One Last Flight: Book One Of The Holy Terran Empire

by Carlos Carrasco

  The Circle was the only clearing in the ever crumbling yet ever growing slum. It was a three acre wide open space in the heart of the slum where its residents gathered either officially or unofficially to conduct internal business. Here and there women and men sat on the grass beside items they sought to sell or trade while others picnicked or just sat and talked as barefoot children capered around them all. The homes for the slum's head men and their families made up the perimeter of the Circle. One of those head men was Marcolio Omarra. He owned two large shacks on the Circle's western side. He shared one with his wife and three children. The other he had converted into a large kitchen. Outside of the shacks were six makeshift tables and a score of mismatched chairs. We took our seats at a small table and the swarthy, round-bellied Marcolio Omarra came out of his kitchen shack to greet us.

  "Don Fritz, my good, good friend, welcome back!" Marcolio took my hand in his and pumped it vigorously, with his massive tattooed arms. He was smiling ear-to-ear. "Welcome back, my good, good friend! Welcome back, Don Fritz!"

  "Thank you Don Marcolio, my good, good friend! It is good to be back," I responded equally cheerful and then gestured towards Drake. "I'd like you to meet my good friend, Drake of Arkum. I told him yours was the best restaurant on all of Ramage and, so grateful is he for the tip that he insists on buying me lunch."

  Marcolio took Drake's hand and shook it vigorously. "It is good to meet you, Don Drake of Arkum, friend of Don Fritz. Cheery good! It is an honor and I assure you that you will be very pleased with your meal."

  "Well that's good," Drake said laughing. "And I am most pleased to meet you, Don Marcolio."

  "Cheery good!" Marcolio clapped his hands together and rubbed them excitedly. "Prepare to feast, my cheery good friends."

  After Marcolio retreated to his kitchen Drake asked. "How come I only merited one good while you two referred to each other as good-good friends?"

  "I was letting Marcolio know that he can charge you more than he would a local like me."

  "Is that so?"

  "Don't worry about it," I said. "You'll still pay about half of what you would've on the hill for twice the portion and quality."

  Marcolio's daughter, Miki arrived carrying a large wicker wrapped bottle and two glasses. The shapely young woman was no more than twenty years old. She was a shade darker than her father. Her mostly bald head was tattooed with two concentric wreath-like rings of highly ornate loops and curves suggestive of waves. Her hair grew from the center of the circles at the top of her head, and fell in an ink black queue that reached just beneath her slender waist. Her lips were full, pouty even, and her eyes were large and walnut colored. A thin and jagged scar bisected the plain of her right cheek. Rather than mar her exquisiteness, the cicatrix served her austere face as a beauty mark.

  "Long time no see, Don Fritz," Miki said, placing the glasses on the table. “Looks like we need to fatten you up some.”

  "Then I’m in the right place," I agreed. "How are you Miki?"

  "Cheery good good," she said, filling each glass halfway up with the local rose-bright wine. "And yourself?'

  "Extra cheery good good," I answered. "Since I ran into my old friend here, Drake of Arkum. Drake my brother, this is Miki, Marcolio's eldest daughter."

  Drake rose to his feet, gave her a bow of his head and offered her his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you Miki."

  Miki shook it with a smile. "I'm delighted to meet you, Don Drake of Arkum. We’re not often treated to such high manners, here on Ramage."

  “Drake’s always been a romantic,” I said. “I’ve tried to beat it out of him but…”

  “But he punches like a girl,” Drake said.

  Miki laughed. “How long have you been friends?”

  “Since forever,” Drake answered. “I think I inherited his hand-me-down diapers.”

  "We grew up together, in a commune on Aurelius. He's on his way back there now."

  "You're travelling on the Olympus?" Miki asked.

  "That's right." Drake answered, sitting down again.

  "Do you have any news on the fighting over Amber?" Miki inquired.

  "We were fed the Federation narrative," Drake said. "You know, unprovoked imperial aggression and all that. Might be true. Might not. What no one is explaining is why any warship, Imperial or Federal was there to begin with."

  "Are you worried Miki?" I asked.

  "A little," she confessed. "If they must bring war to Ramage, I hope they keep the killing to themselves."

  "You have no preference for one side or the other?" Drake asked.

  Miki shrugged. "Imperial troops or Federation troops, they both got to eat. I'm just grateful Psion is not involved. I don't think that Papa would ever concoct that sludge they drink even if he could."

  "I’ve always thought it’s some vitamin-infused motor oil," I said.

  “I’ve heard it is pure evil, pureed,” offered Drake.

  "It looks awful, whatever it is," Miki said, placing the bottle of wine between us. "Well, I'll leave you two to catch up."

  We watched her walk away.

  "Be careful now, my brother," I said. "Or you’ll be returning to Ramage in another fifteen years asking another kid to get gene mapped."

  "Come now Gael, she's like a third of my age," Drake protested.

  I shrugged. "I've never known that to stop any man."

  "It's more than enough to put the brakes on this one," Drake said and then raised his glass at me. "To us, Gael; to brothers, lost and found."

  "And then lost and found again," I added clinking glasses with him.

  We each took generous gulps.

  "Hmm, that's quite good," Drake said and took another healthy swig.

  We fell immediately into an awkward silence. Drake stared at the cypress crucifix resting on his lap as if he expected it to speak to him.

  "So tell me, how did it happen?" I asked, picking up the wine bottle.

  Drake raised his head to regard me across the table again. "How did what happen?"

  "You becoming a Christian," I said, topping off his glass. "How the hell, um…I mean how in heaven did my long lost fellow hell raiser and brother in mischief find his way to becoming a Christian?"

  Drake laughed.

  "You won't believe it," he said, giving me that same bemused look.

  "Possibly," I said. "But let's have it anyway."

  I was topping off my glass when Drake finally answered, "Estrella. It was Estrella that converted me."

  Estrella.

  Hearing her name after so many years stunned me like a blow to the head. The world stopped turning or maybe it was time that came to an abrupt halt. What didn't stop was the flow of wine out of the bottle. It poured uninterrupted into the glass and then over its rim and onto the table.

  7

  Drake reached across the table and gently took the bottle from me. Miki rushed over with a cloth napkin to sop up my mess. I stammered apologies. She and Drake assured me that everything was alright; accidents happen and all. Miki then dutifully retreated.

  "I'm sorry my brother," Drake said. "I didn't expect you to take it so… to be so overwhelmed…"

  "Esty is alive?"

  "Hale and hearty," Drake answered. "Or at least she was four weeks ago when we said our goodbyes."

  "Where?"

  "Krestor Station," Drake said. "There's a church on board, Saint Lefebvre's. Estrella's convent is attached to it, The Sisters of the Sacred Wounds. Believe it or not, Esty, she's their abbess, their leader. She now goes by the name of Dymphna Mary Joseph. Mother Superior Dymphna Mary Joseph, to be exact."

  "Dymphna Mary Joseph?" I repeated, incredulous.

  "Yes," Drake said, smiling.

  I sat back on my chair dumbfounded by the news. "Our sister, Estrella of Arkum, is a nun?"

  Drake nodded, grinning.

  "She's got to be running a scam," I said.

  "How do you figure that?"

  "Krestor Station serves the Calabash Neutro
nium Crystal Foundry, right?"

  "Yeah."

  "There's a lot of money in those crystals," I said as if that was explanation enough.

  "And?"

  "She's got to be siphoning some of it her way," I said. "The nun gig is just a front. It has to be."

  Drake laughed out loud. "Gaelic, she's been in that convent for nearly twenty years. In the eight years that I've known her as Sister Dymphna she's only been off station two weeks every year to celebrate Easter groundside on Haven. If she's skimming money off the foundry then she's blowing it all on Easter flowers."

  Miki brought over our bowls of chilled seafood soup and a small plate of buttered rolls. Drake crossed himself and prayed over the bowl while I chewed on the inside wall of my cheek and mulled over what he said.

  He looked up and smiled at me when he was done. "We Christians like to thank God for our meals before eating them."

  "I'm familiar with the practice," I told him.

  "Oh?" he said and drew his first spoonful of soup.

  "One of those Imperial Mercy Ships, the Theotokos, visits Ramage once a year," I said while I watched him enjoy his soup. "They set up shop in the slum for a couple of months and do what they can for the sick and the dying. Some of the locals cleared themselves a few acres of jungle just outside the slum and built themselves a little church last year."

  "So there are Christians on Ramage?"

  "A few, here in the slum. I'm not aware of any others elsewhere."

  "How many?"

  "I don't know," I said. "Between six hundred and a thousand, I’d guess. Eleven of their boys have gone off to become priests. Maybe three times as many girls have gone off to become nuns. A pair of the boys and one of the girls are expected back soon. They’re excited to have themselves permanent priests and a nun for the church, their own children, no less."

  "That's great!"

  "Like I said, they're excited."

  Drake picked up a roll and ripped it in half. "You ever talk to any of them?"

  "Who?"

  "Have you ever talked to the crew of the Theotokos?" Drake asked, sopping up the last of the soup with a piece of bread.

  "Sure," I said. "But not much more than polite banter. Never been the spiritual type, you know."

  "You ever wonder why people like them spend their lives healing and comforting complete strangers, asking for nothing in return?"

  I had a spoonful of soup before answering, "I figure it's the Empire's way of currying favor with the locals. The Federation does it with credits, the Empire with charity. At the end of the day, they're both just peddling influence."

  "You've become quite the hardened cynic in your old age, Gael," Drake said.

  I shrugged. "Life hasn't exactly encouraged me to become an idealist, my brother."

  Drake conceded my point with a shrug of his own. He gave his soup bowl a second swipe with the other half of the roll and watched me finish my soup in silence.

  When I was done, Drake took another swallow of the wine and then said, "You should go see her, Gael."

  I shook my head. "She's dead to me."

  "We Christians are big believers in resurrection," Drake said.

  "So I understand."

  "Seriously Gaelic," Drake continued. "It would do both of you good to see each other again. You used to be so close, inseparable even."

  "We were," I agreed. "Until the day she abandoned me."

  "She feels terrible about that."

  "Well!" I said. "Ain't that a credit short and ten years of slave labor too late."

  "Oh, come on Gael."

  I shook my head and chewed some more on my inner cheek, trying to stem the rise of an anger that had long been asleep. "Forget it Drake. I'm not a Christian. I feel no obligation to forgive her."

  "Hear her out first, brother."

  "She's dead to me, Drake," I snapped. "And if I'm not dead to her already, I will be soon enough."

  "What the devil is that supposed to mean?"

  I let out a long, deep sigh, immediately regretting the outburst. "I'm dying Drake. I wasn't going to tell you but… Well, there it is. Transuranic Cancer. Incurable. I've got less than ninety days to live and well… Well, I just don't want her to see what I've been reduced to, what her betrayal has done to me."

  Drake stared at me crestfallen, his mouth open. He shot a glance at the case of bio-enhancers at my feet and then looked back at me.

  I nodded. "They're not for kicks, not anymore anyway."

  "I'm so sorry Gaelic. I… I…"

  "Thanks, but let's leave it at that, shall we," I said. "I don't want your pity; not anyone's pity. I certainly don't want Estrella's pity. I'd have a hard enough time not shooting her on sight as it is."

  We sat in silence for several painful moments. Miki broke the spell when she returned to our table with the rest of our lunch. She centered a large platter on the table and empty plates before each of us. The platter was piled high with garlic-roasted boar, fried plantains, wild rice, beans and steamed vegetables. Miki then topped off our wine glasses, finishing the bottle.

  "Would you like another?" she asked Drake.

  He was still dumbstruck with the shock of my revelation.

  "Yes, he’s going to need some more," I answered for him.

  Miki returned almost immediately with the wine and just as quickly withdrew.

  "There's nothing to be done about it, Drake," I said, loading up a plate with food. "Don't let it ruin your appetite. The food is too good and this will be our last meal together. So just forget about it. Let's just be grateful we've been given the opportunity to say goodbye. Okay?"

  Drake nodded in agreement.

  I handed him the plate. He handed me his empty one. "Good. Now, let's talk about something else. Let's talk about you. What the hell have you been doing with yourself these past thirty years? What did you do after you got out of prison?"

  "I went back to the commune," he said, rising slowly from my news-induced torpidity.

  "How was it?"

  "It was not the same," he said, cutting a chunk of boar meat in half. "Everything looked run down, dirty. And no wonder! More than half of our brothers and sisters had left. A lot of the original adult settlers were also gone. Too many new faces, none of them overly friendly. They were there for the ‘free love’ and not so much for the shared work, you know? It all felt very cult-like."

  "I think the commune should have been established as a colony on some virgin world, beyond the reach of outside influences," I suggested. "Maybe then we would've all stuck it out."

  Drake shrugged. "Possibly, for a generation or two. Ultimately though, I believe the very idea of the commune was doomed to failure."

  "Oh yeah, why's that?"

  "Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the founding principle of the commune, the need to remove oneself from the mindless, soul-crushing consumerism that fuels the Federation, but; our parents erred when they went to the other extreme by renouncing the idea of property.”

  “I always thought that was a limb too far to go out on myself,” I said.

  Drake nodded vigorously. “It's just impossible to keep people from wanting to own things. It's a need deep in the species that no amount of engineering, social or genetic can excise. People need to own their own patch of land, their own corner of some world somewhere, their own family, or maybe just their own aero, boat or starship. Without the means to acquire private property there is little or no incentive to take care of shared property and resources. If people can’t own anything they’ll soon not own the wit to own their own mistakes. It will make them incapable of learning from them and that’ll break down a society in no time flat."

  I laughed. "If mistakes were credits, I'd be a wealthy man."

  "You and me both, brother," Drake said. "We've led colorful lives, I guess?"

  "For me, it's been mostly a black and blue life," I said. "With the occasional splash of red. What about you?"

  “I’m afraid a lot of it has been s
imilarly colored.”

  Drake filled me in on his life as we ate. He began his tale after his release from prison. He returned to the commune and lived there for a few years, becoming increasingly restless until another run in with the law strapped him with a three year prison term. The commune refused to take him back at the end of his second sentence so he signed up for a tour in the Merchant Marines.

  "I thought seeing a little more of the galaxy would do me some good," Drake said.

  "Did it?" I asked.

  "A little," he said. "It might have done me more good if I had spent less of my landfalls in portside bars and other dens of iniquity."

  "But you wouldn't have had as much fun," I said.

  Drake shrugged. "That kind of fun is a poor substitute for genuine joy. That whole brawling, drunk and disorderly life I was leading landed me in one lock-up after another. I barely broke even at the end of my tour, what with having to pay back the MM for all the times they had to bail me out."

  We exchanged stories through a second platter of food and a third bottle of wine. When we were done eating we reminisced over cigars and a fourth bottle of wine. Some three hours later Drake paid up and asked, "Where to now, big brother?"

  "To the Strumpet," I declared. "You can't leave Ramage without seeing my ship. I've got some rum aboard. For old time's sake, let us get good and drunk tonight."

  "Alright then. Strumpet, here we come!"

  I called for a taxi to meet us outside the slum. We sang songs from our youth as we half-stumbled through the darkening, narrow streets of the slum. Many of my old neighbors peered through their windows or came to their doorways and bid us good night with smiles and waves. Much to the chagrin of the driver, we bellowed out our songs from the moment he picked us up until he dropped us off at the edge of the space port's pad number four.

  We were silent for several moments, I watching Drake as he looked my Strumpet over.

  "She's a beauty, Gael," Drake said at last.

  "Yeah, she is," I agreed.

  “How did you come by her?”

  “I would tell you,” I answered. “But I don’t want to risk having you think poorly of me, what with you finding religion and all that.”