Struggle. Taste of power - Владимир Андерсон
Шрифт:
Интервал:
Закладка:
Metropolitan
The Korsa sector had a very convenient location in the Donetsk-Makeyevka grouping. It had access to four different sectors at once, and was second only to Diza in terms of labor productivity. Guzokh was not too surprised that his fellow metropolitan had chosen this particular sector for his visit before the main strike. And that the main strike was aimed at Ananhr was no longer in doubt, since her older brother is one of the members of the Empire's Central Committee. The Church is aiming for supremacy in the Empire….
Guzokh was now in the reception hall, the one where the local chief of the SCK, Bazankhra, had been burned alive for heresy just yesterday. The hall was enormous. Marble in white, coral, green and chestnut. Someone had clearly had fun exercising their design skills in this place. Tall columns on either side of the aisle and a large pedestal with a sculpture of the founder of the SCK. This piece was a bit out of place with its surroundings, neither in color nor in manner. If everything around was bright and refined enough, the sculpture was gray and bulky. It should have been made twice as big or depicted an SSchekist sitting in an armchair instead of standing with a gun in his hand. The columns around him seemed to be pressing on him, and it seemed that he was too weak for all this.
Well, that makes sense. Someone else was there before. And they brought him in at the moment when a few months ago they received six more sectors in addition to Diza.
— We are honored by your arrival. — The former deputy and now chief of the CPS in Korsa sector, Divinhr, proclaimed.
— And to my predecessor, did you say the same? — There were only two novices behind Guzoch's back, and though they were quite stout and very manly looking, they were not at all intimidating in the way that the punitive drill of the Inquisition had recently been.
— Yeah, we had a little bit of that last time.
Guzoh stopped and turned around. It was a bit surprising. How could an SSchekist say such a thing so easily. But, on the other hand, there was no point in humoring him now. He wouldn't make the same mistakes as his former chief, especially about things that the church wouldn't like. After all, the church doesn't like the silent ones like SCK, it likes those who speak in moderation. It is the quintessence of the clerical sphere of life to see the measure of permissible and forbidden things, because, in fact, everything around us is both permissible and forbidden. The only important thing is how to approach it. The Church has been proving for thousands of years that it knows how to do this better than anyone else, and no one has ever been able to prove otherwise.
— There is no point in denying the obvious. — Whoever was burned here for heresy certainly deserved to be punished. But it was too harsh. And then his mind went blank….
"I wonder what side he's even playing for," thought the Metropolitan. After all, he was now admitting those things that could be argued with. Then still accuse Samokh of it, and then strike back quite legally at the Inquisition itself. The same punitive battalion, for example. Of course, Divinhra isn't a high-flying bird, but he's no stranger to career advancement, especially since he's grabbed his new position. So, what's his agenda? Is it to take the blow away from himself once again, to realize that he has nothing to lose, or to get something more than just a few more quiet days?
The Metropolitan looked at the ashes. A black, staining mass, which with every new breeze of wind only spreads to more and more spaces. It was original that no one had thought to clean it up until now. Maybe this way they comfort themselves with the thought that since it is still fresh, it won't happen again any time soon? A bit unconventional behavior for a special service, whose adherents mostly boast of their luxury and unlimited influence, the kind that no one else has….
Guzoh began to speak somewhat quieter:
— My son, tell me, what's on your mind? Your associates are very reluctant to talk to a churchman. It is all pretense and flattery without action… And you confess to me that your chief was really wrong.
— Don't you recognize me, Your Eminence?
The Metropolitan looked at him even more closely, then began to recognize facial features, then a look. But nothing. Nothing familiar or similar to anything he had seen before.
Escheckist noticed that his interlocutor was slow to answer because he couldn't find that answer, so he said himself:
— You don't remember my name because I never told you my name before. And my appearance, because I was too young… But that does not take away from the fact that twenty-two years ago I was your novice… You said to me, "My son, you are firm in the faith, but I do not see how you can confirm others in the faith as a priest.
Guzokh remembered him instantly. Indeed, back then he had been the rector of a church parish with an orphanage for homeless children. The children themselves, of course, were difficult, and only nuggets like Divinhir could enter the seminary and become priests. The only thing required to enter the seminary was a recommendation from the priest superior of the orphanage. Which for Divinhra, Guzoh had not given at that time, having said that phrase. He was really sure that Divinhir was firm in his faith, already
