, taking in the long red rug and the subdued gold-frame pictures of former Cardinals on the walls. After a few seconds, to his surprise, Eristead resumes the conversation.

“So,” says the older man, “You’re what, a hundred and fifty?”

“A hundred and forty-seven,” Tal confirms with a nod.

“A hundred and forty-seven,” repeats Eristead, “And a Shepherd for what, a hundred and twenty?”

“A hundred and twenty-two in spring.”

The Cardinal gives a non-committal grunt. “You went straight to the Church.”

“It’s where I always wanted to be,” replies Tal, honestly and with a shrug. For some reason though, this answer causes Eristead to sigh.

“Yes well,” he says heavily, “You’re still young.”

By now the sounds of the city and the people outside have faded, replaced with the muffled footsteps of the two holy men. The round a corner and Tal finds himself face to face with an old wooden door – unadorned with signs or symbols and almost intimidating in its innocuousness.  The pair stand in silence.

“Turn off your interface,” Eristead says simply. Tal glances at him, but after a moment’s hesitation obediently makes a quick hand gesture. Transparent lights blink in a rectangle in front of his right eye, and his ear rings with a few quiet chimes.

“Not just to flight mode,” says Eristead. There’s no edge to his voice yet nevertheless Tal struggles not wince. “Off.”

There’s another pause, then Shepherd Moran makes another, slightly guilty movement. His inner ear tinkles with more subtle chimes. Eristead nods.

“Good.”

The Cardinal reaches forward and opens the wooden door, which creaks on its hinges. On the other side is a narrow stone corridor, and after a moment’s silence the pair walk through, Tal bending his head slightly underneath the doorway. Eristead closes the door and their bright golden world is replaced by grey stone. All is dark save for dim light flickering up from somewhere further down, and Tal’s eyes struggle to adjust, though the Cardinal does not pause. The corridor extends in a slow spiral downwards and their steps echo as they walk.

After about half a minute, Tal tries to break the silence.

“Is it a sign of my age if I feel naked without it?” he asks, with perhaps a slightly nervous laugh. His attempt at humour, though, is rewarded by the small smile that breaks across the old Cardinal’s face.

“No more than it’s a sign of mine that I can’t stand the things,” he replies. The light in the cramped tunnel grows stronger and after a few more seconds its source is revealed – a burning wooden torch, resting within a black-iron metal bracket. Eristead approaches the flame.

“Here.” He leans down, rising a moment later with two more wooden torches from a small pile below, their tops wrapped in cloth. He lights both and hands one to Tal, who grasps it with only a small surge of panic. The wood feels rough and cold beneath his fingers, and he concentrates hard on not dropping it nor accidentally setting his clothes alight.

“Save you tripping over your feet,” says Eristead, and after only a moment’s more hesitation they continue down the steps.

“This is very… nostalgic,” Tal remarks, glancing at the torches spaced evenly along the wall. Eristead grunts.

“Nostalgic but necessary I’m afraid,” he replies as they walk, “We can’t risk a connection down here.”

“Feels like an age since I’ve seen actual fire,” continues Tal. The words flow naturally, conversation a refuge. “I have a parishioner, if you’d like, who installs lighting strips, he-”

“Lighting strips can be networked,” Eristead interrupts. Tal falls silent. “Everything down here must remain isolated, a refuge from the Digital Age.”

Despite the quickness of his heart, the Shepherd feels himself smiling. “A sanctum beneath a Sanctum,” he says.

“So to speak,” is Eristead’s reply.

They continue walking for a few minutes until, abruptly, Tal begins to feel colder air on his cheeks. In front of them, the spiralling corridor straightens and the pair step out of a doorway into a large stone room. The Shepherd straightens, uncurling his shoulders, and takes in the sight before him. Carved from dull, reddish stone, the room they’ve come to extends out in a long rectangle, with darkened passages in the walls leading off from either side. All is still and quiet, yet even this far underground the chamber doesn’t strike Tal as a tomb – it’s warmer, better lit, the earthy colour of the stone slightly freed by the light from hundreds of small white candles. His eyes turn and settle on the chamber’s contents – three sandstone boxes, equally spaced along the length of the room, each about half the size of a man.

An emotion fills Tal, but it isn’t fear. “It’s incredible,” he murmurs. Beside him, Eristead nods.

“It’s as old as the Church,” the Cardinal tells him, “Older, probably. We repurposed the foundations. Make use of the existing.”

The second half of the quote falls in reaction from the Shepherd’s lips. “Preserve what is there.”

“Precisely.” Eristead pauses. “Shepherd Moran,” he sighs, “I apologise for the secrecy. This is a far call from the open and transparent Church I’ve spent so long preaching about.”

Tal shakes his head. “I have faith your eminence. Faith you would not go to all this effort if it wasn’t necessary.”

Even in the perfect silence of the room, Eristead’s reply is muted.

“Yes,” he murmurs softly, “I would not.”

Tal glances at him, but the older man appears not to notice, for he clears his throat and continues.

“Shepherd Moran,” he says, “You have been voted Cardinal. In spite of your youth, you have made great strides for the Church in the Outer Systems. You minister with a passion and a kindness which we should all strive to emulate. You have a way with both words and people, and your actions speak to a good heart. There is nothing I nor any other have found that speaks against your candidacy, nor any reason why you should not be elevated in your service to the Church of the Eternal Soul.”

A pride swells in Tal’s chest and he lowers his head. “Thank you.”

The words fade into silence as they stand alone in the stony room. Tal raises his head slightly, and his eyes flick to Eristead. Despite the high praise, lines of shadow crease the older Cardinal’s face. When his voice finally comes, there is hesitation in it.

“Do you want to take the next step Shepherd?” Eristead asks – though his eyes draw away from Tal’s. “You are still young, and Cardinal is an eternal position. Once you know what I am about to tell you, there is no going back.”

Tal straightens up. “I’m ready your eminence. I believe in our cause. I know our ways. I want to serve our faith.”

There is a long, swirling pause – then Eristead sighs.

“Very well.” He turns to Tal, hands enfolded within his grey robes. “Shepherd, what are the three tenants of our faith?”

Tal pauses, and he frowns in slight surprise. Nevertheless after a moment he inclines his head towards the Cardinal and begins to recite.

“Preserve all life,” he says.

“Good.”

“Make no new life.”

“Yes,” replies Eristead.

“Never stop moving.”

“Excellent.” He turns slightly away, and rests a hand upon the wall. “And what do-” he coughs slightly and clears his throat, “Can you explain to me why this is, as it were. Your understanding of these laws. What they mean.”

Again Tal pauses, but again after a second he inclines his head in recognition.

“The first tenant is the deepest pillar of our faith,” he states, “It is a belief that all life, especially human life, is sacred and must be protected, no matter the cost. It is compassion and charity, perseverance and resolution. It is the desire to leave behind not even the merest of men.”

If he finds this explanation satisfactory or deficient, Eristead gives no indication. He merely stares at the wall, his face a dull mask. “And the second?”

“The counterbalance to the first,” Tal says, “A recognition that we must look to the now, not the possible. Practicality as the companion to the first tenant’s ambition. The universe may be massive, but it is finite. Our worlds are finite. In the face of technology which can see death indefinitely forestalled, limiting new life ensures that existing lives are not just preserved, but prosperous. We cannot protect mankind just to see it drowned and miserable under its own weight.”

Perhaps despite himself, Eristead nods. “Hence the Church provides education, contraception and other programs. Yes. Continue.”

Tal hesitates, fearing from the Cardinal’s reaction that he may be missing something – yet after a few moments his old preacher instincts preserver.

“The third…” he begins, then straightens slightly and starts again, “The third is perhaps the least understood. Some think it sounds fickle, almost whimsical. ‘Never stop moving.’” He pauses. “But I think it’s quite possibly the most important tenant of them all. If we are all going to live forever, and if we’re going to prevent new people from being born, then we have to ensure that we keep on changing, or we’ll stagnate. We have to learn new things, embrace new experiences. We must always seek to live, or we waste the gift of eternal life.”

There is a moment’s pause. The torch in Tal’s hand burns low, and he places it gently on the ground. After a moment, the old Cardinal looks away.

“Yes,” he says, and Tal hears something that he cannot quite pinpoint restrained in his voice. “That is what we teach. Those are the official interpretations of our laws. They are very noble.” Eristead lets out a long, heavy sigh. “And they are all lies.”

Tal’s brow furrows, but the Cardinal does not seem to notice. Instead he moves over to the nearest sandstone block, which comes up to a little under his waist. His hands reach around the block’s top and his fingers grasp and he pulls, and the stone lid scrapes aside. In the flickering dark the Cardinal reaches in and removes a thick disk the size of his palm, which he holds up in the candlelight.

“This,” he says to Tal Moran, “Is the log of a man named Michael Tunsen. He was a hopper back in the early space-faring days; a pioneer, a scout of sorts. These men would take small ships and-

“-pick out a randomly entangled particle,” Tal finishes, “I know. My great-grandfather was one.”

Eristead nods. “Yes, well good, you understand then.” His eyes wander over the disk. “They would pick out a particle entangled with another, somewhere out in space, then open up a point-to-point link to whatever was on the other side. Go through; check the area; then mark the sister particles as a beacon so that anybody else who wanted to go to that particular place could go through.” He hesitates. “Brave, pioneering men. Without them, space travel as we know it wouldn’t exist.”

Tal feels himself nodding. “Of course. But what does that have to do with-”

But Eristead cuts him off. “Just listen.”

He pushes a button on the disk and a hologram shines out, spreading over the red stone walls. It’s an ancient projection, grainy and under-saturated, but against the flickering and static Tal can make out a small, dagger-like spaceship floating through nothing, alone in black space recorded almost blue. Without warning a man’s voice begins.

***

“Captain’s log, 23rd of April. PTP link LLG-CXA-117-Alpha. Readings were clear, jump without notation; tunnel ends at open space. Broad-spec ping’s showing zero. Probe was right gentlemen; nothing for goddamn miles. This one’s a bust. Just waiting for a green on the PTP drive and me and Mistletoe are heading home.”

The recording paused. Alone in the small cockpit of his ship, Captain Tunsen gazed out into the blackness with his hands behind his head. He stretched out his legs, feeling a satisfying groan in the muscle, and reclined his seat, his body cradled by red gel cushions. The Mistletoe wasn’t a big ship – the controls surrounded him on three sides like the table of a kid’s highchair, their little lights blinking along with the stars – but at least he wasn’t cramped. Tunsen rolled slightly onto his side and his matte silver spacesuit squeaked against the chair.

“Awful quite out here,” he said to no one in particular. Above him a small green light flashed, indicating the recorder was still going. “Kinda beautiful in a way. Nothing but blackness.” He paused and glanced up at the machine. “Jason, if you ever listen to this buddy, never let anyone downsell you on the serenity of space. This is the closest a man gets to a blank slate. There’s value in that, you hear? Value in thinking time.”

He glanced out of the narrow cockpit window at the nothingness beyond. “Just you and the deep kiddo. Just you and the- hold on.” Suddenly Tunsen sat up a little straighter. “What the hell is-”

Something was coming. Tunsen leaned closer to the window, squinting, trying to make out the- the thing. This shape maybe the size of a man wriggling towards him like an eel through old Earth’s oceans. Yet it had no colour, no solid outline – it was so empty, so transparent that against the blackness of the void it was impossible to make out what the hell it was…

Tunsen glanced down at the sensors. The readings were unchanged.

“Log, I got visual on something. Standby for confirmation. Trying to…” He swore and readjusted the scopes. “Not getting a bounceback from anything. Looks to be coming closer. Current trajectory, contact with Mistletoe in 5… 4…”

The thing sped up, writhing frantically, and before Tunsen could finish his countdown it flew into his ship.

Nothing happened.

There was no impact. No light or alert. No sound except the humming of the engine and the sensors’ blips. Tunsen turned his head around the cockpit, breathing slow.

“What in the hell…” he murmured, “No impact recorded. No visual of it on the other side. I don’t-”

Abruptly he stopped. His head spun around, his pupils wide, glancing at something, at nothing. Then suddenly Tunsen’s eyes bulged and he scrambled back, scratching at his throat, choking. The restraints disengaged and he tumbled from the pilot’s seat with a shuddering crash, gasping, scrabbling, his hands raking at the grated metal floors. He spasmed, rolling onto his back, racking his nails down his face in bloody tracts-

And then slowly, horribly, he began to scream.

***

The recording ends and the projection disappears, surrendering the crypt once more to muffled darkness. Tal stands stock still, staring horrified at the empty wall, his heart racing inside his chest.

“What…” He tries to speak, to form thought, but the words struggle to come. It takes him a few moments to recover.

“What happened?” he asks, turning to Eristead, “What was that thing? Was there an accident? What happened?”

Eristead just shakes his head in reply. He gently lowers the recorder back into the stone box and replaces the lid.

“When Captain Tunsen didn’t return,” he says, “A probe was sent out after him. It found his ship intact and fully functional, alone in empty space. The Captain was dead. He appeared to have gouged his eyes out, then bled to death after tearing the skin from his face.”

Tal draws in a shaky breath, trying to keep his hands from trembling. The sound of the dead man’s screaming still echoes in his ears.

“Faith preserve,” he whispers, “I’ve heard of, but never… space madness?”

Eristead silently shakes his head. Without further explanation he beckons Tal over to the second box. His hands grasp the lid and it creaks open like the first. The Cardinal holds up another recorder.

“A team was sent out after Tunsen aboard a medical freighter, the Herodicus,” he says, “They docked with the Mistletoe and found it exactly as the probe reported; intact and free from hazards. They boarded in full quarantine gear. Within minutes they were all dead.”

Tal’s eyes fix on the recorder. “That’s… that’s their black box?” But again Eristead shakes his head.

“No,” he tells him, “This is from the SASC Starhammer, the ship that came after them. Sol military, fearing some kind of alien attack, sent a fully stocked warship to assess the situation. They found no signs of life or danger. For safety’s sake, they didn’t dock. It didn’t matter.”

Eristead starts the recording and another hologram emerges, clearer than the first and far larger. The light of it spreads out in every direction, blanketing the entire room – and suddenly, the pair are surrounded by screams from every direction – the sound of banging and tearing, sirens and gunfire. The face of a terrified woman fills their view.

***

“…this is Gunnery Sergeant Wright, 4th Company, I- Jesus fucking Christ what’s happening, they’re all going crazy, there’s- I don’t know what’s happening, it was nothing then Fernanda just started screaming and Thomas stabbed the Corporal and they… Jesus fucking Christ I-”

She was a young woman, austere and beautiful, with tanned skin and her hair pulled back tight. Competent, composed, ladder-climbing, the professional sort. But all veneer of control was gone now, and she shook with unbridled terror at the nightmare howling around her.

“There was no warning,” she whispered, and her cheeks were stained with tears, “No signs. One minute we were okay and the next people started screaming and-” A sudden sharp banging hammered on the door behind her and the Sergeant spun, holding a trembling hand over her mouth. Another bang came, and then another – and then abruptly it stopped. There was a squelch, a thumb, and a bloody gurgle. Then only silence, far worse than any noise.

Wright’s shoulders trembled as she turned back to the camera

“I don’t know if anyone’ll find this,” she whispered, as her cheeks ran with sodden tears, “But if they do, Mum, Dad, I love you so much, I-”

Suddenly her eyes grew wide. Her mouth twitched and her words died in her throat. Slowly, the Sergeant raised her shaking hands, looking down at her the palms with a face of pure terror – as if seeing something upon them, as if seeing-

And then she began to scream.

Scream and scream and scream. It pulsed through her, spikes of pain punching through horrible, gurgling breaths. Every part of her began to shake and she dropped to the ground, writhing, tearing at her arms with her fingernails, at her face, at her throat. She lurched to her feet, staggering, dripping in blood, and with a garbled wail slammed her head full force into the wall. The shattering of glass tinkled. She pulled back and slammed again. Again. Until there was nothing left but meat and bone and she fell, gurgling, twitching – her broken body still doing everything it could to scream.

The recording switched. Everywhere aboard the ship it was the same. People in uniform, scientists, soldiers, lurching, screaming, consumed by violence. Hurling themselves from gangways, hurtling through glass, attacking, mutilating themselves, the dead, everyone around them. Blood. Madness. And finally, death.

Death for sixteen hundred people.

Death for the entire ship. 

***

Eristead stops the recording while the horror’s still unfolding. There is more it seems, but no more is needed. There is nothing left to see. Wordlessly, he puts the recorder back into its box and looks at Tal, his eyes full of unfathomable sorrow. He says nothing, demands nothing. He simply waits.

Finally, Tal finds his voice.

“I don’t… I don’t understand. They…”

“They killed themselves,” Eristead says, and his voice is leaden with dreadful weight, “Or each other. There were sixteen hundred soldiers aboard that ship, and within 2 days every one of them was dead. It was slower than it’d been on the Herodicus, but just as inevitable.”

For a moment, the chamber is silent. Then Tal speaks.

“What… what is it?” he asks. He struggles to keep from shaking. “A, a virus? Radiation? Some… some sort of weapon?”

The old Cardinal shakes his head.

“Shepherd Moran,” he sighs, “Do you believe in the soul?”

Tal’s brow furrows. “I… well of course your eminence,” he replies. He tries to marshal his thoughts, to shut out the visions of death beneath his eyes. “The soul is… it’s part of us, what makes us unique, it…” He manages a weak laugh. “Fate preserve us, we’re the Church of the Eternal Soul.”

“Yes,” Eristead says simply, “We are. So what is the soul then? What do we know of it? How does it function?”

Tal pauses and swallows, trying to drag his mind back to his books, his sermons, philosophy. “I… the authorities differ your eminence. Some say it is essence divinely provided, while others that it grows in each man, and-”

“Forget theology for a moment,” interrupts the Cardinal, “Focus on its properties. The soul is intangible. It is a part of us, an important part, but one that we can never quantify. It is the part of us that is conscious, and it resides within us until we die. Am I correct?”

Tal hesitates. “Well… yes I suppose so,” he says, “Yes, that’s generally agreed.”

“The soul cannot be weighed or measured,” Eristead continues, “Nor created nor destroyed. It has no imprint or mass. Yet we know it is there all the same. Would you say that that is generally accurate?”

The Shepherd puts a finger to his lips. “Yes,” is his eventual reply, “I would say that’s fair.”

There is a lingering pause.

“Do you know physics, Shepherd Moran?” the Cardinal asks. Despite the churning of his stomach, the Shepherd shrugs.

“Well I suppose, I mean it was never my specialty, but-”

“Are we, right now on this Earth, stationary in space?”

Tal swallows. “I… no. We are not.” He straightens. “The Earth revolves around the Sun, at around 100,000 kilometres an hour or… 30 kilometres a second. And the solar system moves too, around the galaxy; 720,000 kilometres per hour, 200 kilometres a second.”

Eristead seems pleased, at least, by this small knowing. “Good. And what keeps us, as we travel through the universe, from becoming separated from the Earth? What keeps us from hurtling off, as we travel at these phenomenal speeds?”

A frown. “Well…” says Tal, “Gravity. Inertia. We are pulled along by… by the planets. By our momentum.”

“By our mass,” agrees Eristead, “Without mass, we wouldn’t be affected. Without mass, we are left behind.”

The Cardinal pauses.

“Can you imagine, Shepherd Moran if inertia ceased to affect you? Can you imagine standing here, talking as we are now; only to blink, and an instant later be surrounded by nothing? The Earth is gone; in seconds travelled further than your eyes can see. And it is not coming back for you – it moves on, the solar system moves on, the galaxy moves on. It will not repeat its journey. What would you do? As a human, you would die of course, suffocate in the vacuum – but imagine you cannot die. Imagine you continued to live, aware and alone in the void. For you are alone – there is no one there beside you. You don’t know where to go. There is nowhere to go. Everything is emptiness. Everything is stars.”

“Imagine your mind cast adrift; alone for eternity, alone with infinity. The universe is big beyond imagining – even if there were others like you, billions of them, you’d never find them. You’d never know where you were, let alone where to go. It is just you and your thoughts. Alone, enduring, helpless. Forever.”

Suddenly, everything clicks into place. Tal’s eyes widen and in the cold, desolate chamber he drops to his knees, dry-wretching on the stone.

“Oh god.”

Eristead stands over him, and the old Cardinal’s eyes are empty. “Yes,” he whispers, “I think you’d go quite mad.”

In the sacred room amongst the sacred stones, Tal Moran throws up. Eristead does not move to help him.

“Yes.” His voice turns away. “I think you understand. The soul has no mass. It is tethered in life to a human body, but in death that connection is severed. It is set free; and it is left behind. You are left behind; everything you were, your consciousness. Scared. Confused. Alone in the abyss.”

“I… I can’t…”

“This is the truth,” says Eristead, “This is the Cardinals’ secret. Another probe was sent in after the Starhammer. A more sophisticated detector; able to take more complex readings. The entire incident was covered up, designated an accident. But there was no mistake and the authority knew it. They continued to investigate, at arm’s length; and what they uncovered was so terrible that the entire Church was founded to hide it.”

He gestures at the third box but makes no move towards it.

“In here is the sum of their research,” he says, “The truth of their findings. You can read it if you don’t believe me; you will read it, because you won’t want to.” He shakes his head, and the candlelight draws shadows under his eyes. “No one does. But it’s true. There is no heaven when we die, no hell, no reincarnation; not even non-existence. Everyone that’s ever lived, everyone that’s ever died – they’re still out there. Every man, woman and child; good and evil, rich and poor, billions upon billions of souls, every one of them – abandoned in the void. Left to fall into madness, to beg and shout and scream to a cosmos that will never hear. The Earth has left a trail of ghosts.

He pauses and looks down at the young priest, sick and shaking on the stone.

“There is nothing we can do. No way to stop it. It will happen to you if you die; it will happen to me. It will happen to all of us. We will be cast into the void, and there we will stay, alone for eternity. And if, by some miracle of chance, someone should near us; if someone jumping through space happens to pause in our piece of nothingness – then will grasp at their flesh like a burning man at water. We will wreck upon them untold horror, for after a thousand lifetimes in the darkness, we will inevitably be insane.”

“Now you know the truth. Now you understand our laws. ‘Preserve all life’; for to allow death is to allow this unspeakable horror. ‘Make no new life’; because every child bought into this world is another who this doom hangs over, this terrible fate which no one would wish upon their greatest foe. Those are our reasons, Cardinal Moran. Those are our rules.”

There is silence as the weight of his words sink in. Slowly, shakily, wiping his hand across his bile-stained mouth, Tal Moran rises to his feet.

“But there are three,” he whispers, “Three tenants…” He pauses and looks at Eristead. “What of the third?”

The old Cardinal meets his eyes, and there is nothing in them.

“The universe is a big place, my brother. Yet still humanity fills it. Slowly; but inevitably. We have left a trillion souls, from a thousand worlds, screaming behind us in the stars. The further we go, the longer we last, the greater the inevitability becomes.”

He pauses.

“The dead are out there, and they are waiting for us. So we can never be still. We must never stop moving. Because if we stop, even for a second, they might catch up.”