The Chronicles of Riddick - Alan Dean Foster [63]
The Purifier entered and stood off by himself, observing. Occasionally, his gaze would travel from the distorted stars visible beyond the port to the converts busy at their stations—and eventually, to Vaako. It unsettled the commander more than he would have cared to admit.
It was better when the Purifier came toward him. At least the man wasn’t standing off by himself, lingering in the background, piercing everyone with his critical gaze. Talking to him reduced Vaako’s feeling that he had been weighed and found wanting.
He did not know the half of it.
“Long journey.” Standing behind the commander, the Purifier peered past him, his gaze focused on the glistening firmament ahead. When the commander did not reply, the other man continued. “They can be a test, these deep runs. A test of our inner selves as well as of crew and vessel. Difficult to be so long away from the comforting confines of Necropolis. Yet sometimes they must be done. Long and lonely they are.” His attention shifted to the martial figure before him. “Do you find that to be true, Vaako?”
“I know some do,” the commander replied without admitting to anything. Unlike the Lord Marshal or his fellow commanders, the Purifier could sometimes be frustratingly cryptic. When beset with questions that were enigmatic, it was best to provide answers that were equally nonspecific. Vaako considered it only tactful. Dame Vaako would have called it self-preservation.
Not that he felt any threat from the Purifier. On the contrary, he was usually quite relaxed in the other man’s presence. It was only when the spiritual head of the cause was standing behind him, out of sight, that he found himself wondering about the nature of the other man’s thoughts. What did he think of Vaako? Of the Lord Marshal? Of their respective abilities, for example? It would be useful to know.
He couldn’t ask, of course. That would have been worse than tactless. Such a blatant need to know would have suggested uncertainty: a dangerous trait in a high commander. But the fact that he dared not ask such things did not keep him from wondering about them.
“Just being so far from the armada,” the Purifier was saying, “your head can fill with strange thoughts. Doubts. Don’t you ever have doubts, Vaako? About the campaign? About our Lord Marshal?”
Was the Purifier trying to bait him? If so, the transparency of the attempt was an insult to the commander’s intelligence. Surely a wise, knowledgeable adviser like himself could do better than that. It was a good thing Dame Vaako wasn’t there, he knew. She would have been hard-pressed to keep from bursting out laughing at such obviousness. There was a woman, he knew, from whom even the most cunning diplomat could take lessons. Not for the first time, he found himself thinking how glad he was that she was on his side.
As for the Purifier’s questions, he was able to respond straightforwardly and without hesitation.
“If you’re here to test my loyalty, you succeed only in testing my patience. I have a task to perform that allows little time for such barefaced nonsense. Take your testing elsewhere and annoy others with it, Purifier. I am Vaako: first and always a Necromonger commander, a defender of the faith, and a leader of converts new, old, and always.”
To this the Purifier only nodded, giving no indication whether he was satisfied or disappointed by the response. “Well spoken, noble Vaako. ‘First and always.’ Have you ever paused to consider the full meaning of the words we all speak? For myself, I have always wondered what that really signifies . . . ‘always.’” Without another word, he pivoted and headed out of the command center.
Vaako watched him go. Peppered with queries, left in custody of a riddle, he was more disconcerted by the fleeting exchange than he had been when the Purifier had been staring at him from behind.