by E. R. Torre
“Yes?”
“We are now in orbit.”
In the corner of the main screen the Cantina, one of several service vessels operating in and around Onia approached. During the next twenty four hours it would fully service his ship, removing all waste materials while simultaneously resupplying all food stock, personal equipment, and fuel.
David Desjardins pressed a button on the computer panel attached to his jacket sleeve.
“This is the Captain,” he said. His voice echoed throughout the ship. “All shore leave requests have been processed. First shift shore leave personnel are permitted to board the shuttles now. Second shift personnel will have clearance for shore leave in exactly eight hours and following the return of all first shift personnel. Third shift be ready eight hours after that. Please enjoy your brief stay planet side and behave yourselves. Remember, you represent the Saint Vulcan Corporation. Negative incidents will not be tolerated.”
A small smile appeared on the Captain’s face. Hopefully, this very young crew wouldn’t get too rowdy down below.
I was young once, too.
Though he normally stayed on board during these brief shore leaves, Captain David Desjardins was in the shuttle along with the first wave of officers headed planet side. He sat in the shuttle’s front cabin, removed from the others, yet couldn’t help but over hear their excited conversations. Like them, he too was eager to touch ground, even if his destination on Onia did not include bars, shopping centers, or brothels.
Unlike most Epsillon Empire citizens, Desjardins remained deeply religious at a time when those who shared his devotion were emigrating en mass to the theocratic Phaecian Empire. As a result of the emigration –or perhaps because of it– religious intolerance was on the rise in the Epsillon Empire. As the Epsillon citizens devoted more and more of their energies to the acquisition of wealth and worldly goods, their brothers in the Phaecian Empire devoted themselves to the Holy Texts and The Word of the Gods.
Given the divergent nature of the individual philosophies, clashes were inevitable. Verbal arguments had a way of escalating into something far greater and sides were being drawn daily. Segregation between the religious and the capitalist was the new norm. Some feared this bad blood would spread until it dragged the mighty two Empires into conflict and, eventually, Galactic War.
For his part, David Desjardins avoided confrontation. Though devotion to the True Light was his ultimate calling, he never felt the need to sermonize to others. Not even to family and friends.
Desjardins checked his watch.
The reason he joined the first landing party to Onia was because he was eager to attend the Day of Sacrifice mass at the Blue Church. It was pure coincidence the Andora –and Desjardins himself– arrived on Onia on this most holy of holidays. The mass would begin in an hour and Desjardins was determined to participate in it. Warm memories of past masses from his childhood and early adulthood, all at the Blue Church, filled his mind.
Coming back here on this holy day was more than a coincidence. It was meant to be.
Following a brief check at Onian customs, Captain David Desjardins and his security escort found themselves walking the busy Onian Starport. Desjardins stepped into one of the changing rooms and slipped into casual attire while his security escort waited. Afterwards, the two walked past the heavy crowds and to the pickup zones. There, David Desjardins looked up into the sky. He spotted a shadowy dot high above the port and barely visible in the midday sun. It was the Andora. Despite her distance, her massive size allowed her to be seen planet side.
The security escort hailed a cab and kept the door open while his commanding officer stepped inside. He then entered the cab and slid the door shut.
“Welcome to Onia,” the driver said. “Where can I take you?”
“The Blue Church,” Captain Desjardins said.
The driver’s eyebrows lifted.
“The…?”
“You heard me,” Captain Desjardins said.
The driver eyed the security escort and shrugged.
“Whatever you say.”
It took only a few minutes to arrive at their destination.
Desjardins’ security escort produced a credit chip and paid for the trip. Afterwards, the two exited the cab and stood before a set of large wooden doors, the Blue Church’s entrance.
“Is there something wrong?” the security escort asked.
David Desjardins noted the building’s rundown façade. Her paint was chipped and faded. Several of the glass panels on the front of the building were broken and boarded up with weathered planks of wood. Even though it was the Day of Sacrifice, few stood around the building and fewer still entered. Several Onian Security Guards were at the corners of this block. They carried heavy fusion rifles and kept their distance.
“Why do you suppose they’re stationed around the church?” Desjardins wondered aloud.
“Protection, I imagine,” his security escort said.
“For who?” Desjardins said.
The security escort said nothing. Like most of the crew of the Andora, he had little time for, and even less interest in, religion. The sound of organ music wafted from within.
“The mass is about to start,” Desjardins said. He reached for his communicator and shut it off.
“If there’s any kind of emergency, don’t hesitate to come for me.”
“And interrupt the service?”
“If the emergency is legitimate, the Gods will understand.”
Without saying another word, David Desjardins stepped into the church.
There were only a handful of people inside.
David Desjardins slipped quietly into one of the rows of benches and sat down. He clasped his hands and closed his eyes, offering a small prayer of guidance. As his prayer ended, the organ music built to its climax. From behind a set of rouge curtains stepped a very old man. The few people within the cathedral rose to their feet as Father Osmonsis, the Onian church’s leader for the past five decades, walked to his weathered lectern.
Captain Desjardins immediately recognized the elderly man. In the ten years since last attending his masses, Father Osmonsis had aged considerably. His hands and legs shook but he needed no help to make this short walk.
Nonetheless, it took Osmonsis a while to steady himself before the lectern. While he did, he surveyed the few participants in this mass. His usually bright blue eyes were dull. Desjardins thought they lightened up a bit upon seeing him and wondered if the elderly preacher recognized his one-time student.
“We gather each week at this time to give thanks to our ancestors,” Father Osmonsis began, reading off a passage from the ancient tome on the lectern. “This week in particular is important and this day is a very special one, for today we celebrate the Day of Sacrifice. It was because of our ancestors’ actions, and that of the Unknown Hero, that we live and thrive. All praise the Unknown Hero.”
“All praise the Unknown Hero,” the gatherers chanted.
“For it was the Unknown Hero who foresaw the great Apocalypse,” Father Osmonsis continued. “It was he who made the ultimate sacrifice, giving of himself while humanity escaped its doomed world. All praise the Unknown Hero.”
“All praise the Unknown Hero,” the gatherers again chanted.
Father Osmonsis offered the parishioners a warm smile.
“We are five millennia past the time of the three arks. Five millennia past the time our descendants fled Homeworld, our lost Eden. Though our ancestors did not know it at the time, Homeworld was fated for destruction and it was the Unknown Hero who recognized her fate. Despite all obstacles, despite all the ridicule and hardships and, yes, suffering he endured at the hands of nonbelievers, he fought for our survival. He fought for what he knew was right. For that one man had the wisdom of the Gods themselves and the Gods blessed him in his quest. It was because of their love and guidance that he built the three arks. Arks large enough to fit humanity in its time of Exodus. Arks large enough to take our ancestors to the stars
. This one man, alone in a world of doubters and condemned to face the apocalypse on his own, saved us. All praise.”
“All praise the Hero. All praise the Gods.”
“The three arks embarked on their separate yet equally sacred journeys for our ancestors knew their path was perilous. Should one ark fall, the others had to survive. Praise their wisdom.”
“We praise their wisdom,” the parishioners responded.
Father Osmonsis raised his hands over his head and a bright yellow light bathed him.
“The first ark came to orbit around New Eden, and from there the first seeds of the holy Phaecian Empire were born. The people of the second ark settled Zethus and so began our own Epsillon Empire.”
The father paused for effect.
“The third ark was lost. And it is on this day we also pray for those lost souls, so that they may one day be found, and our brethren returned to the fold.”
“So we pray,” the members of the congregation replied.
The father lowered his arms and closed the holy tome.
“In these trying times, we must always remember our origins and the sacrifices of others. Despite pressures and differences, it is our shared history that unites us. It was while our Empires were newborn that we helped each other through the pains of rebirth. Orphans we were in this strange universe, yet we shared our knowledge and grew from infancy to adolescence and today… Today…”
Father Osmonsis paused and the weariness on his face grew. He was silent for several long, uncomfortable seconds. Finally, he spoke.
“Many worry about our future. Our Empires are not unlike siblings that have grown apart. Brothers and sisters, we are not perfect… we harbor jealousies and pursue different interests. That should not push us apart. We must grow with each other. Perhaps I won’t see it in my lifetime, but at heart I am optimistic our people will reconcile. We cannot, we should not, we dare not, let these differences rip us apart. On Homeworld, darkness grew and destroyed the planet. We must not allow that darkness to grow here. We escaped not by fighting but by uniting. By sharing our goals and realizing this was the path to survival. We did it once before, and we can do it again. While Homeworld, the planet our ancestors called Earth is gone, we can still unite our Empires and ensure our brotherhood remains strong.”
5
The mass ended a half hour later.
It was a short mass, much shorter than was customary. Unlike the other parishioners who silently walked to the church’s exit, David Desjardins approached Father Osmonsis. He was seated beside the lectern, surveying his now empty house of worship.
“Father Osmonsis, I wanted to thank you for your sermon.”
The elderly man squinted his eyes.
“You’ve been here before, haven’t you? I seem to remember… What is your name?”
“David Desjardins.”
The elderly pastor thought about that.
“Ah yes. I remember your family. I remember the accident. I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“Back when our church had crowds.”
“You’ll have them again.”
Father Osmonsis offered Desjardins a weary smile.
“The Good Book willing,” he said.
“Father, there are sections of the stained glass in the front of the building that are shattered,” Desjardins said. “Was it…?”
“I’m afraid so,” Father Osmonsis said. “Intolerance blooms like weeds in the Epsillon Empire. Onia lies in the Empire’s borderlands and it has taken a while for that brand of intolerance to find its way here. The Gods know I try to be optimistic and preach fellowship over hostility. Yet…”
He let the thought die unspoken and rubbed his hands together.
“Enough of my concerns. What have you done with yourself in the years since you last attended our church?”
“I’ve been busy. I joined the Epsillon Military. I became a Starship Captain.”
“My my,” Father Osmonsis said.
“I left the military five years ago. Since then, I’ve flown for Saint Vulcan Corp., delivering supplies and exploring the edges of known space.”
“Ah, Saint Vulcan,” the elderly man said. “If it was up to her, the universe would have no mysteries at all. Sometimes I wonder if that’s a good thing.”
“Isn’t knowledge humanity’s ultimate goal?”
“Perhaps, but that’s a discussion for the learned, not the old and tired,” Father Osmonsis said and chuckled. “Now that you’re here, is it your intention to stay?”
“No,” Desjardins said. “Our ship departs tomorrow.”
“So soon.”
“There is still much to accomplish.”
Father Osmonsis nodded.
“I felt like that when I was younger. Now, as my journey nears its end, I am not so ambitious. I take stock of my life and remember the good times that were.”
“You are comfortable?”
“I will be,” Father Osmonsis said. “In the next month I emigrate to the Phaecian Empire.”
Desjardins was surprised by the Father’s words.
“You’re leaving the parish?”
“Yes. Understand, David, there remains much good here, within Epsillon, even as its people turn their backs on the Holy Texts. Science and industry –though more of the later than the former– have become this Empire’s ambitions and goals. There is precious little room for people like me.”
“You sound frustrated, Father.”
“I am,” he admitted. “Stained glass can be replaced and buildings fixed. The threats… the threats are quite another thing.”
“You’ve been threatened? Why not call the authorities and—”
“Authorities surround the church day and night and yet the vandals still manage to do their foul deeds. What does that tell you, David?”
David Desjardins shook his head.
“Who will run the congregation?”
“I’ve made inquiries but have yet to find anyone interested in taking over my position.”
“Then… you intend to leave the church abandoned?”
“It is only a building, David. True faith lies within. Maybe in the next generation or the one after that, we will see a return of our values. If such things don’t happen, especially between Empires, I fear… I fear there might be war.”
The words startled David Desjardins.
“My advice to both the congregation and to those who do not share my faith has always been simple: Do well, both for others and yourself. If you are a man of the Gods, David Desjardins, you might want to think about taking your skills to the other side.”
“Abandon the Epsillon Empire?”
“There’s a place for someone like you as surely as there is one for me.”
“But I’ve sworn allegiance to the Empire and Saint Vulcan,” Desjardins said. “To turn my back on my oaths amounts to treason.”
“Open your eyes, David. See what lies before them.”
The door to the church opened and David Desjardin’s security escort stepped into the Church.
“Sir?” he said.
The elderly man leaned back in his chair.
“N… nice talking to you,” David Desjardins muttered.
He stepped away from the dais and walked to his security escort’s side. The two exited the church and were again on the streets of Onia’s capital. The Epsillon Guards watched Desjardins and his security escort as they walked away.
“What is it?” David Desjardins asked his escort.
“I just received a communique from the Andora. They’ve received a level five emergency report.”
“Level five?” Desjardins repeated. Such emergencies were catastrophic in nature. “Where?”
“Pomos.”
David Desjardins’ breath caught in his throat. Pomos was Saint Vulcan Corp.’s home world. It was where Saint Vulcan herself was stationed and where all the main laboratories and experimental facilities operated. It was where the Andora was
headed after her stop on Onia.
Most importantly, it was where David Desjardin’s wife and her family lived.
“What is the nature of the emergency?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
David Desjardins nodded. He clenched his fist and hastened his walk.
“Let’s go,” he said.
When they reached the star port they found many of their crew were already there, milling about. Most were upset at having their shore leave cut while others looked worried. Like Captain Desjardins, they too had families and loved ones on Pomos.
“Is everyone accounted for?” Captain Desjardins asked his security officer.
“No sir. We’re still missing twelve.”
“Was everyone told shore leave was cancelled?”
“Yes sir.”
Captain Desjardins cleared his throat and moved to the middle of his crew. The crewmembers stiffened. All eyes were on their commanding officer.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we begin boarding now,” Captain Desjardins said. “In exactly ten minutes our shuttle craft departs. Anyone not on board at that time will be considered a deserter and arrested and prosecuted as such.”
Ten minutes later the shuttle was cruising through the Onian atmosphere.
Captain Desjardins and his crew, all but five members, watched as the Onian Starport disappeared below them. Once the pull of gravity lessened and the craft reached orbit, Captain Desjardins grabbed his communicator.
“Andora, this is Captain Desjardins,” he spoke into the microphone. “Report.”
“This is Communications Officer Talbot,” a female voice replied. “All systems are green. We await your arrival.”
“The Displacer?”
“We have it on standby, ready to send us to Pomos.”
“Understood,” Captain Desjardins said. “Have you determined the exact nature of Pomos’ emergency?”
“Not yet, sir. We’re receiving the same reports of a catastrophic event, but they carry few specifics.”
“That’s damn unusual,” Desjardins said. “Is it possible there were coded messages within them?”
