C3 Temple of Soeck

Three hours later, his stock pot now empty and his face covered in band-aids, Gerald made his way into the Temple of Soeck, which had been built on top of what had at one time been a Ken Garff car dealership. It was a simple design, as alien temples go. Built from blocks of a translucent amber material that Stolleckians secreted from glands in their hands, it was basically a step pyramid like a Ziggurat, but each level was rotated some thirty-five degrees from the one below it. Gerald always thought it looked kind of like a half-twisted Rubik’s Cube.

As Gerald walked in, he took a moment to breathe in the feeling of peace inside. Stollick inscriptions covered every surface of the walls and ceiling in their native language.

The basic tenants of their philosophy were written in large script, while the more marginal stuff was written in smaller text. The final layer was the history of their people, written in letters so fine they required a magnifying glass or at least a good pair of eyes.

Gerald had a pretty good grip on the basic language by now, but some of the eastern dialect still just looked like chicken scratches to him.

“...I’m telling you, I can’t take it anymore,” came a voice out of Gerald’s translator. He looked up and saw a pair of priests speaking with the Father. The Stollick language contained a lot of clicks and chirps, some of which were just at the edge of human hearing, but luckily the device could still pick it up.

“Either you tell him or I will!” came another as Gerald approached.

“Good day siblings,” Gerald said warmly. The torn edge of his robes caught the bottom of a candle brazier and knocked it over, spilling hot wax onto the floor.

“Ah, it’s him!” Priestess An’Sol complained as she backed away, gathering up her robes defensively.

“You said he wouldn’t be back until later,” Priest Ty’Kall accused, his long lizard-like tail slapping the floor angrily.

“I got my rounds done early,” Gerald said happily as he picked the bent brazier back up.

Father O’Theen gave off a long, droning sound. His yellow eyes looked tired. “Gerald, what have you done to your cassock?” he asked in frustration.

“Oh this?” Gerald asked, pulling at his robes. “Just a badge of honor for a hard day’s work. That’s how I choose to see it, anyway.”

“Well, no one else does. Go get yourself cleaned up. You look disgraceful.”

“I’ll get to that in a minute,” he replied, nearly jumping out of his skin. “In the meantime, I have great news.”

“You’re moving?” Priestess An’Sol quipped.

“No, silly. I finally managed to get a Stolleckian Lotus to grow in earth soil.”

An expression came over the three aliens’ faces that Gerald had never seen from them before. Panic.

“You did?” they asked in unison.

“Yes,” Gerald said, pumping his fist. “Now, when it blooms I can complete my Oathstone Ritual, take out my vows, and become a priest like you guys.”

The three aliens looked at each other worriedly.

“Ooh, and then I can start forging my own soul catcher,” he gushed, pointing at the amulet hanging around Priest Ty’Kall’s neck.

“Don’t touch that,” Ty’Kall bade, pulling away, but it was too late. The metal chain snapped and the amulet fell to the floor and shattered.

“You idiot!” Ty’Kall barked as he knelt down. “That took me fifty years to make.”

“Sorry, but I didn’t even touch it.”

“YOU don’t have to touch things to break them,” he accused.

Father O’Theen raised his long scaly fingers. “I am happy for you, my... sibling...”

Gerald flicked his translator. The word “sibling” had come out really forced.

“...but we are no longer accepting new priests at this mission.”

“We aren’t?” Priestess An’Sol began to ask, but Father O’Theen smacked her on the back of the head with the tip of his tail. “Oh right...” she covered. “Sorry, can’t do it, not anymore.”

“But why?” Gerald asked, crushed.

“Look, I’ll be frank with you,” Father O’Theen breathed heavily, causing his long white goatee to shiver. “You have twice the enthusiasm of any initiate I’ve ever seen on any world, but since you joined our order this particular mission has been run into the ground. Attendance is down to nearly nothing; all of the holy relics we brought have stopped working...”

“And we are drowning in repair bills,” Priest Ty’Kall spat as he scooped together the fragments of his soul catcher.

“But,” Gerald stammered, “what about our relief efforts? Without us, all those people out there aren’t going to make it.”

“No one is forcing them to stay in their beds,” Priestess An’Sol snarled indignantly.

“But Soeck makes no distinction between those in need for their own fault, and those in need because of the fault of others, he only sees need and fills it,” Gerald recited. “Thirteenth Binding, Seventh Stanza.”

“Ugh, I’m afraid the young initiate knows his scriptures well,” Father O’Theen grumbled. “Better than he should, frankly. Nevertheless, the decision has already been made. This mission will close at the end of the month.”