One Last Flight: Book One Of The Holy Terran Empire

by Carlos Carrasco

  “Seeing it from the outside, that could be considered a legitimate observation, but try to think of it this way,” Estrella said. “Our prayer life is not only where our relationship with God is experienced, our prayer life is our relationship with God. Our rote prayers, recited at regularly scheduled times, inform and enrich our extemporaneous prayers. More than that, as these rote prayers are mostly expressions of praise for the Creator, they spare us the indignity of only approaching God when we want something from Him, treating God like He were some genie in the sky to be coaxed into granting our every wish.”

  “I suppose that’s fair enough,” I said. “Except for the whole praise the Creator thing.”

  “What do you mean?” Estrella asked.

  “Why does God, Lord Creator of the universe need our praise?”

  “God doesn’t need our praise,” Sister Elizabeth said.

  “Then why bother?”

  “Because it is we who need to praise Him,” the young nun answered.

  “Why?”

  “Well,” Sister Elizabeth continued. “When we praise God we are admitting what is true of God, that He is worthy of praise. Through our praise of God we also admit what is true of our relationship to God; that we are His creation, His children.”

  “Praise adds nothing to God, Gael,” Estrella added as we reached the convent door. “God needs nothing from us. Praise offered with the proper disposition instead helps us develop the necessary humility to deepen our relationship with our Creator.”

  “I see,” I said again.

  Estrella raised a querying eyebrow.

  “I’m not saying I believe, mind you,” I said. “I’m just saying that I see how you see it which is more than I saw before.”

  “Well, praise be to God for that,” Estrella said opening the door.

  Inside the convent I was formally introduced to the Sisters of the Sacred Wounds. Wimpled faces, oval islands of flesh floating in a sea of blood-red wool smiled at me in friendly, curious regard. The nuns were mostly pure humans, made up of about a half-dozen races. I did however note two hybrids among them; a green-skinned, golden-eyed Chlorix and an elderly Cyclopean. After the introduction we took our places standing behind our seats at one of the four long, wooden tables that sat six at each side. Centered on the tables were bread boards, each with a round, hard-crust loaf of bread ringed in cubes of cheese. Besides the bread boards were bowls of mixed fruits, tumblers and pitchers of water.

  Estrella turned to the life-size crucifix that hung on a wall. She led us in a short prayer of thanks for the meal we were about to enjoy and then we took our seats. A dozen apron-clad sisters served the room bowls of aromatic garlic soup before sitting to their own meals. We ate at a leisurely pace, Estrella and I fielding several tactful questions about our past, shared and individual, between mouthfuls of dinner.

  I somehow managed to resist every temptation to embarrass my former lover.

  After dinner, the same twelve aproned nuns quickly cleared and cleaned the tables. A variety of games were then brought out and the sisters collected themselves into different sized groups to play them. Sisters Estrella, Elizabeth and I were joined by the elderly Cyclopean, Sister Beatrice, in a game of Bric and Brac. After a few rounds, all won by Sister Beatrice, Sister Elizabeth suggested Estrella and I dance.

  “Dancing?” Sister Beatrice asked incredulously, shocked even at the suggestion. “In the convent?”

  “Well, there is no rule against it,” Sister Elizabeth offered weakly.

  “There is no rule against taking an axe to these tables and starting a bonfire in the refectory either,” Sister Beatrice countered. “But I wouldn’t suggest it anymore than I would dancing.”

  “Well, I would like to see them dance,” said a nun from the table behind ours.

  “I think that could be a lot of fun,” said another from the end of our table.

  Two voices and then three others chimed in, joining in favor of Sister Elizabeth’s suggestion. Sister Beatrice’s head swivelled from one to another of the assenting nuns, her great eye narrowing in growing indignation at the rising tide of excitement.

  Estrella laughed and put a consoling hand on her Cyclopean sister, “We should concede before we have a mutiny on our hands, Sister Beatrice.”

  The old nun snorted a challenge at the room before acquiescing, “As you wish, Mother Superior.”

  A good score of the younger nuns sprung from their seats and began piling up the chairs along two walls and then pushed the tables against them.

  “Kressi,” Estrella called out to the station A.I.. “Play us a Shaggy-Bop tune.” When the music started playing, she proffered me her hand. “Shall we see what we remember?”

  “Let’s,” I said, accepting her hand with a grin.

  The first dance was an awkward affair what with the ankle-length habit and the long years without practice. By our third dance, the old muscle memories stirred to life and we managed to execute some of the Shaggy Bop’s fancier footwork patterns. By the fifth dance we were able to work passes, turns and spins into the routine. The nuns, sans Sister Beatrice, cheered and showered us with applause at the end of each dance.

  Estrella and I then taught the nuns a half dozen footwork combinations and some basic turns. Beatrice was coaxed into participating by her fellow sisters. The nuns paired off and put our lesson to work. Estrella and I partnered with one nun after another as Kressi played song after song. Surprisingly, Sister Beatrice proved one of the better dancers, though when I was partnered with her I had to suggest that she should smile while she danced.

  “Whatever for, young man?” she demanded.

  “Or not,” I answered with a shrug.

  For two hours the refectory of the Sisters of the Sacred Wounds became a music and laughter-filled dance hall. Estrella glowed, practically radioactive with joy and I was thrilled to have contributed to her condition. And then the bell for Compline rang. The music stopped, the laughter faded and the nuns thanked me for my visit, imploring that I return the next night. Finally, with smiles firmly fixed on their flushed faces, they slipped out of the refractory in single file to their late evening prayers.

  Estrella and Sister Elizabeth lingered behind.

  “Would you like us to escort you to your suite, Gael?” Estrella asked.

  “There’s no need,” I said. “I know the way.”

  “We’ll be free again after Mass tomorrow,” she said.

  “Which is at 0800?” I inquired.

  “Yes.”

  “Well then, I’ll see you there.”

  “Good night, Gael,” Estrella said, taking my hands and squeezing them. “Sleep well.”

  “I will,” I said, returning the grip. “Good night, sister. Sleep well sisters.”

  “Good night,” Sister Elizabeth added with a nod.

  The nuns then turned and exited the refractory.

  I stood in the suddenly empty and silent hall for a few awkward moments. Finally, I looked to the crucifix and, not for the first time, wondered at what a strange symbol it was to represent Almighty God, Creator and Lord of the Cosmos.

  “Good night,” I said with some chagrin to the crucified sculpture and left.

  17

  The next day was a Sunday, the holy day in the Christian week. The church was packed compared to the prayer service on the previous evening. I was forced to share a pew with two families who had thirteen kids between them. There were several large families scattered throughout the congregation. Sitting among them I could not help but reflect upon what was perhaps the most telling and vital difference between the Holy Terran Empire and the Federation of Free Planets: contraception.

  The use of contraception was taboo in the Empire. It was outlawed in fact. The Empire’s warrant for my arrest was issued a few years back because I had been identified as a smuggler of contraceptives and other illicit drugs to a number of Imperial border worlds. Outside of the Empire, the practice of contraception was ubiquitous throughout the g
alaxy, allowed even among the few remaining cults of Protestant Christians existing beyond imperial reach. The Empire’s eschewing of contraception had allowed their population to expand at a rate many times greater than any other galactic civilization. Their prodigious breeding was the subject of many a joke in the Federation, but, under the humor was the dreaded and rarely spoken acknowledgement that this very fecundity it mocked was an existential threat to the Federation.

  The Empire’s reverence for large, traditional families better knitted its population together and engendered from them a more fierce loyalty for their civilization than the Federation’s individualist ethos managed to draw from its citizens. Their unregulated breeding was the chief reason for the Empire’s massive territory, cultural influence and its economic and military strength. The Empire was composed of three hundred and twelve of the nearly eleven hundred inhabited planets of the galaxy. And it was growing at a rate that alarmed the Federation and other non-Imperial powers. The Empire had another three score planets being terraformed with ten of them expected to be ready for colonization within a century. The Federation was in a distant second place with a mere fifty worlds and only a dozen new planets under formation. Half of those were joint ventures with the Psion Collective.

  The influence which the Empire’s religion wielded beyond its borders was perhaps the greatest cause of concern for its rivals. Its vast fleet of missionary ships and the endless waves of its emigrating citizenry was spreading Christianity across the galaxy. They were not welcomed everywhere. The Orion Hegemony did not allow Imperial citizens to even visit any of their twenty-eight worlds. Conversion to Christianity was a capital offense for their own people. While conversion was thought to be impossible for the Psion machine minds, the Collective had made it clear to the Empire that it would consider any incursion into their space by an Imperial ship, navy, mercy or even merchant, an act of war. The Federation tolerated the existence of Christians in their domain but curbed their influence by strict laws which barred them from holding public office and participating in policy making.

  It was not lost on any of these and other wary galactic powers that over a third of the Empire worlds had been added to the fold by the conversion of their populations. The planet Haven was a case in point. Despite its prime minister’s reticence to overtly aid the Empire and its knights, his world’s conversion was already well underway. In the three and a half centuries since the Empire built Krestor Station in Haven Sector, the number of Christians on the planet swelled from a hair-thin, inconsequential fraction to twenty-five percent of the population. It was not unrealistic to expect the planet to apply for entry into the Empire in another three or four generations. Similar conversions were underway in a half dozen other Open Zone worlds.

  Undoubtedly, these facts played a role in instigating the Federation’s latest expansionist adventure.

  Thinking of the impending war, my gaze naturally drifted to the knights in attendance. It was an even larger contingent of Imperial Knights than had attended Vespers. Their number took up the front five pews. Commander Appraxin sat amid them. His golden hauberk glinted brightly in the candle light. His silver breastplate was polished to a mirror finish.

  The celebration of Mass began, derailing my ruminations. It was a rather elaborate affair, far grander, though no more somber, than the one I had witnessed around the makeshift altar outside the Koppolo slum a few years back. Using the pew- mounted monitor, I followed along as best I could and hoped I didn’t bring too much attention to myself. When, over an hour later, the ceremonies were completed and the final prayers recited, Father Corsica invited Commander Appraxin to the pulpit so that he might apprise the congregation and the station at large of their situation’s latest development.

  “Thank you, Father Corsica,” the Imperial Knight began. “Good morning to all of you. I’m happy to report that the first six ships of Haven’s volunteer convoy have arrived and are being boarded for their return planetside. We’re expecting another nine before the day’s end and twenty more tomorrow. Furthermore, I was delighted to learn this morning that your fellow workers who, two days ago, boarded the Annunciation bound for Earth have agreed to disembark on Aldiss instead so that the Mercy Ship can return to Krestor Station and the evacuation effort.”

  Murmurs of excitement rippled through the congregation. A woman three pews ahead of mine crossed herself and sent a silent ‘thank you’ towards the arched roof of the church.

  “Additionally, the Empire has ordered the Mercy Ships, Magnificat and Oremus into the Open Zone,” Commander Appraxin continued.

  “Praised be God!” a male voice exclaimed from somewhere in the throng.

  “Praise God, indeed,” Appraxin concurred with a slight smile and small nod before continuing. “The Magnificat will recover those the Annunciation has dropped off on Aldiss and return them to the Empire. The Oremus has been ordered to Krestor Station. The Annunciation is expected to return by 1630 hours today. The Oremus is expected to arrive the night after. Between the two Mercy Ships, the Halberds and the convoy of volunteers from Haven, I hope to have the station fully evacuated in three days.”

  A smattering of light applause rose from the crowd.

  “Let us pray the Federation Forces can stay away that long,” the Imperial Knight added.

  The applause died suddenly.

  Command Appraxin returned to his pew and Father Corsica offered us one final blessing before processing up the center aisle at the end of a train of fellow priests and altar boys. The short and somber parade made their way out of the church under the musical accompaniment of orchestra, chorus and congregation. The faithful began to file out immediately after them. I watched Estrella dismiss her fellow nuns as I waited for the crowd to thin. Near them, at the foot of the sanctuary, I also glimpsed Lieutenant Zapatas talking with Commander Appraxin. The lieutenant seemed to be pleading for something, but his superior was not moved. The short exchange ended with a resolute shake of the commander’s head. The men then exchanged their three-fingered salute before Appraxin led four dozen knights out of the church through its side exit.

  I started making my way towards the sanctuary when Sisters Estrella and Elizabeth joined the despondent-looking Lieutenant Zapatas. Estrella exchanged several words with him. At the end of their hushed conversation, the Imperial Knight offered her a bow of his head and the abbess took his hand and gave it a squeeze of… encouragement… gratitude? I could not tell.

  “Is everything alright?” I asked as I approached them.

  They turned to me and after a short hesitation, Estrella answered, “Everything is fine, Gaelic.”

  “Are you sure?” I said. “He don’t look so fine.”

  “It’s nothing,” Lieutenant Zapatas said. “Commander Appraxin has merely refused my request to be allowed to stay behind with those who will defend the station.”

  “Oh.”

  “He’s ordered four platoons, including mine, to evacuate with our engineers and report back to duty on the Lyonesse.”

  “You can’t blame the commander,” Estrella said. “No number of Templars are going to be able to hold the station against a fleet. Only another fleet of ships could do that.”

  “I know that, Reverend Mother,” Zapatas said. “Those who will be staying are here just to make the Feds pay as heavy a price as possible for taking the station. I had hoped to help collect that toll.”

  “Well,” I said. “I wouldn’t worry none, goon. It’s bound to be a long war. There should be plenty of opportunities to martyr yourself.”

  Damn if the thought didn’t seem to cheer him up. The knight nodded and even cast me a warm smile. “If you’ll excuse us,” he said with curt bows. “Sisters, Don Gaelic, good day to you.”

  He turned and headed out the same side exit Appraxin used. A dozen knights followed him.

  “You’re a strange breed, you Christians,” I said, watching the exit of the armored parade.

  “‘In the world but not of the world’,”
said Sister Elizabeth.

  “Huh?”

  “Sister Elizabeth is paraphrasing sacred scripture,” Estrella said. “It admonishes us not to conform to the world, though we be in it. It is perhaps that which accounts for the alienation, that sense of ‘other’ about us to which your comment alluded.”

  “The funny costumes don’t help you none either,” I said.

  The sisters giggled girlishly.

  Estrella genuflected towards the tabernacle and then took my arm. She led me towards the nearest exit. “We should get you out of here before you utter blasphemy.”

  “Afraid you’ll be standing too close when I’m struck by lightning?”

  “No,” she answered. “I’m afraid that you won’t be struck by lightning and take it as an invitation to proceed to acts of desecration.”

  We proceeded to breakfast but I ate almost as little as they did. I had vomited again, almost immediately after waking. The nausea, headache and low-grade fever I woke to had persisted even after a double dose of bio-enhancers. Thus it was that I listlessly followed along the day’s tour of the station’s engineering hub, the various offices, arcade, school and auditorium. In fact I ended the tour early so that I might return to my suite. I promised to join them for dinner.

  Another double dose of nanites relieved my pains and discomfort long enough to fall asleep.

  *****

  The fever was still with me when I awoke hours later. I shot up again. Another double dose. I checked my chronometer and determined Estrella would be on her way to Vespers. I decided it was a good time to visit my Strumpet.

  The ship’s silvery hull was dull and mottled with yellow plascrete. The breach in the aft hull was sealed up, filled in with a lumpy scar of plasteel. There were two workers beneath the Strumpet, carefully mounting a torpedo onto one of the battery’s brackets. I noticed that there was already one torpedo in the magazine and a third on the arms of a stumpy, wheeled robo-rack waiting at the worker’s heels.

  Once aboard the Strumpet, I paused to admire my new upper deck. It seemed well constructed for the speed with which it was raised. Two sets of stairs, port and starboard side, accessed the upper deck. The old stairs at the bow end had been replaced by a bulkhead mounted ladder. The ship’s main service trench which ran the center length of the cargo deck was opened. Three heads bobbed within it. When I approached, I noticed that two of the workers were methodically replacing the network of cryo-optic cables which spread out in widely splayed fans from the two foot cube that housed my new neutronium crystal. The third worker was running conductivity and integrity tests on the tertiary manifold that had ruptured during my battle with FF soldiers on Ramage.