Free Tankbread 02 Immortal by Paul Mannering Page A

You go first, I’ll be right behind you.”
    Else hesitated. “Sarah, if you could get off this ship and live on land and never have children taken away again, would you like that?”
    “Come on.” Hob pounded on the open door with a flat hand. Sarah shrank back from Else as if she were a monster born of nightmares.
    Else went through the door and followed Hob’s instructions at her back; turn left, go down those stairs, along the corridor and then down another flight of stairs. He walked behind her, ready to stop her should she try and escape. They walked in the glow of electric lights until the murals painted on the walls morphed into themes of angels and flaming swords. Tiny stick figures were bathed in the yellow glow of crayon. Near the ceiling a crude painting of a figure with a blue hat spread his arms wide, bringing everyone into his embrace.
    “There is religion here?” Else wasn’t surprised. Religion was an oddly human thing. She had seen it put to good use by Sister Mary and the nuns of Saint Peter’s Grace. They were working hard to help people and keep order in a world gone to chaos. She was curious to see what kind of religion was being practiced on the ship.
    “Yeah, there’s those that worship the Captain and the Almighty and there’s those that worship the engines.”
    “Engines? Do they work?”
    “The engineers believe.” Hob pushed past Else and twisted a door handle. “After you.” She slipped past him and into a dark chamber hung with thick sheets of soft cloth. Her nose twitched; there was a smell here, like burnt flowers. Else stood still, waiting while her eyes widened in the gloom. A silhouette with arms spread wide hung on the far wall. Else stepped closer; it resembled the man, Jesus on the cross, that the nuns worshipped. This figure had been painted to resemble clothes. A white shirt, with gold-striped epaulettes, dark pants, and shoes painted over the wooden feet nailed to the beam. On his head he wore a faded blue cap instead of a crown of thorns. Else looked back as the door closed. Hob was gone.
    “Behold the Captain. Through his mercy we shall live forever.” The man speaking wore a suit of grey fabric, worn to a dull shine. Around his neck he had a white collar, stained to a nicotine brown with skin grease and sweat. His unshaven and rough-looking face bore stubble the color of cold ashes in a campfire. The eyes sunk deep in the sockets glittered like sparks struck from steel.
    Else took a step back. “I’ve seen this before. On the land, the sisters of Saint Peter’s Grace. They had a bigger church, though.”
    The priest raised his hands and his eyes toward the ceiling. “God is everywhere, child. But only on his blessed ark are his chosen children saved.”
    Else raised an eyebrow. “Saved?” she asked.
    “Indeed, child.” The priest warmed to his subject. “And the Lord God said, ‘I will destroy man whom I have created from the face of the earth; both man, and beast, and the creeping thing, and the fowls of the air; for it repenteth me that I have made them. And God looked upon the earth, and, behold, it was corrupt; for all flesh had corrupted his way upon the earth.’”
    “I have to go and find my baby.” Else started for the door. The priest moved in front of her and put his hands on her shoulders. Looking into her face as if searching for something, he said, “Thou shalt not sacrifice unto the Lord thy God any bullock, or sheep for that is an abomination unto the Lord thy God.”
    “Let me go.” Else struggled out of his grip.
    “I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God! Your child is a gift from God and to God they shall return! This is the sacrifice the Lord asks of us. Through his immortal vessel, the Captain who walks above us we shall find the kingdom of heaven when the waters recede!”
    Else tugged on the door handle. The close press of the velvet