Book felt a little ambiguous about helping out with this plan. There was a moral dilemma involved, although as moral dilemmas went, it was refreshingly simple. It was, of course, a sin to steal; a commandment, even. But if one got just the tiniest bit flexible with one’s perspective, the fact that this crime would be committed against a faceless entity – the Universal Alliance – and its faceless taxpayers, well, it could hardly be considered theft in the strictest sense. Add to that the potential benefit this “crime” might have, the possibility of improving the lives of so many, and it didn’t take much to tip the scales. This was clearly the right and proper course of action.

Then why did it eat at him so?

Perhaps, he reflected, it was because he was so aware that all of his justifications were, in the end, complete (bullshit). Justify it any way you chose, it was still a violation, and he knew it. Even if it did help a billion people. That was the problem with absolute morality: no wiggle room.

He had come to terms with his sinful nature years ago, though, and any vestigial feelings of guilt were mere intellectual curiosities, not real impediments to action. This was clearly a case where the theoretical ends justified the less-than-legal means.

At least his part was minor, he reminded himself. He merely served as a liaison between the Captain and . . . well, it probably would be the Thomasite Order, once all was said and done. It seemed the most promising. With chapter houses on eight worlds and missions on ten others, the small monastic order had a divine mandate (read their charter) to minister to the whole of mankind, as suffering was an affront to the Lord. Book knew about the Thomasites; the Order had some serious doctrinal differences with his own, but the approached the Great Work with a common spirit. It’s everyone-deserves-redemption-in-practice-as-well-as-theory doctrine made it a haven for reformed criminals and . . . people who were flexible with their perspective regarding law