The Testimony of the Reverend Johannon Deverre, Chief Abbot of the Johannonite Monastery
I was not surprised to hear from Her Eminence. I was in constant contact with Ta’al Erich as the nearby mountains were searched. However, given the vast expanse and ruggedness of the terrain, if the enclave was hidden in an underground fortress, carefully shielded using sophisticated alien technology, we could be searching for months, even years.
What was surprising – shocking! – was that I recognized the place Her Eminence described immediately. It was on the southern end of the grounds of our monastery. The telepathic enclave must be hidden nearby.
I must admit that I said nothing to Her Eminence immediately. I knew the probable result: my peaceful spiritual retreat would be invaded by SSOps agents, paratroopers, SWAT teams. They’d blow a hole in the ground below the watering pool and terrorize my pilgrims. And I relied upon those pilgrims for income. I didn’t have the Archbishop’s advantage of getting both a tithe and a cut of the citizens’ power bills.
The most recent group of guests, a tour from the IndWorlds, was an especially devout, cooperative lot. Usually pilgrims have a bit of trouble adapting to the monastic rule; they break silence during quiet hours, sneak in junk food, leave their sandals lying in the middle of the cells. This group was exemplary, too good to be true.
One of the pilgrims passed me on the way to the dining hall. I smiled and nodded at him. He seemed not to notice; he was deep in contemplation.
It was a little rude. “Good morning, brother,” I said.
He did not respond.
One is supposed to show love to one’s fellow seekers, as well as respect to the abbot.
I followed him into the dining hall. My fellow contemplatives looked up at me, nodding in acknowledgement. The pilgrims among them did not respond.
I think it not just my vanity when I note that I am a beautiful man. I am used to being noticed. Doubly so since I am an authority figure, the founder of this order.
I sit next to one of the pilgrims. She does not react. It is only when I pass her a slice of wholesome greengrain rye that she seems to notice me. She accepts the bread with a quiet thanks, and then returns to her meditation.
These pilgrims were like zombies. It was like they were being mind-controlled.
Well, this is awkward.
I walked back towards my office; visions of paratroopers danced in my head. On the way, I was intercepted by Sister V’hemleh. She pulled me aside and said quietly, “Brother Vincent is at it again. I confiscated these from him.”
She pressed a vial into my hand.
“That is most regrettable. I realize that he has suffered from insomnia since his youth, but he has to learn how to obtain natural sleep. Assign him a doubled regimen of brain-feedback exercises.”
I examined the container in my hand – 250 Calminex 50mg. I was moving towards a nearby rubbish receptacle when an idea struck me. There was a limit to what the zombies could ignore or they’d be noticed. Demonstrably.
250 Calminex and 55 telepathic zombies.
I rang the gong in the chapel. “All pilgrims to assemble in the central courtyard for a special relaxation tea ceremony in half an hour,” I announced.