Story Sampler

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  “UNCLE!” Insistence? Insolence? I returned to the present, prepared to scold. “Are you all right?”

  “I— “ I paused, considering. “Are you aware of what we stand for?” He nodded. “Do you have reservations about your first commission?” He licked his lips and glanced away, bowing his head. “Your father?”

  “Please, Uncle, don’t tell him! He’d be devastated! He doesn’t even know I’m a Mor—” He froze, realizing what he had almost said.

  Moralist. They were not very popular within the Family. Still, there were some—but only in secret. They had approached me, through some very odd methods, just before The Barnacle. I would have turned them in if I had been able to recognize them. Even so, I suspect it was a test.

  “Moralist,” I whispered, furrowing my brow. My nephew was agitated, almost bouncing out of the range of the Vid-link. If only I had listened to them.…

  “… on’t call me that! Please, Uncle! Not over this!” My nephew was gesturing wildly, almost becoming apoplectic.

  Eighty-three years.…

  “Nephew,” my voice was calm, flat, emotionless. “If we told them the truth, it would destroy the Family. The whole Family. That, in turn, would create considerable social upheaval. You know this.”

  He was glum, almost teary-eyed. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean I have to perpetuate the lie!”

  The core of the Moralist philosophy. If only he could understand—but, no, that was untrue. He did understand—and so did I. If nothing else, I could save him eighty-three years of moral anguish. “When and where is your commission? Which ship?”

  “In three days, on Indus Planet Three. The Vishnu Scavenger.” Pride? Despite his claim to be a Moralist?

  “A worthy craft, nephew. Tell me, would you object if I handled this particular commission? I have another task for you. Some … friends for you to meet. If you’d like.…”

  His uncertainty hung like the wrinkles of my skin. Then, quite suddenly, it vanished. “Of course, Grandmaster. I would be most honored to be of service to you.”

  Yes, I’m sure he would be. The “friends” were an “active” underground of Moralists who, through their own resources, were laying the groundwork for abolishing the Washishisha. Some exposed secret plots the public found amusing—but couldn’t believe. Why would the Washishisha destroy ships? They saved them! Others provided scientific evidence on the utterly safe methods of current space travel. Still others analyzed our ritualistic, magical formulae and found them to be complete nonsense. And so on. My nephew would become one of them.