One Last Flight: Book One Of The Holy Terran Empire

by Carlos Carrasco

  My commlink crackled to life, interrupting my musing. “Strumpet, this is Krestor Station. Do you copy?”

  “Krestor Station, this is the Strumpet, I copy.”

  “Strumpet, what is the reason for your unscheduled visit?”

  “Rest and repairs,” I answered.

  “I see that you are registered as an independent freighter out of Ramage. Are you hauling cargo?”

  “Negative, Krestor Station.”

  “You will be inspected upon landing, Strumpet.”

  “Roger that, Krestor Station,” I replied. “Be advised that my hull is highly irradiated.”

  “Very well, Strumpet. Your hull’s condition is noted. We will subject the ship to a Gravitron wash in our outer bay. Proceed on present course. Shut down your Aether Drive when you’re within point zero, zero, zero, three AU of station. We will take over from there and bring you into Landing Bay Beta.”

  “Copy that, Krestor Station,” I replied and then repeated the instructions to Strumpet.

  While we approached, I logged into Krestor’s public access infocore to familiarize myself with the station.

  From the corporation’s promotional material I gleaned that Krestor Station consisted of a central spool which was three miles long and half as wide. Seven rings were connected along it length. The guide boasted that nearly two million tons of plasteel had gone into the station’s construction. The station housed the nine hundred and twenty-eight foundry workers plus an additional twenty-one thousand, support staff and their families. Employees, I learned, signed on for renewable five year contracts, working a month on and two weeks off, which were usually spent planetside on Haven. The station’s most permanent residents however, were the thirty-six, semi-cloistered Sisters of the Sacred Wounds. The project’s founding board, devout Christians all, had insisted on a church and convent for the station from the beginning of the enterprise.

  I made a mental note of the convent’s location as well as downloaded the station’s deck plans to my armband commlink.

  I sat back and watched the ‘Welcome to Krestor Station Virtual Tour’ video while I waited to be brought aboard. The tour was narrated by a pleasant, friendly female voice that identified ‘herself’ as Kressi, the station’s AI. Halfway through the video, in a segment profiling the convent, I spotted her, Estrella of Arkum. My Esty, A.K.A.: Mother Superior Dymphna Mary Joseph. She was singing a hymn with her sisters, sitting in the first of three tiers inside a church. I froze the frame, enlarged it and just stared at it for a long time.

  The details were scarce, hidden as she was within a voluminous, blood-red habit. Only her face, framed by a dark blue wimple was visible. But it was enough. Estrella’s complexion was no longer the sun-bronzed gold of her youth, but neither was it the wan pallor of the junkie. Instead, her color was a rich, healthy milk-white. Esty’s face was also plumper than I remembered it. The years had rounded the finely chiseled edges into softly bevelled curves. Her eyes were as blue and as brilliant as ever and I felt a sickly mix of regret and resentment stab me at their sight.

  I was flooded with countless, conflicting emotions while I sat staring at the still frame of my first lover and the only woman I have ever hated. I closed my eyes, measured my breathing and invoked the stoic detachment I had perfected during my prison years. When I opened my eyes again, I felt only a pressing curiosity to discover whether Sister Dymphna Mary Joseph was anymore real than Fritz Landsenson.

  I watched the rest of the video and then shut off the monitor. Ten minutes later Krestor Station began to loom before me. The middle ring was the largest, at least twice the size of the others. It was segmented into three large landing bays. Beyond the station, the blue and gold blur of the Calabash Nebula grew ever more distinct. The orb of its namesake foundry shone like a bright star before it.

  My console beeped, alerting me that the Aether Drive was shutting down. The doors to Landing Bay Beta split open like a giant metal mouth to swallow the Strumpet. The ship’s acceleration slowed the deeper it travelled down the iridescent cone of electromagnetic refraction guiding her in. The doors shut behind us and then we floated in the dark amidst a heavy Gravitron field which, like a salve drawing poison from a wound, drew ionized particles from the Strumpet’s hull. twenty minutes later, the bay’s inner doors opened. The Strumpet was pulled in through a shield curtain and lowered gently to the bay floor.

  “Let’s open up, Strumpet,” I said.

  The gears clunked, the hydraulics hissed and the loading ramp lowered itself with a loud creaking that stopped short in a metallic crash.

  “Strumpet, what was that?”

  “The loading ramp port-side hinge has come undone.”

  I shook my head as I went aft. “I’m not far behind it,” I said to the universe at large.

  The cargo bay was a mess. There was a twenty foot long and half as wide gash across the starboard side. The bright lights of Krestor’s landing bay poured through the opening. The bulkhead curled inward, looking like a serrated-edged frown. More than half the gallery on that side had collapsed. The stairs to the deck had separated from the gallery on the same side. The steps rocked slightly under my weight on the way down.

  I walked down the lopsided loading ramp and took a quick look around the cavernous landing bay. There were two other ships in the bay, a jitney and an a golden Imperial Halberd. The stylized cursive scrawl on the warship’s prow identified her as the Ron. Long lines of bag-laden civilians were lined up by both ships, waiting to board. A pair of Imperial knights, fourteen feet tall in their mechanized armor, stood guard at each of the ships’ entrances with spontoons held straight at their sides. Their distinctive white armor was immaculate under the harsh overhead lights. Gold Maltese crosses emblazoned their breastplates. Their faces were hidden by the mirrored, golden bubble visor of their helmets.

  A pair of bay crewmen were loading the cargo hold of the jitney with luggage. Another pair was checking the IDs of the families lined up to board the jitney and Halberd. Other bay crewman headed to and fro on other tasks, some with wheeled and treaded robots at their heels. The bay crew wore neon green safety vests over powder blue jumpsuits with black piping. On their heads they wore billed caps embroidered with a blue, stylized rendering of the station on a black, diamond-shaped field.

  I turned from them to the Strumpet. The sight of her made me shake my head and groan softly. The hull was pockmarked, scratched, scarred, dented and burnt. The railgun was a misshapen lump of metal behind the canopy. As I walked around her, there didn’t seem to be a square foot of the ship that was spared the battering.

  A young bay crewman approached. He let out a long whistle of dismay at the sight of the ship. “Oh my, mister,” he said, shaking his head. “You look like you been through hell in this ship of yours.”

  “Just a day in the life, kid,” I said.

  “A day in the life of a pirate, perhaps,” said a voice behind me. It sounded as if it was coming through a commlink.

  I spun on my heels to find three Imperial Knights approaching me. These were not wearing the mechanized armor that made giants of them, but rather the more common, life-sized, light infantry chain and plating. The knight in the center had a silver cross outlined in gold on his breastplate. The combination designated him a lieutenant, if I recalled correctly. The crosses on the knights that flanked him were both red but one of them was outlined in silver. All three knights had swords sheathed at their left hips. The lieutenant had a pulse pistol holstered on his right thigh. The other two cradled pulse rifles in their arms. Their heads were hidden beneath visored helmets similar to their mechanized counterparts.

  While I could not see their faces, the body language made it clear that they were not pleased with my presence.

  “Gaelic of Arkum, you are under arrest,” the voice came from the helmet of the lieutenant.

  I cursed my luck. I couldn’t guess how they knew who I was. I didn’t have time to. The thought of ending my days in an Imperial Penance
Colony made my anger flare. It got the better of me. I reached for my gun. The bead pistol would not fare well against armor plating, but I hoped that a burst of automatic fire at such close quarters might just penetrate the lieutenant’s visor.

  I never got to find out. His lackeys were quicker on the draw. I got hit with two electric bolts from their pulse rifles. The shots knocked me off my feet and sent me sprawling backward and down into darkness.

  *****

  Some indeterminate time later, I awoke from being stunned. I suffered a moment of panic-laced deja-vu on finding myself in an infirmary and strapped to a gurney. After the initial burst of shock, I quickly realized it wasn’t the FMP infirmary. The lighting was as harsh but the plasteel walls were a mint green and the machines a glossy black. Standing at the gurney’s foot was a different but similarly unfriendly face, the knight of the silver cross. His helmet was cradled in the crook of his right arm. His left hand rested on the hilt of his sword. The knight had a broad, clean-shaven, sharply-chiseled face, with large, wide-spread brown eyes over prominent cheekbones. His short hair was black and stood like tiny spikes growing from his scalp. As my sight focused further, I noticed that his hair was shot through with copper highlights.

  His two fellow knights were parked on either side of the infirmary’s door. Their helmets were still on, their rifles still held at the ready. The only other person in the room was a female medic, a young and pretty and rather shapely blonde. She was wearing the same powder blue Krestor Corporation jumpsuit I saw on the docking bay crew, except hers had white piping. The blue station logo on her cap was stitched onto a white, diamond-shaped field.

  She at least, gave me a smile when I came to. “How are you feeling?”

  “Thirsty,” I told her. “And hurting, all over.”

  She picked up a water bottle from a side table and brought its straw to my lips. “A double stunning from pulse pistols will do that to you.”

  I drank my fill. “Thanks.”

  “Sure,” she said. “Would you like something for the pain?”

  I squinted to read her name on the small, silver plate pinned over her left breast pocket. “That would be most appreciated, Doctor E. Cussler.”

  Her smile widened and she picked up a pneumatic injector from the table. Doctor Cussler touched a couple of buttons on the small, gray oblong device. She the pulled my head forward and injected me at the base of the skull. The doctor then gently guided my head back onto the pillow. “You’ll experience numbness at the extremities and maybe a spell of nausea but, it will pass soon. Is there anything else that you require of me, Don Gaelic of Arkum?”

  “Yeah,” I said and nodded at the knight standing at the foot of the gurney. “Could you get that goon over there a sedative or maybe a laxative. He looks like he fixing to explode.”

  “If the good lieutenant needs something from us,” Doctor Cussler said. “I’m sure we can trust him to ask for it himself.”

  “Thank you Doctor Cussler,” the knight said. “That’ll be all.”

  She nodded at us both and left.

  The knight left his helmet at the foot of my bed and approached on my right side. “I am Lieutenant Zephrinus Zapatas of the Imperial Fleet, Order of Knights Templar and I would like to know what your business is with Mother Superior Dymphna Mary Joseph.”

  “The Empire has no legitimate authority in the OZ,” I said. “Therefore my business with - what did you call her, your super mommy - is none of yours.”

  “This station and the foundry are owned by an Imperial corporation,” Lieutenant Zephrinus said. “More than a third of the population here are Imperial citizens. Defending the Empire’s assets and securing the safety of her people is the only source of authority I require. So I’ll ask you again, what is your business with Mother Superior Dymphna Mary Joseph?”

  “I came to join her chorus,” I said. “It could use some bass, you know?”

  “I’ll ask you one last time,” Lieutenant Zapatas said after a pronounced sigh. “What is your business with the Abbess?”

  “Alright, alright,” I said, feigning exasperation. “Your super mommy and I, we grew up together. For a while there, we were a thing. You know what I mean? So, being in the neighborhood, I thought I’d would look her up, see if she could still smoke my sausage like the old days.”

  Zephrinus backhanded me across the mouth.

  I chuckled as I sucked blood from my lower lip. “That’s pretty brave of you goon, slapping a man’s face while he is strapped to a gurney. I guess that’s why you get to wear the shiny, silver cross.” I spat a wad of saliva and blood at his face.

  Zephrinus wiped his face with the back of his gauntlet, made a fist and drew it back behind his shoulder. I braced myself for the blow while keeping a contemptuous glare fixed on him.

  The blow never came. Instead the door to the infirmary opened suddenly behind the knight.

  “Lieutenant!”

  It was Estrella.

  12

  Lieutenant Zapatas lowered his arm. His fist was slow to unclench. He turned to Estrella but she looked past him to me.

  Drake and I had regarded each other across decades when we met on Ramage; Estrella and I seemed to stare at one another across epochs. Across worlds, perhaps. And yet our gazes easily leaped that yawning abyss between us. Her eyes welled with tears. Mine remained dry and cold, but a dark, inchoate cloud of emotions roiled behind them.

  “Gael!”

  The voluminous folds of her heavy habit rustled as she approached my bedside. The wooden rosaries hanging from the rope cincture at her waist rattled softly. There was another nun behind her, a thin, mousy looking young woman. She was carrying my holster and pistol atop my neatly folded vest. The knight moved to block them. Estrella waved him away with an imperious flick of her hand. Then she reached for me. She touched my face, her thumb, gently wiped blood from my lower lip. “You’ve done enough, lieutenant,” she said, never taking her eyes off me.

  “He was being impious, Mother Superior,” Zapatas said.

  “I wonder if that might have something to do with the nature of the welcome he received?” Estrella asked and then turned to the knight. “Is this how I should expect all my guests to be treated, Lieutenant Zapatas?”

  “No… of course not, Mother Superior, but,” the knight all but sputtered. “It’s just that given our situation and the fact that you told me he might be using a false identity, I thought it prudent to investigate the sus... your guest. He has long criminal histories under both names and I found an outstanding Imperial warrant for his arrest as Fritz Landsenson.”

  “If you investigated me,” Estrella said with an impish smile. “You would also discover a criminal history and a few outstanding Federation warrants.”

  “He also dishonored you, Mother,” Zapatas offered weakly.

  Estrella turned to face me again. She began unstrapping the belt across my waist. “I have done as much and worse to him, lieutenant. So, if you would, please let us alone for a while.”

  “I regret that I can’t do that, Mother Superior,” the knight responded. “Especially, if you insist on releasing him.”

  Estrella kept her eyes on me and moved to unbind the straps at my wrists. “Very well Lieutenant Zapatas. If duty demands you stay, would you at least consider vowing silence for the next twenty minutes or so?”

  The knight reddened under the chastening. He took three steps back and fixed a tight-lipped glare on me.

  “Sister Elizabeth, if you would,” Estrella said when she had finally released me.

  The other nun stepped forward to offer me my things with an uneasy smile. I sat up and swung my legs around before taking the bundle from her with a nod. Her smile relaxed and she retreated behind her Mother Superior.

  “I’m sorry about your reception, Gael,” Estrella said. “I would’ve met you at the landing bay myself, but you arrived while I was at Compline. I didn’t find out until minutes ago. I’m so sorry about how you’ve been treated and I�
�m sorry, so sorry about... well, everything.”

  I didn’t respond to her apologies. Instead, I drew my pistol out of the holster and removed its drum. I pulled out about a foot long stretch of beaded tape from the drum to make certain it was loaded. Satisfied, I released the tape and it retracted with a sharp zzzip. I reattached the drum to the pistol, thumbed off the safety and heard the faint whir of the tape advancing the first bead into firing position.

  The beads were useless against armor, but they could easily aerate a human skull. I raised the pistol, aimed it at a spot above and between Estrella’s beautiful blue eyes.

  Sister Elizabeth blanched. Lieutenant Zapatas reached for his pistol. His fellow knights raised their weapons. Estrella held up a hand behind her to check the Imperial soldiers. The room froze in that dread tableaux. Everything was still and silent on the outside but the rush of blood roared in my ears and my heart beat like a savage drum.

  Our shared past, the entirety of it, filled that frozen moment. Her blue eyes were deep wells of shared memories in which I found myself suddenly sinking.

  I remembered us as children on that fateful summer afternoon, running hand in hand, laughing as we raced to find cover from a sudden hail storm inside a tin-roofed barn. We tripped over each other as we burst through the doors. Our fall was broken by a mound of hay. I landed on top of Estrella. Her sun-browned arms were thrown over her head. Her blond hair was splayed behind her like a sunburst, the wavy strands and loose curls blending with our bed of hay. Inexplicably, we stopped laughing. We who had wrestled so often, tying ourselves up in tangled knots of limbs, were suddenly made self-conscious by the press of our bodies. We lay motionless for several moments seeing ourselves anew while the heat of our flesh and the warmth of each other’s breath, breaking softly against each other’s lips, stoked febrile longings to life until… until, in a white-hot flash, we lunged clumsily through innocence’s last boundary and grabbed hungrily at each other’s body.