Entry 1071
The Minister is unaware of a series of long term operations
run from my office against the Priory. I also have sources highly placed within
the Directorate who report only to me. One of my teams in the Priory have
succeeded where the Directorate has failed. They have successfully turned a
highly placed monk from within the hierarchy of the Order to seek asylum under
my protection.
His name is Vicar Atakani Sans Seine, the Legate of
External Initiatives for the Order of the Crescent (equivalent to the
Directorate's 1st Assistant of Internal Affairs). Preliminary reports suggest he was leading
stage one tests of some secret computer-aided telekinesis device that
facilitates a user's ability to move heavier than air objects by thought
projection. My first impression was to wonder if this intel ties into the
Minister's assessments about the search for Founders
Archive? I'm not above giving the Minister his due if the rumors are true.
My assets have been
quietly turning this man ever since
his daughter, Melika caught the Abbot's eye and she submerged into his secret harem.
Apparently, she developed trauma from latent memories of abuse breaking through
to her waking mind. Melika was quietly granted a release from her vows and
returned to her ancestral tribal reserve in the Badlands, (home of the Tonga
Clan, a barely toilet trained collection of villagers and herdsmen). Tragically
and mysteriously, Melika slit her wrists after being home for less than 72
hours; no explanations, no signs of depression. She simply walked out of her
family lodge one morning and emptied her veins. The suicide was deemed by the
clan elders as an act of latent black magic precipitated by her father, Vicar Atakani
Sans Seine. He was expelled from the clan for practicing black magic. His
family name and house were subsequently removed from all Tongan archives, and traditional
narratives. Finally, a death curse
was sworn out against him for an undisclosed amount payable upon proof of his
death. He is now a man without rank or
clan, a walking deadman.
The trick was to get
him out of the Priory and into our protection, while arranging a convincing
fatality before the bounty on him could be claimed. My office leaked forensic
evidence certifying the self immolated remains of a man burnt beyond
recognition to be that of Vicar Atakani Sans Seine. Legate of the Order of the
Crescent.
I don't mind saying
this was a masterful coup for my office and for me personally. No one has ever
successfully assisted the defection of a member of the Cenobite Movement, no
less a ranking member of the Order of the Crescent. I eagerly anticipate the
treasure trove of intel from his debriefing.
Entry 1082
I arrived late this
afternoon at Havatra, my estate in
the Northern Highlands. I took a very circuitous route through the Plains, and
finally to the Southern Shores where our clan reserve, Mare Mons stretches
along the seaside for 62 miles. From there a transport took me overland to Havatra. My body double is admirably
standing in for me at Mare Mons during
the 1st Councilor's extended stay freeing me to secretly continue on to Estate Havatra,
the crown of the verdant hills
.
Entry 1097
Against all tradition,
our official introduction occurred in my chambers. while I bathed. I made him
wait while I was a few feet away being washed by my attendants. He respectfully sat in silence. Admittedly,
this was a very old game I was playing. In the past, I have successfully used
it on men whom I wished to target for favors or sex. In this special case I
wanted to soften him up for my interrogators by stroking his lust and probing
his weaknesses. As it happened the stratagem was unnecessary. He was mine from
the outset. All too easy, or so I thought.
I emerged from my
bath to find him formally dressed in his Cenobite uniform, black short sleeved
tunic and matching slacks. He wore his tribal rank along his forearms and on
both sides of his face. He had close cropped black hair and dark penetrating
eyes. His appraisal was steady, not a leer but long and appreciative. I would call
Round One, a draw.
In response, I
decided to forego the elaborately decorative body insignias for 1st Councilor
Chair, and member of the Guardian Council, in favor of my simpler tribal
insignias along my arms and legs and full frontal clan crests covering my chest
to my waist. I wore my hair up with
traditional ancestral jewels. My mouth was painted bright crimson, as too my large
labia. I wore amber and gold eye
contacts with dark bouillon eye liner, but otherwise no further make up.. My
attendants applied an intoxicating mix of light floral scents that complemented
the natural flora of the estate gardens.
I was in a word, magnificent. Round Two, definitely mine.
We sat across from
each other at a small circular table set with traditional welcome ceremony
porcelain cups and a tea service attended by house servants in formal ware. He
tried to mask his awe behind a serene demeanor, but I knew he was deeply moved.
After all, here was a man without standing or rank. By rights, he should have
been barred from entering the residence, no less the toilette of the ranking tribeswoman of Clan DeLore, and 1st
Councilor of the Union. Such a spread as this was commonly reserved for clan leaders of comparable rank, not political
nobodies. Round Three, me again.
Here things began an
unanticipated turn. I found myself taken by his dark serenity. He was humble
but not broken. When he should have been putty in my hands he allowed his gaze
to take the measure of me; pausing long enough in the proper places to offer a
silent challenge to my dominance. And
when our eyes met as we sipped tea, or casually brushed hands, my faithless yoni, (the tireless hussey) broke ranks and unrelentingly drooled.
Despite, the mild, afternoon sun my nipples proudly declared their independence
and hardened into tall battlements ready to fly the banners of surrender a top
my swelling breasts. I found myself uncomfortably shifting my body weight to
distract myself from the rebellion going on within me. Stars protect me, I
could not sit still. Round Four, assuredly his.
The conversation was
filled with predictable pleasantries: The retelling of his perilous journey;
his gratitude for my unparalleled kindness; his compliments on my incomparable
taste. He was especially impressed with the level of respect shown to a man
without rank or clan. He pledged to be
the soul of cooperation, holding back nothing; guileless and candid. I wanted
to gobble him up. Game. (I am undone!)
Entry 1048
Akatani means the heart of a poet, and he is surely that. My interrogators report
he was thoroughly forthcoming. He has forced us to rewrite our assessments
about the Order and its function.
For me his most
disturbing revelations concern a long term, secret operation between an obscure
organ of government, the Office of Manufacturing and Distribution Assessments
(no one is even sure under whose jurisdiction it is), and the Order of the
Crescent to build and deploy a Space/Time SLED (Super Luminal Energy
Displacement) accelerator. In brief,
it creates an industrial sized wormhole
that will connect any two points in the Universe. With it we have been engaged
in clandestine exploration of alien civilizations, and from time to time
industrial espionage of sensitive technologies.
And how did we get
our hands on such a device which is centuries beyond our capability? The Founders Archive. It's not a single
object or place, but a series of advanced mathematical formulae that the Order
has been deciphering for thirty five years. So much for the vaunted
intelligence apparatus of the Directorate, please!
