“Hello boys,” I said after I cleared my voice. “Is your chief around?”
The worker with the manifold shot a glance my way before answering. “He’s up top.”
“Thanks,” I responded and took the starboard stairs to the upper deck.
I found Chief Greeley with another worker before a trough urinal mounted to the bulkhead where my closet used to be. The worker was tightening an elbow of piping beneath the trough. The engineer noticed my approach and turned to greet me with a toothy grin.
“Good to see you again, Captain,” he said and gave the urinal a flush. “Nice, huh? Roomy enough to drain three bladders at a go.”
“Nice,” I concurred and shook his hand.
The chief engineer then pointed across the deck to a newly panelled off section. “And we got four full commodes over yonder.”
“Very nice,” I said. “I couldn’t help but notice that you’re mounting torpedos on my girl.”
“I didn’t think you’d mind,” Greeley said.
“Oh, I don’t,” I answered. “Just surprised.”
Chief Engineer Greeley turned to his worker and patted the young man on the shoulder. “Go on, Julio. Close it up and go join your family.”
The young man nodded and proceeded to start re-bolting panels of bulkhead that had been removed to expose the Strumpet’s plumbing.
“Those are Hornet torpedos,” I said. “How did you get your hands on Hegemony hardware?”
“A few years back, one of their flyboys deserted his warrior’s paradise,” Chief Greeley said. “He flew the coop in his Hornet fighter and sold it on Kunth for a royal rouleaux, a nice stack o’ coin, to start his new life. Well, it turned out the buyer on Kunth worked in cahoots with one of our suits who did a little arms trading on the side. Long story short, we busted him, the suit, that is, and confiscated the torpedos he was trying to smuggle through the station. They’ve been collecting dust ever since. Thought you might appreciate them what with all in all.”
“I do, thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” Greeley said with a wink. “These are my friends you’re flying out of harm’s way.”
“So how soon before my Strumpet is ready to fly?”
“Ideally I’d like to give the plascrete another twenty-four hours to bond good and proper like,” Greeley responded. “But she’ll be ready to fly as soon as my boys are done below, in say another hour and change. That’s mighty convenient for us, seeing as my crew is scheduled to evac with the rest of the station’s families on the Annunciation.”
“You’re not going with them?”
Krestor’s Chief Engineer shook his head. “I’m senior staff. We’ll be the last ones off this bucket. What about you, cap? Are you in a hurry to leave us?”
I shook my head. “No. I just want to know how the evac is being run.”
“Just let Kressi know when you’re ready to shove off,” Greeley said. “Try to give her an hour’s heads-up. She’ll instruct the next fifty people in line to get down here on the double.”
“Just fifty?”
“You could possibly squeeze in another six or seven, if you had to.”
“I won’t need that much more room,” I said. “Just need enough for Mother Superior Dymphna and most probably her sidekick, Sister Elizabeth.”
Greeley looked at me curiously for a moment. The pause was pregnant with some undefined reservation for my desire to shove off with a pair of nuns. Undefined and ultimately unspoken. “That shouldn’t be a problem,” Greeley said at last. “If however, the FF fleet shows up, the notice to board your Strumpet will go out immediately to next fifty in the cue. In that event, the sisters and you should drop whatever you’re doing and make a beeline for the ship.”
“Got it.”
“Good. Now let me finish re-introducing you to your ship.”
*****
A half hour later I shook hands with Krestor Station’s Chief Engineer and headed for my dinner date at the convent. When I arrived at the refectory, I found Father Corsica and three younger priests seated among the nuns.
“I hope you don’t mind sharing us with the priests, Gael,” Estrella said. “My sisters and our young priests here are being evacuated on the Prydwen later tonight and we wanted a chance to celebrate as a parish, seeing as it may be our last time together for a long while.”
“The more the merrier,” I said. “Sure could have used you boys here last night.”
“I almost came over when I heard the music and all the whooping,” Father Corsica said. “But then I remembered Pentheus’ fate and thought it best not to interrupt the sisters at their revels. I should have figured you were behind it all.”
“Guilty as charged,” I said. “You missed a good time. Sister Beatrice’s trippy three step alone was worth the price of admission.”
The nuns, with the exception of Sister Beatrice, laughed. The old Cyclopean did however manage a small smile.
The food was brought out and, after a short prayer by Father Corsica, we all sat down to eat. It being a Sunday and their last meal together for the foreseeable future, the nuns allowed themselves steak with their potatoes and vegetables. The priests and I were each served a glass of wine. Still not feeling well, I ate little and talked even less. I contented myself with listening to the surprisingly lively conversation of priests and nuns over dinner. Used, as I was, to the ribald raconteurs of the cathouse and the braggadocio chin wagging of barroom braggarts, I was struck by the sharp contrast of the childlike innocence of their playful banter.
Afterwards came the farewells which unfolded in a courtly, almost ritual procession.
The nuns each thanked me for the dance lesson and wished God’s blessings upon me. I shook their hands and wished them luck. The young priests shook my hand and blessed me. I wished them well. The sisters and the young priests then said goodbye to Father Corsica before receiving their blessings in turn from him. Lastly, beginning with the priests, they bid their Mother Superior and Sister Elizabeth goodbye. There were few dry eyes among the nuns as they bowed low to kiss Estrella’s hand. For her part, Estrella accepted their acts of devotion with grace and humility and her tear-rimmed eyes poured forth her love on each of her charges. She assured them that the separation would only be temporary. “I’ll join you soon enough at our Mother House,” she told them.
The nuns nodded and smiled but wept all the same, knowing that regardless of what happened, their cloistered life on Krestor Station was at an end. I found myself moved by the scene, especially by the woman that Estrella had become in her new life.
When they had filed out of the refectory, the four of us who remained silently set about cleaning up. When we were done, Father Corsica suggested playing cards to distract ourselves. Sister Elizabeth fetched the cards and we played a number of games until, growing faint, I excused myself to shoot up. The look of grave concern on Father Corsica’s face as I double-loaded the syringe prompted me to share my condition with him.
“I’m so sorry to hear that, young man,” he said when I was done injecting myself.
“You and me both,” I offered with a weak smile.
Everyone remained silent while I returned the syringe and tourniquet back to their pouch. When I looked back up, Father Corsica asked, “Are you prepared to die, Gaelic of Arkum?”
“As well as I can be, I guess… I don’t know and won’t really know, I guess, until it happens… It’s different than steeling oneself for battle where death is a distinct possibility. I’ve had to do that several times. This time death is a certainty and… well, I don’t know… I think I’m ready...” Suddenly conscious that my response was a rambling one, I let it trail off into silence.
“Have you made your peace with God, Don Gaelic of Arkum?” the priest asked me bluntly.
I smiled and chuckled softly. “I was wondering when the pitch would come and from whom. My money was on you, Esty.”
“This is a serious matter, Gael,” Estrella said.
“
I’m sorry hon, father; I’m just not much of a believer.”
“Not much of a believer,” Father Corsica repeated what I said. “What does that even mean?”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly before answering, “I suppose that, intellectually, I allow for the possibility of God’s existence; but practically, in my day-to-day life, no, I don’t believe. Not really.”
“You’re an agnostic,” Estrella said with a nod. “Agnosticism is probably the default position of most of humanity, it having such a false air of reasonableness about it.”
“Except that saying ‘maybe’ cannot continue indefinitely, young man,” the priest said.
“Why not?”
“Because our lives do not continue indefinitely,” Father Corsica answered. “We are participants in life, Gaelic; we’re not outside observers juggling vague abstractions. And when our lives are over, death forces a choice upon us. Refusing to believe turns our ‘maybe’ into a ‘no’ at the end of life. We all die either believing in God or not believing in God.”
“Then I guess I’ll find out which it will be for me soon enough.”
“It’s not a decision one should put off,” Estrella said. “Or be flippant about.”
“I’m sorry,” I said with a sigh. “I know you all mean well, but I’m just not conversion material, not even as I look down the barrel of transuranic cancer.”
“But you are a gambler,” Sister Elizabeth said. “Your friend Drake made a reference to you having a tell, of being a poor bluffer. That’s gambler talk, no?”
“Well yes,” I answered guardedly. “I’ve been known to squander a fortune or two on games of chance.”
“Then you might consider Pascal’s Wager,” the young nun continued.
“Pascal who?”
“Blaise Pascal,” Father Corsica answered. When I shrugged in response, the priest added, “He was a Christian philosopher of the seventeenth century.”
I whistled appreciatively. “An oldie but a goodie, no doubt.”
“Pascal lived in a time of great scepticism, in a society with a materialist zeitgeist not unlike that of today’s Federation,” Sister Elizabeth said. “He proposed that believing in God was the better way to bet on our lives and our futures beyond it.”
“And why is that?” I asked.
“Well,” Sister Elizabeth answered. “Pascal reasoned that if God doesn’t exist, it doesn’t matter how you wager because there is nothing to win or lose after death; but, if God does exist, your only chance of winning eternal happiness is to believe, and your only chance of losing is to refuse to believe.”
“‘I should be much more afraid of being mistaken and then finding out that Christianity is true than of being mistaken in believing it to be true.’” Father Corsica added. “I believe that’s how Blaise Pascal formulated it.”
“That’s all well and good,” I said. “But it’s not much of an argument for God’s existence.”
“It’s not supposed to be,” Sister Elizabeth said. “It’s a thought experiment and hopefully a prompt for those who lack the gift of faith to ask for it.”
“It’s something to think about, Gael,” Estrella said.
“Well, I’ll tell you what,” I said.
Only I didn’t get to finish my thought because just then the station’s klaxons sounded.
“Attention all personnel,” Kressi’s voice warned between the wails of alarm. “A Federation fleet is entering our sector… Attention all personnel...”
18
“...All personnel slated to evacuate on the Strumpet and the Ruby Robin are to report to Beta Bay immediately,” Kressi, the station’s AI advised. “All other junior staff are to report immediately to the Crane Auditorium and await further instruction.”
The announcement struck us mute for several moments.
“Grab your things, Esty,” I said at last. “I’m getting you out of here.”
“I… I can’t just leave, Gael,” Estrella stammered. “I’m senior staff.”
“Sure you can,” I insisted. Turning to Father Corsica and Sister Elizabeth, I added. “I’ve got room for you two as well if you don’t have another ride off this can.”
“We have responsibilities…” Sister Elizabeth protested.
“There’s no need for haste,” Father Corsica interjected. “Commander Appraxin has had long range sensor buoys deployed well beyond the station’s scanner range. If the fleet has been detected, we can safely assume it is far out enough to not place us in immediate peril.”
The priest and abbess traded knowing looks.
“Duty demands we go to the Command Center, Gael,” Estrella said, rising from her seat.
“Fine,” I conceded. “Let’s get your job done, give them your twopence and then we’ll get the hell out of here!”
Seven minutes later we entered the Command Center. Half of Krestor’s techs were gone, their places at the consoles replaced by Imperial Knights. Chung was seated on his command chair, flanked by the same pair of station security that were at his side during my last visit. Commander Appraxin stood beneath the station chief but even from that subordinate position, his armored bulk and dark visage dominated the room. The commander was flanked by four lieutenants, Zapatas among them. Another score of light armored knights ringed the room.
We arrived as the Federation fleet slipped out of the Aetherium. They were just under ten Astronomical Units from the station. I noted their trajectory. The fleet had come from Ramage. Commander Appraxin’s long range scanners quickly tallied up their transponder signals and posted their identities on the forward view screen. There were a half dozen destroyers escorted with three times that number of corvettes. I noted with a slight wince that my old command ship, Liberty, was among the destroyers. Four frigates and two troop carriers followed the warships. The dreadnaught Constitution brought up the rear. The fleet wasn’t decelerating. It was holding its approach at 97% of C, covering as much of the distance between us as quickly as possible. The fleet’s vessels were fanning out, forming a standard attack arc before the dreadnaught.
Too far out for visuals, the ships were just colored dots on the Command Center’s main view screen. I noted also that the Prydwen was fixing to make landfall on Haven and that the Annunciation had already slipped into the Aetherium and was making good time out of the sector. A quick study of the other screens showed me three different four-man crews of mech-armored knights setting up anti-ballistic laser batteries on the station’s main ring. I shook my head at the sight, knowing the batteries would prove as effective as fly swatters against a swarm.
“How long before they’re in firing range?” Commander Appraxin asked.
“Fifty-two minutes, commander,” came the response from one of the knights at the consoles. “Their Starwings could be on us in thirty-four minutes if they launched them immediately.”
“Let’s not tempt them to launch their fighters,” Commander Appraxin said. “Order the Halberds to fall back and hold at point five AU.”
“Aye, sir.”
“The Constitution is hailing us,” one of the station’s techs chimed in.
Commander Appraxin and Chief Administrator Chung traded a quick look. Appraxin nodded.
“Put them through,” said Chung.
The forward screen came alive with the image of a middle-aged brunette with close-cropped hair, green eyes and sunken cheeks. “This is Admiral Fleming of the Federation Forces. I am assuming command of Krestor Station and the Calabash Foundry. Surrender the station and no harm shall come to its crew. Imperial navy personnel are hereby ordered to vacate the station and the sector. Board your Halberds and return to Imperial space immediately.”
“This is Commander Appraxin of the Holy Terran Empire. You know of course, that we must refuse your order.”
Admiral Fleming’s eyes narrowed slightly and a smile tugged at the corner of her small, thin-lipped mouth. “Krestor station, prepare to be boarded.”
“Admiral Fleming,” Apprax
in said. “Prepare to be repelled.”
I snorted derisively and was roundly ignored.
Admiral Fleming’s image disappeared, replaced by the sector map with its colored dots crawling inexorably towards the station’s icon at its center. The screen then flashed static and went dead.
“Buoy seven has been destroyed,” a knight at console announced. “Switching to feed from buoy number five.”
The sector map reappeared on the screen after another flash of static.
“The Constitution is transmitting a signal,” said a tech behind us.
“Jam that signal, Mr. Stewart,” Chung ordered.
“Aye, chief.”
“Do you think they still have operatives on board?” Father Corsica asked.
“We don’t know,” Chung said. “We’ve run the personnel files through Imperial Intelligence and they’ve all come up clean. We even prioritized the evacuation of Federation citizens. The last one left this morning on the...”
“We have a problem, Chief,” the tech Stewart interjected. “I’m unable to jam the incoming signal.”
Chief Admin Chung turned to his subordinate. “Why not?”
“Attention senior staff,” Kressi interrupted. “You are hereby ordered to join the junior staff in the Crane Auditorium. Be advised, your compliance is mandatory.”
“Oh God, no,” I said as everyone traded confused looks. “It’s Kressi. She’s their operative. Psion’s operative to be precise.”
One Last Flight: Book One Of The Holy Terran Empire Page 17
