Saint

Detective Galanos sighed as the data scrolled idly before her eyes.  

Stop wasting time, she chided herself. Get to work.  

“What’s the matter, Sandra?” came a familiar voice. Galanos looked up and smiled as Officer James Molan’s head popped up over the partition between their workstations.  

“You know, you look like a gopher every time you stand up like that,” commented Galanos dryly. “Have you got a little nest of woodchips back there?” 

“At least I don’t keep a stash of energy drinks in my filing cabinet where I think no-one will see.” 

“Low blow, Jimmy.” 

“You getting any sleep yet?” 

“No, and stop asking. I don’t need sleep – I need to find answers. Now that Nash Industries has announced the Archetype things are going to go haywire.” 

Jim scratched his stubble thoughtfully.  

“Well, so far the corporate types are only thinking it can be used for security and military applications, but I did read some news threads suggesting Archetypes could be used for remote learning – like training a bum to be a brain surgeon in one go.” 

“They haven’t grasped just what the Archetype process does to you. It’s not like some kind of document download. You live through the person’s entire mind, all their emotions, experiences and struggles.” 

“They’ll find out soon enough. But don’t this mean that Michael guy over at Nash Industries won’t need you on the case anymore? I mean, cat’s outta the bag, right?” 

“Not even close, Jimmy,” replied Galanos. “Now that the world’s starting to take an interest, VOC is going to be working double time to replicate the samples they stole and sell the tech to the highest bidder.” 

Galanos’s data screen chirped happily as alerts scrolled across the detective’s vision.  

“Speak of the Devil,” said Galanos. “Michael has just sent me through the details on one of VOC’s clients. They bought and used a sample, but they’re offering to work with us to avoid a lawsuit.” 

“And how are things between you and Mister Dreamboat?” 

“Bite me – there’s nothing going on between us. Anyway, we haven’t really spoken since…” 

“Since he announced that he’s raising a global security force that will put us out of business?” 

“It’s not like that! Michael has promised he’ll continue to fund the Baltimore PD.” 

“As long as we don’t get in his way, right?” 

Galanos’s angry reply died on her lips.  

Wasn’t I the one arguing that this would happen? Why am I defending Michael?  

Galanos caught Jimmy giving her a worried look, and the stubbled face softened.  

“So tell me about this new lead,” he said. “Someone got an attack of the guilts? Who was it, an investment firm?” 

“No, a convent! Some penguins clicking rosaries and muttering prayers.” 

“You know, I read somewhere that a bed time ritual can help you get to sleep,” replied Jimmy, his voice earnest. “Brushing your hair, reading a book, saying a prayer – anything will do.” 

Galanos snorted. “I haven’t prayed since I was twelve years old. And I doubt some angel is going to come down and deliver VOC to me.”  

“There’s more things in heaven and earth…” 

“Can it, Jimmy. I’ll let you know if the penguins give me any fresh leads.” 

– 

Galanos’s gaze wandered over the pitted stone buildings as she pulled into the small convent grounds. Built on a former farm estate, the paddocks had been slowly eaten by the growing city and a handful of low trees in a dilapidated garden were the only reminders of what had been. Galanos was vaguely disappointed to find the convent building was not some ornate Gothic structure looming in the afternoon sky, but a stumpy, dilapidated farmhouse that would have passed unnoticed bar the wooden cross erected over the roof.  

What an absolute dump.  

Presently, an old woman poked her head out of the door and hobbled over to the car.  

“Are you the detective the Nash people were going to send?” she asked nervously. “My name is Sister Molly, I’m the Provisional Mother Superior here at St Domica’s. I’m here to provide you with any assistance you might require.” 

Galanos frowned, looking at the woman’s plain dress and simple wooden cross strung from a necklace.  

“I was sent by the Baltimore Police Department, Sister, just so we’re clear. And I thought nuns were supposed to wear those black and white robes.” 

“People only wear those for Halloween costumes, dear. It’s easier to get work done when you’re not tripping over your own robe.” 

“Touché,” replied Galanos, climbing out of the vehicle. “So tell me, Sister, how did your order come into possession of a stolen Archetype sample?” 

Sister Molly cheeks colored a little as they walked towards to the small convent. 

“Well, we didn’t know if was stolen, at first.” 

“I’m assuming you didn’t ask too many questions either.” 

“May I remind you, dear, our Order came to you voluntarily. We’re happy to provide you with any information regarding the men who sold us the prototype.” 

“I’m listening,” said Galanos, marking a scattering of middle aged to older women going about their tasks in the Convent grounds.  

“Well, most of the details would have only been known by Sister Duschka, our Mother Superior, however she is, ah, indisposed at the moment. But I believe that Mister Borya, one of this VOC group you’re tracking, was an old associate of Sister Duschka from their early life in Eastern Europe. He explained the Archetype process and it’s effects, and offered a demonstration.” 

“What would he have to gain from that?” 

“Borya seemed a devout man,” shrugged Sister Molly, leading the detective through a simple Convent hall and up the stairs into an office. “The Mother Superior was also intrigued by the possibilities of this Archetype treatment. Our convent is the resting place for a relic of Saint Domica, founder of our Order. A woman who built a number of orphanages back in Europe and was said to have been guided by visions from God.” 

Galanos snorted, but held the flip reply when she saw the hurt look on Sister Molly’s face.  

“Alright, so you used the Archetype treatment on the relic of a Saint. What happened next?” 

The old woman paled and stared into the corner of the cluttered office.  

“Well, uh, Borya and Mother Superior tested the Archetype. Borya ran out of the crypt, pushed us out of the way and ran into the night. When we checked on Sister Duschka, the Mother Superior was, how should I say this? Uncommunicative? She hasn’t spoken since.” 

“Perfect. So our only link to Borya is off with the fairies. Is there anyone else who can help me piece this together?” 

“Well yes,” nodded the old woman helpfully. “Sister Nicette was part of the undertaking, she often helped the Mother Superior with her schedule. She was in the room with Borya and Sister Duschka when it all happened.” 

“I’ll need to interview her then,” replied Galanos, rising from her seat. “Can you take me to her?” 

Sister Molly paused.  

“Well yes, of course we’ll all try and help. However, Sister Nicette hasn’t spoken aloud in decades. She’s taken a vow of silence.”  

Galanos sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. 

“Of course she has. Great. Wonderful. Perhaps she can write something down for me then.” 

The old nun led Galanos through a maze of corridors until they came to a small cell with cracked, peeling walls and a boarded-over pane in the window. Ducking underneath the low door, Galanos blinked as she saw an old woman wearing simple dresses and a plain wooden cross. The detective’s gaze, however, was drawn to the room’s other occupant, a woman lying stiff and straight on the bed. Her mouth lolled open, and the veins in her hands stood out as she clutched the sides of the mattress.      

Her eyes were wide, and her breathing came in small gulps. She stared up at the roof with an expression of absolute terror.  

“Sister Nicette?” asked Sister Molly with desperate cheerfulness. “This is Detective Galanos. She’s here to ask you a few questions regarding Mister Borya.” 

 The old nun sitting by the bed nodded solemnly. Sister Nicette was short, a dwarf, but solidly built with a round tanned face and her hair bound up beneath a wimple. The old nun met the detective’s eyes with a tired, wary expression.  

“Hello, Sister,” said Galanos carefully as she looked down at the old woman. “I understand you can’t speak, although to be honest it would help a lot of people if you did.”  

Sister Nicette’s expression hardened and she stared up at Galanos defiantly. Galanos held back another sigh.  

The young woman stared around the beautifully decorated church and chewed her lip. Everything was taking so long, and the old man at the front just wouldn’t stop talking.  

“Sandra, stop it,” came an old woman’s warning. “You should be praying for your Uncle Aleksandros.” 

The young woman stifled a groan. Why was everyone wasting their time with this? Whatever was going on it wasn’t something she could see or hold onto. 

“Sister, I’m going to ask you a few questions,” Galanos continued. “Later on I may need you to sign a declaration of what we’ve discussed. Are you willing to do that?” 

Sister Nicette nodded.  

“Wonderful,” said Galanos, her temper already fraying. “Time for a game of Twenty Questions then. I’m going to assume that your vow or whatever will also preclude you from lying to me.” 

Nod.  

“Sister Molly said that the VOC man I’m tracking, Borya, was an old friend of your Mother Superior. Is that correct?” 

Nod. 

“And this Borya offered a treatment that could be applied to your convent’s relic, the remains of your Order’s founder, yes?” 

Nod.  

“Sister Duschka was excited by this, wasn’t she?” 

Nod nod.  

“Did she know the Archetype samples were stolen from Nash Industries?” 

Sister Nicette’s tanned cheeks colored, and she looked down at the prone form of the Mother Superior.  

“Sister…” warned Galanos.  

The old nun nodded reluctantly.  

“Now we’re getting somewhere. That’s quite a risk, for a small convent like this. Place doesn’t look like it’s in great condition either. You see, my first thought when I got here was how a tiny convent like this could afford to pay for something like a black-market Archetype sample.” 

Sister Nicette’s face stayed carefully blank. Galanos leaned back against a wall and tapped her fingers thoughtfully against her chin.  

“How did you afford this?” whispered Galanos. “Questions, questions, questions.” 

The silence hung in the small room as Sister Nicette watched the Mother Superior reflexively grasp the sheets beneath her. 

“So how much to Borya offer you?” 

The detective felt her mouth twist into a smile as Sister Nicette gasped.  

“Let me see if I have this all worked out,” continued the detective. “Borya knows how much the Archetype can change society. Of course it helps that the churches would probably pay big bucks to have their faithful flock the cathedrals to get a glimpse of their patron saints. But he needs an in. That’s when he remembers his old friend Sister Duschka. If they can successfully test the Archetype treatment on a minor Saint, them the larger Church is bound to sit up and take notice.” 

Sister Nicette kept her face carefully blank.  

“So, Borya offered a deal, didn’t he?” asked Galanos softly, her voice quiet, probing. “He offered your convent a bribe. One big enough for you to look the other way when you found it the Archetype was stolen. Cash, probably, so there’d be no digital trail. But then things didn’t go according to plan, did they?” 

Sister Nicette began to tremble. 

“Sister?”  

Slowly, grudgingly, the old nun nodded.  

“So,” continued Galanos. “I’m guessing Borya wanted Sister Duschka to do the test. They treated a relic of Saint Domica, but, by the look of it, Sister Duschka didn’t react well to the treatment, did she? Perhaps she found out something about Saint Domica she didn’t want to know, hmm?” 

The short nun’s eyes narrowed, and she rose from her seat. The expression was so fierce that Galanos almost took a nervous step back.  

“But that’s none of my business, I guess. I only believe in evidence, Sister. But here’s what the evidence tells me. Borya screwed up. And that’s an opportunity for us.” 

The angry dwarf stopped, her expression confused.  

“You see, this outfit Borya works for, VOC? They don’t like failure. So Borya’s either going to have to get their money back, or take the Archetype, or both.” 

Sister Nicette looked worriedly at Sister Duschka. 

“It’s alright,” said Galanos. “We won’t put any of your order in danger. I just need to know where you’re keeping the relic of Saint Domica.” 

The old nun’s lips curled and she shook her head vehemently.  

“I need you to trust me,” said Galanos. “Because if you don’t, VOC will keep coming after your order. Not to mention that people might start asking questions about your latest – donation.” 

Sister Nicette hesitated, then hung her shoulders and nodded slowly.  

“Good,” said Galanos. “Now listen up. This is what we’re going to do.” 

– 

Galanos checked her jacket again and cursed herself for not bringing another energy drink. It was past midnight in the convent’s small crypt and the detective could feel her knees protest, but as she gazed at the low kneelers in front of the stone memorial she grunted and stretched her legs instead.  

“You still wear that thing?” Galanos asked, smirking as her younger partner stuffed the small gold cross back into his shirt and checked the holster beneath his jacket.  

“Nanna gave it me when I joined the choir,” grinned Dwayne as he stared out of the police car. “Though I was more interested in Loretta from the front row. But you know what? Kept me safe ever since.” 

Shaking her head to fight of the darker memories of the young man, the detective frowned at the polished stone taking up the center of the small space. On it sat a small silver box, glinting a little in the half-light drifting down from the stairs. Some unnamed member of the Order of Saint Dominica had laid a handful of flowers from the garden in front of the small reliquary. 

Galanos was idly wondering if the room had originally been a farm cellar or had built after the convent was established when she heard the footsteps on the stairs. Drawing back into the corner of the room, she carefully unholstered her pistol as an older man in combat fatigues crept into the small room. 

Borya. He came back for the Archetype after all. I would have gone for the cash.  

“Put your hands where I can see them, Borya,” ordered the detective, stepping behind the VOC operative. “You’re under arrest.” 

The old man chuckled. 

“Ah, Michael Ivonak’s pet police officer? We know all about you.” 

“And pretty soon, I’m going to know everything there is to know about VOC,” replied Galanos evenly, holding her gun steady as she edged towards Borya.  

“Detective – your station, your implants, all sponsored and supplied by Nash Industries, yes?” 

“That’s right,” growled Galanos. 

“That gun, too?” 

Too late, Galanos spotted the small black device between Borya’s gloved fingers as he took his hand out of the pocket. With the click of a small button, Galanos’s gun gave a frustrated chirp and the trigger became inert beneath her fingers.  

How did he switch- 

The implant in the detective’s vision flickered red warning symbols and Galanos doubled over in pain, moaning as her skull felt like it was cracking open.  

“I’m almost sorry to do this to you, Detective,” came Borya’s voice from somewhere beyond the red mist clouding her vision. “But considering how many of my comrades you’ve killed, I can always pray for forgiveness later. Now if you will excuse me, I have something I need to retrieve.” 

Blinking her way through the fog, Galanos saw Borya turn away and reach out for the silver reliquary, gently opening the silver box with gloved hands. Dragging herself upwards, she grit her teeth as she lurched towards the VOC operative. The older man grunted in surprise as the detective barreled into him, the silver container smashing to the floor as the pair struggled.  

Galanos winced as the pain arced through her. With no room to move in the tight pace, it was a clumsy, brutal fight, the detective crying out as a knee connected with her gut, but squinting through the dark and pain she sent an elbow flying into Borya’s cheek. 

“God damn you,” grunted Borya, rolling away and scrabbling towards the upturned reliquary.  

“Doubt he cares,” wheezed Galanos, throwing up her hands as Borya threw something at her.  

“Ha!” cried the VOC operative in triumph, scrambling backwards as Galanos opened her hands.  

Inside was a small fragment of yellowed bone.  

“Know you will see,” hissed Borya. “Now you will finally know.” 

Staring down at the small pale shape in the gloom of the crypt, Galanos gave a pained smile and looked Borya in the eye, then popped the small fragment of bone in her mouth.  

“Mmmm,” she said happily. “Sainthood tastes like beef stock.” 

Even in the half-light Galanos saw Borya’s eyes bulge as he tripped over his own feet trying to back away.  

“You can’t! But – how?” 

Galanos spat the bone to a corner and chuckled.  

“The nuns were kind enough to share some of their dinner with me. Beef stew. Did you really think I’d let you get your hands on the Archetype sample?” 

Borya snarled. 

“Where’s the sacred relic? The Sisters wouldn’t have allowed you to take it out of its resting place.” 

“It’s safe, Borya. I may not be a believer, but I’m not a barbarian. Now give yourself up, damn you. I’m tired, and in the morning I still have to explain to Nash Industries why they may not get their stolen sample back.” 

Borya chuckled, the sound tumbling around the small room until it grew into a bitter laugh.  

“Oh Detective,” he sighed. “There’s so much more going on than your provincial little police department can possibly understand. Do you even know what your beloved Michael is doing?” 

“What do you mean?” asked Galanos, rubbing the side of her ringing head. “Borya, what does VOC kn-” 

Borya’s hand came up and Galanos had enough time to recognize the small black device before her body was wracked with pain. The detective fell to her knees as Borya turned and ran, but by the time Galanos could struggle through the red lightning dancing in front of her vision the crypt was empty.  

“Arsehole,” hissed the detective, her voice sounding slurred and breathless in her ears.  

Galanos sighed, flopping down by the wall of the small crypt and listening to the silence. When her head finally began to clear, she reached into her jacket and pulled out a small plastic bag. Inside was a fragment of yellow bone, sitting quietly in the dark.  

The detective sat in the gloom and stared at the relic, a tiny object that seemed too heavy for her trembling hands.  

There was no real thought. Galanos’s mind felt almost mechanically empty as she tilted the bag and let the bone slip closer and closer to her upturned palm.  

With a final, tiny shake, the fragment fell onto Galanos’s skin and the detective’s world exploded.  

Galanos felt her body hurled into a dark hurricane, a thousand voice screaming, whispering and laughing around her. She turned and found herself back with her husband, her young body lingering at his touch as they talked about their future. As she reached out, the man’s face turned into a hollow wreck as the cancer ate him alive. Flinging herself away from the memory, she turned and looked down at a dark alley awash with blood, Dwayne struggling to breathe as blood spread across his chest.  

Darkness overwhelmed her, a palpable shadow that lurked in the dark corners while the exhausted woman fought off sleep. Galanos tried to scream, her voice crackling across the black ocean drowning her until a sudden light split the darkness.  

It was too bright. Painfully, searingly bright, and the woman felt herself flying, falling, drawn up and down as she tumbled towards a horizon of pure fire. Her voice was lost as she plunged headfirst into the light, and everywhere was pain as she struggled against the heat tearing through her.  

Floating, flailing, screaming, Galanos became aware of a movement in the impossible depth, a current pushing against her as something alien drifted closer. Galanos couldn’t move, couldn’t see, but nonetheless perceived that as she stared into the endless light, something, something, shifted imperceptibly and stared back.  

Galanos felt the light brighten, burn, tumble her back and forth –  

And then she was back in the merciful darkness of the crypt, cool and quiet as she lay against the polished stone.  

Above her, Sister Nicette stood up, her face solemn as she held the tiny fragment of bone between her old fingers.   

Galanos held her head and tried to stop shaking. Her clothes felt cold, but she was certain her skin should be steaming.  

“H-wha?”” she gasped, pulling herself up to a sitting position.  

The old nun picked up the upturned reliquary, delicately placing the remains of the Saint back in the silver box and wiping the container clean with the side of her dress. When she was done, she turned to the detective.  

“It’s alright,” she did quietly. “I saw it too.” 

Without another word, the old woman turned and walked from the room. 

– 

Galanos lay in bed and tapped her ear as a call signal flashed across her vision.  

“Hey Jimmy.” 

“Hey Sandra. You doing ok?” 

“Skull stills feels like someone has been playing a rumba on it, but yeah, I’m getting better.” 

“Take all the time you need. If VOC has developed countermeasures against Nash Industry’s implants, then we need to stop and figure out our next move. I suppose we’ll have to go back to Michael for help.” 

Galanos paused.  

“I don’t know, Jimmy. Something’s not right. That Borya guy, the VOC operative, he suggested there’s more going on at Nash Industries than we know – maybe there’s more of a connection between Michael and VOC? We might need to get some distance between the precinct and Nash.” 

“Sandra, I’ve been saying that since the start. But what are we going to do? One word from your boyfriend and he can shut us down.” 

“He’s not my boyfriend, Jimmy! Just – look, I’m tired, ok?” 

“Sorry, Sandra. Didn’t mean to push anything. Get some sleep. God knows you need it.” 

With a flick of her wrist Galanos ended the call, lying back in her head as she stared out at the darkness. Her hand reached out for the bedside lamp, then hesitated.  

The room was dark and cool as the sound of an energy drink being opened punctured the silence.