Space Stations

“It's blasphemy.” Claire shook her head in disbelief. “You're using your position as a Catholic priest, your office to condone and reinforce the superstitious beliefs of the Haxadis. You're fostering a belief you know to be false, a belief that will lead them to damnation. And, for me, it would be worse, since what they really desire is my bloodline. I'm not a Shinto priest. I don't claim divinity. I have rejected that claim, as have my parents and their parents. They are asking us to mock our beliefs, and I won't do it.”

The Unvorite's head came up. “What of the child?”

“What do you mean?”

Flynn nodded. “Yes, Father Yamashita, the child, think of the child. If you don't do this, the child will die.”

“Because it is possessed?” She shook her head adamantly. “We all know, the three of us, that the reason the child will fail to thrive is because the parents won't care for it. They'll let their superstitions convince them that the child is failing, so they will neglect it.

Maybe not consciously, maybe it will fall to the aide to let the child die. Their beliefs allow them to condone passive infanticide. That is evil, and we should do something about it, but committing idolatry is not the answer.”

Flynn's blue eyes hardened. “Better it is, then, you're thinking, for the child to die without a chance of knowing salvation, than to be raised in a tradition that guarantees damnation?”

“There's no other choice.”

The elder priest nodded slowly. “Well, Father Yamashita, being as how I'm not female, I can't act here. I think, though, there is always a choice. I can't be faulting your logic, for it's all in keeping with the dictates of the Church. I'm also aware, though, that those teachings and those dictates are written by men, looking to honor and give glory to God-made-man. Sometimes, I'm thinking, it's a pity that complex things get sacrificed for ease of understanding. Pity you're not of a divine bloodline. Might let you understand what Jesus might teach on this subject.”

Flynn sighed. “I'm told, given how Haxadis births go, you've got a bit of time to be thinking on this.”

“There's no thinking to be done.”

“Perhaps not.” Flynn gave her a nod, then glanced at Meresin. “Father Yamashita needs some time alone. Peace be with you, Claire. If you need me, I'll be in the chapel here, praying. If you're right that there's no thinking left to be done, then praying is the best I can do.”

V

Claire Yamashita felt a little annoyance flash through her as she exited the delivery room. Her eyes narrowed. “Father Flynn.”

Flynn nodded and offered a steaming mug. “Father Yamashita.”

She shook her head. “I don't drink coffee.”

“I know. It's green tea. Your preference runs to oolong, but this is the best I could do.”

Claire accepted the mug. “How did you…?”

“I didn't. The Qian did.” Flynn stepped aside and pointed with the mug in his left hand toward two chairs in the corner of the waiting room. “If you have a moment.”

She paused for a second, during which time fatigue began to pound on her. “Yes, a moment, I guess.”

He waited for her to sit, then settled his mug on the round table between their chairs. “I should apologize….”

Claire looked him straight in the eye. “You knew I'd help them, didn't you? Was I that predictable?”

The white-haired cleric pulled back. “I wasn't thinking anything of the sort. When I heard you say there was nothing to think about, I believed you, and there was nothing I was thinking I could say to change your mind. So I did go off and pray, hoping that God might see His way clear to helping here.”

“So you thought I was totally coldhearted?”

Flynn shook his head. “Here's the thing of it, Father. Everything you said was right. I couldn't have been faulting you. Doctrinally, you were right down the line. Defensible.

Laudable. I might have been wanting to debate a point or two, but you were as right in stating your position as you were in chastising me for suggesting I would be wrong for acting otherwise.”

Claire regarded him over the mug of tea as he spoke. The soft sound of his voice, the warmth of it, matched the tea for sweet scent and heat. She sipped, let the tea linger on her tongue for a moment, then swallowed. “Do you want to know what changed my mind?”

“If you're of a want to be sharing.”

She hesitated for a moment, a blush burning its way onto her face. She stared down into the green-gold depths of her tea. The thought process she'd gone through had taken her from the arrogant heights of self-righteousness, which she'd not consciously realized she'd scaled until her descent began. The humbling journey to her decision to help had been painful and personal. To relate it would open her up, and part of her resisted mightily, but it relented as she had.

Claire nodded slowly. “You said you'd be off praying. I went back to my quarters, thought I might sleep. I couldn't, so I began the rosary again, meditating on the mysteries. I got to the third one, the mystery of the Nativity.”

“You saw Mary as a Haxadis?”