One Last Flight: Book One Of The Holy Terran Empire

by Carlos Carrasco

  The room seemed to drop twenty degrees with the pall of silence that fell over it.

  Chief Admin Chung broke the spell. “We’ll pass your suggestion on to Prime Minister Milosevic, Commander.”

  “Thank you, Chief,” the knight responded. “Be sure to inform the Prime Minister that with Federation ships parked over Ramage, they are no more than ninety hours from his doorstep. The Lyonesse could be here in seventy-four hours but Captain Maddox has been ordered to remain in orbit around Amber to enforce the cease-fire and repel the Republic, should she return. Even without those orders, the Lyonesse would be of limited help to us, given the extent of her damage.

  “Captain Maddox has forwarded our latest intelligence to Imperial Fleet Command. They have ordered our sister Paladins, Excalibur and Galatine into the Open Zone. Unfortunately, it will take them eight days to get here. At the rate the Federation is expanding through the OZ, Haven could well be occupied by then.”

  “I’ll let him know, Commander,” Chung said.

  “Thank you again, Chief. Apraxin out.”

  The large screens went blank. So did the faces around me. After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, Chief Admin Chung requested to be connected to Prime Minister Milosevic.

  “You’re a charming bunch, you Imperial Knights,” I said to Lieutenant Zapatas in the lull that followed.

  “We’re Knights Templar,” Zapatas responded. “Not flattering courtiers nor obsequious courtesans. It is very likely that we will die defending this station. We accept the reality of our situation and bid you all pay us the respect of doing the same.”

  15

  A little over twenty minutes later a connection was established with Haven’s Prime Minister. Milosevic had sharp facial features on a nearly wedge-shaped head. His large, blue eyes burned with a fierce intelligence under a full head of wavy, iron-gray hair. Chung filled the Prime Minister in on their situation and forwarded Commander Apraxin’s request. The Prime Minister wasted no time denying it. Father Corsica tried his hand but Milosevic would not be budged from his neutral stand. He was adamant in his refusal to take an action which the Federation might perceive as hostile. The Prime Minister dismissed Commander Apraxin’s threat of Haven’s occupation by Federation Forces.

  “The Empire doesn’t know for a fact that the Federation plans on occupying Haven,” Milosevic said. “Aldiss, Belladora, Kunth and Dane, they’re all a lot closer to Amber than we are. It makes more sense to occupy one of those worlds.”

  “Prime Minister,” Lieutenant Zapatas stepped forward abruptly to interject. “None of those planets have a neutronium crystal foundry in their sector.”

  “No they don’t,” Milosevic said. “But pretty soon neither shall we. Isn’t that right, lieutenant?”

  When Zapatas didn’t respond, the Prime Minister continued. “Your fellow knights are, right now, rigging the foundry with enough explosives to leave nothing for the Federation but a cloud of plasteel dust. Is that not right, my good knight?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say what our orders are in regard the foundry,” Zapatas said.

  “Of course not, lieutenant,” Milosevic said. “And I will not press you on the subject. It is obvious to all of us that the Empire will not allow the facility to fall into the hands of the FF. They will have to destroy it because they’re not in a position to defend it. And while its loss will have adverse effects on our economy, it being Imperial property, we haven’t the authority to keep you from blowing it up, no more than we have the authority to commandeer Federation property. On the bright side, with the foundry’s destruction will go any reason for the Federation to occupy our world.

  “Confiscating the jitneys, as your commander suggests, might just provoke them to occupy us as a punitive measure. Imperial meddling has already pushed us into a tight spot. The pilots of the jitneys your commander pressed into service have filed official complaints with their chancery. The Federation Consul has expressed her displeasure with the action in no uncertain terms to us and the FF High Command. I will not subject my people to any further risk. I’m sorry, but this is Amber’s problem and not Haven’s.”

  “Soon enough it will be a problem for the whole Open Zone,” Zapatas said.

  “So says the Empire,” Milosevic retorted sharply. The Prime Minister then softened his tone before proceeding, “Lieutenant, we’re not fools. The Feds talk a good game about democracy and the ideal of a galactic republic of free worlds but, we know they’re just another empire at heart. There is no appreciable difference between the Empire’s royalty and the corporate oligarchs that rule the Federation. Not to your average Ozee.

  “So, to address your concern, we know the Federation hopes to Annex the Open Zone. We just don’t believe they’re going to be able to do it, not anytime soon at any rate. The fact that civil war broke out on Amber tells us that the Federation has overreached. And now that the Daimyo of Takama No Hara has invited the Empire in, well; the two galactic superpowers are bound to get bogged down in Amber. While this is unfortunate for Amber, it is preferable to giving either the Federation or the Empire cause to spread the hostilities beyond the planet that invited them into the OZ.

  “I know my answer does not please you lieutenant. It will not please your commander or the Empire you both serve, but I serve the people of Haven. The overwhelming majority of them want no part of this war. I can’t force them into it and wouldn’t if I could. There are too many people in the Planetary Parliament’s member states who would seize upon my cooperation with the Empire as an opportunity to disband our fledgling global government. Our Planetary Parliament is not even fifty years old, my good knight, and I will not see it undone on my watch. We will, of course, continue to do everything within our own means to help Krestor Station evacuate its personnel.

  “So, if there is nothing else, I have other duties that need attending.”

  Chief Admin Chung looked over to Lieutenant Zapatas. The Imperial Knight stared straight ahead, still and silent as stone.

  “That’ll be all, Prime Minister,” Chung said. “Thank you for your time.”

  Milosevic nodded. “God watch over us all,” he said and cut the connection to the station.

  The silence that followed was oppressive. I noticed no one wanted to look at Lieutenant Zapatas.

  I however, could not help myself. “Maybe we should go down there and slap some sense into the Prime Minister,” I told him as cheerfully as possible. “What say you, goon?”

  The knight didn’t take my bait.

  Estrella shook her head.

  Chief Admin Chung then had a line to the foundry reopened and gave Commander Apraxin the bad news.

  Apraxin responded with a measured, “Very well. Keep me apprised of your progress, Chief.”

  Several more strained moments of silence followed Commander Apraxin’s signing off.

  “I’d say this crisis is over,” Chief Chung said at last. He had himself connected to the auditorium and shared the news with those assembled there. “All those scheduled to depart for Amber on the last two jitneys are advised to gather their things and proceed immediately to Bay Alpha. Everyone else, please remain in the auditorium for the next ninety minutes while we complete the security sweep of the station. Thank you for your cooperation. Chief Chung, out.”

  The station’s administrator then turned to us. “Father, Mother Superior, Lieutenant, you are free to go.”

  Estrella and the priest responded with a, “Thank you, Chief.” The Imperial Knight gave the station’s Administrator a curt nod.

  Estrella and I led Father Corsica, Sister Elizabeth, Lieutenant Zapatas and his two sidekicks back to the elevators.

  “Deck Zero,” Estrella instructed the elevator.

  “Engineering,” Zapatas called out and returned to stewing in silent indignation.

  Mercifully the ride to the engineering deck was a short one. The lieutenant bid us a good night.

  “That was rather uncomfortable,” I said when the elev
ator doors closed behind him and his escorts.

  “It was indeed unpleasant,” said the priest. “Unfortunately it could not be helped, what with two irreconcilable points of view.”

  “I suppose not,” I said. “Though I must admit I’m surprised the Prime Minister was not more amenable to the Empire’s requests.”

  “And why does that surprise you, good sir?” Father Corsica asked.

  “I just figured with him being a ‘brother Christian’ and all, he would be eager to help the Empire.”

  The priest chuckled. Estrella and Sister Elizabeth smiled.

  “Am I missing something here?” I asked.

  “Yes, you are,” Estrella said.

  “And that would be..?”

  “A distinction,” she said.

  “Huh?”

  “Abbess Dymphna means that you are conflating the Church with the Empire, young man,” said the priest. “They’re separate and distinct entities.”

  “They’ve always appeared to be one and the same thing to me, father,” I said.

  “Raised in the Federation, as you were, you would naturally think so, Gaelic of Arkum,” Father Corsica said.

  “I used to believe the same thing, Gael,” Estrella said as the elevator doors opened before us. She led Sister Elizabeth out and the priest and I followed them onto another long, slidewalk-striped corridor. The signage on the wall told me we were headed to Docking Bay Beta.

  The priest continued as we stepped onto the moving belt, “Federation propaganda dismisses the distinction to serve the Federation’s agenda. However, the truth is, Church and Empire are separate entities with separate spheres of operation. And while there is some overlap, their relationship in those instances is complementary. Usually. Often enough their relationship in those shared fields of influence has been antagonistic, even adversarial but the ideal is a partnership of equals. Or so many of us would have it.”

  “But not all of you?”

  The old priest smiled, a little sadly, I thought. “Many who are members of the Church but not citizens of the Empire, and even many of us who are members of both, work very hard at keeping them from getting too embroiled in each other’s business. Too much entanglement between church and state tends to produce schisms in the church and turn states into theocracies. History has repeatedly demonstrated these to be suboptimal results for both institutions.”

  “Don’t the goons know that history?”

  “I’m sure they do,” said the priest. “It’s just that the Empire’s politics are of the Integralist persuasion.”

  “Integralist?”

  “Integralism is a political philosophy which rejects the idea that politics can, or should, be separate from concern with the end of human life,” Father Corsica said. “Integralism insists that political rule must order man to his final goal.”

  “And what would that goal be?”

  “To know and love God,” Estrella said.

  “To share in His Blessed life for all eternity,” added Sister Elizabeth.

  “Precisely,” Father Corsica said. “And to help man along, Integralists insist that secular power must be subordinate to the spiritual power.”

  “Making the church first among equals?” I asked.

  “That’s right,” Father Corsica agreed.

  “But you all don’t believe that?” I asked, looking from one to the other.

  “I think it’s a wonderful idea for an ideal galaxy,” the priest said. “Unfortunately, our galaxy is far from an ideal place and so I would personally prefer a more strictly equal partnership of the two. It’s not a very popular opinion in the Empire and goes a long way to explaining why my every posting as a priest has been well beyond its borders.”

  “Most of us on Krestor Station are just like you, Gael,” Estrella said. “Sure, we have a fair share of workers who are citizens of the Empire, the Federation, the League, the Union and even a smattering from as far away as the Alliance.”

  Sister Elizabeth raised her hand and waved hello.

  “But most are Ozees, either born and bred on one of the OZ worlds or transplants, like you and I,” Estrella continued. “Either way, we identify as Ozees. Most of us anyway. Spend enough time out here and, well… you go native. So you see, we are just as wary of the galactic super powers as you are.”

  “That’s good to know,” I said. “Though it’s of little comfort, what with two fleets barrelling their way towards the OZ as we speak.” My observation of the obvious cast shadows across their faces and turned their attentions inward to their own particular fears. I thought it best to change the subject. “So why are we headed to the docking bay?”

  “We have reserved a suite for you to stay in while your ship is being repaired,” Estrella said. “And we thought that you might have some things aboard her that you might want.”

  “Actually, I do need a few things from the Strumpet,” I said.

  Sister Elizabeth giggled. “Is that the name of your ship?”

  “Why yes, it is,” I answered. “It’s named after a song, ‘My Strumpet Blows the Trumpet.’ It’s an old favorite of your Mother Superior. Do you know it?”

  Sister Elizabeth shook her head.

  “We could sing you a few bars,” I suggested.

  Estrella elbowed me in the side. “Let’s not scandalize the young woman, Gael.”

  “Too bad,” I said with a laugh. “It’s a catchy tune.”

  “Yes, I think I remember it being all the rage decades ago,” the priest said. “It was a rather saucy tune about a…”

  “Father, please,” Estrella pleaded in a strained whisper.

  “Of course, that is to be expected of Federation pop culture,” the priest continued.

  Just then the slidewalk deposited us on the wide corridor that ran the inner length of the station’s central ring. Father Corsica shook my hand. “It’s good to have met you, Gaelic of Arkum. I’m sorry about the circumstances, but please allow me to thank you for the generous offer of the use of your ship in our evacuation effort.”

  “Glad to be of help.”

  “I’ve got to go bless our departing friends in Bay Alpha,” the priest said, boarding one of the cars used to travel between the bays. “A good night and God’s blessing to you all,” he added, making the sign of the cross in the air between us.

  “Thank you, father,” Sisters Estrella and Elizabeth said in unison with matching bows of their heads.

  I flashed the old priest a thumbs up.

  The two nuns and I then proceeded forward through the archway of the giant blast doors opened to Docking Bay Beta.

  There were three men on the Strumpet’s hull. Two of them were helmeted and suited up in heavily padded welder’s armor with power packs strapped to their backs. The flexible coils which protruded from the bottom of the packs were carefully coiled about their right arms, ending in plasma torches. One of the workers was using his torch to cut away the misshapen lump of tungsten and plasteel that used to be the Strumpet’s rail gun. The other was melting plasteel ingots into the tear in the ship’s hull. The third worker was on the port wing, filling its pocked marks with plastcrete putty.

  “Oh my,” Estrella said as we approached.

  “My poor girl has taken a brutal beating,” I said.

  “She’s in good hands,” Sister Elizabeth said.“She’ll bounce back.”

  “I sure hope so, sister,” I said, stopping before the ship’s loading ramp. “You two should wait here. She’s equally wrecked on the inside. We wouldn’t want you ripping a hem and exposing an ankle, now would we?”

  The nuns regarded me with deadpan expressions. I shrugged and headed up the Strumpet’s loading ramp. The tear in the cargo hold interior was patched up with half a dozen sheets of plasteel. The section of the gallery left dangling by a couple of struts had been cut loose and laid to rest on the deck. A hook ladder had been hung in place of the steps that led to the remaining section of gallery. There was another worker inside. He was a light-skin
ned, older man seated on one of the steps of the lowered staircase and consulting a square foot-sized data pad in his hands. I recognized the Strumpet’s 3D structural schematic displayed on its screen. The piping of his jumpsuit was banded in black and gold. He raised his balding gray head as I approached.

  “Would you be the skipper of this here boat?” he asked, rising to his feet. “Gaelic of Arkum?”

  “I sure am.”

  “Glad to make your acquaintance, captain,” he said, extending a hand in greeting. “I’m Chief Engineer Asaph Greeley. I’ve been assigned to fix up your ol’ lady.”

  I shook the engineer’s hand. “Thanks. I see you’re off to a good start.”

  “Well there ain’t much time to waste what with all and all,” the engineer said. “We’ll have that tear and every scratch and dent on your girl’s hull fixed up in another eight hours, I reckon. Then we’ll put up another layer of patching on this side of the tear, meld them, smooth it all out and it’ll be like it never happened. Which, if you don’t mind me inquiring, how did you manage to bang up this ol’ broad so beastly like?”

  “It wasn’t easy,” I said and then proceeded to give him a brief rendition of my run in with the FF.

  Asaph whistled appreciatively. “It ain’t every day that one escapes a pack of Starwings.”

  “I wouldn’t want to try it again,” I said.

  The engineer stared and nodded silently, seeming to give me a more thorough examination, deciding, no doubt, whether to believe my tale or not.

  “So, eight hours you say,” I said suddenly, not willing to wait on his verdict.

  “For the hull damage, sure,” he said. “Then I thought we could add an upper deck to this here cargo hold of yours. There’s a pair of heavy load-bearing beams on the port and starboard sides. It appears they once supported an upper deck.”

  “They did,” I said. “Until I removed it.”

  “Well, we wouldn’t put it up again if you object,” Asaph said.