7 To Live Again

The Flight of the Armada

Book 7: To Live Again

By

Jay Michael Jones

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 by Jay Michael Jones

Cover design by Wille Thompson

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Table of Contents

Chapter 64: Fond of Crackle

Chapter 65: Directive Four

Chapter 66: A Gentle Hand

Chapter 67: Freedom

Chapter 68: My Personal Vita Kanerra

Chapter 69: Urgyl Fresh’s Good Deed

Chapter 70: Even Now

Chapter 71: The Proper Son of Garin

Chapter 72: To Live Again

Chapter 73: The Return of the Vicar

Chapter 74: Goddess

Chapter 75: The Capricorn

Glossary

Other Books in the Series

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TO LIVE AGAIN

Chapter 64: Fond of Crackle

Darien groaned as he arose from his cabin bed on the Thuringi battlecruiser Solenil. He had found a small nondescript planet several tags away from a Silver Trace wormhole opening to use as a rest stop. He hid the ship beneath an overhang of rock large enough to shield the battlecruiser from view. It was enough to make him comfortable about sleeping for a while. As long as the Solenil could outrun snooping Scodan or Shargassi ships to reach places like this, Darien could get some much-needed rest without concern of a boarding attempt.

Out of habit he picked up the yellow cloth dallah on the bedside table. The cloth was worn thin in places, and Darien had carefully re-stitched the seams of the dangling limbs to the lean body to make them stronger. The head of the animal was shaped more like a teardrop than the elongated nose of a Thuringi dog, but the floppy ears had the same delightful angle. The comic false eyes had long ago been replaced with a safer thread version. Inside the toy he tucked away several high-denomination coins in case it was ever lost; they would provide the reward for a safe return. He tossed the dallah on the sink counter in order to free his hands to relieve himself at the toilet.

Sometimes I think it’s better if an alarm awakens me. When I’m left to my own devices I am always sore from sleeping so late. His voice sounded much bigger when he first spoke after a long silent period and recorded music was not playing.

He cleaned his hands with the gel he made using the spongey inner fibers of a common Sturbin scrub bush. Once the undesirable undergrowth of the Sturbin plains, his use of it now made it a marketable commodity. Sturbin manufacturers tried their hand at making the soap and the result was serviceable, but the Dark Prince of Potions had a way of making cleaning gel with a very pleasant scent. The Sturbin learned quickly not to overcharge him for the raw material or he would not discount the finished product for them to sell. In fact, once the Sturbin marketed their own brand, Darien obtained Galian plants and did a brisk business with them. The Galian plants were odorless but the odorless gel developed a following of its own. As a result Darien now had two legal products to help boost his coin bank in addition to his gray market ‘elixirs’ and black market ‘potions’. He conducted brisk deals at various outposts until his entire stock sold out. This was his time to rest before making a supply run to Hunda.

He was terribly lonely, but a cloth dallah was better company than the untrustworthy castoffs of Sengans, Sturbin Borelliat and the Scodan he once employed. The men were useful workers when he first embarked on his endeavor, but over time they became a burden. Simply being rid of Chaedes Dirkett was a relief; Darien suspected the Scodan skimmed profits off the top for himself but not enough to readily draw attention to the deed. It was only after the crew departed did Darien’s coin count noticeably improve. Most transactions were processed in the cyberspace of the Interstellar Bank, and ships rarely carried more than a few hundred physical coins, not enough for which pirates to want to challenge the powerful Solenil.

He took the cloth dallah to the bridge and tucked it beside him on the command chair seat. He checked the view screens and started the program to play music over the intercom, recordings he obtained just before the Great Attack. The Solenil rested on a planet much too warm and lacking in oxygen to support life as he knew it, but it was ideal for rest without interruption. Well, not every outpost was like Earth.

Earth. How could he have ever felt disdain for that lovely, lively world? But that was back in the days when anything was possible; when he was sassy and foolish and did not realize the full measure of the despair he would face someday. Before the day he lost his heroic parents when the proud flagship was ripped top to bottom in an explosion like a can slashed with a sword; before he lost his beloved nephew Yjarnnah. But he still had Stuart, Carrol and Echo on Earth, and Gareth and his crew somewhere out there among the Gharadee. He hoped Hartin Medina and the Thuringi Air Command still guided the remnants of the fleet toward the tiny outpost Darien helped carve out on Earth. His entire reason for living depended on that hope.

Things could be worse. There were no microbes clinging to the Solenil this time. On one asteroid little creatures covered the surface of the ship in an alarmingly proprietary manner, prompting the prince to don a spaceworthy work suit and carried a blowtorch from Gareth’s tool chest to burn the creatures off every inch of the ship’s surface. It took an entire day’s time but he tended his ship well. This time there was no such threat, so he took the Solenil to the nearest trace and from there to the Hunda world.

From the way the Hunda greeted him cordially he knew that Shargassi still watched the planet from a distance for signs of the presence of other Thuringi. Since Darien did not know what methods the Shargassi enemy used to spy, no mention of his hidden Solenil and Sacret crew was made aloud. Horace Traeta gave him a smile, and that simple smile from the stately Hunda was all Darien needed to know his crew was safe and well. He arranged to buy rare useful ingredients for his various potions.

As the ingredients were loaded onto the Solenil, a mystic approached. She wore the traditional black drape fabric of the Hunda masters, but draped over her head was a flowing veil dyed a brilliant orange. This veil indicated she was one of the powerful tul masters, mystics that Darien’s mother used to whisper about with respect.

Hail Lord Darien, restless soul of the traces, the Hunda woman said. She did not use his royal title since the prince himself no longer claimed it. One could not be a prince if a kingdom and its people no longer existed, and most of the Known Worlds believed this was so. Soon comes the time for new directions and rare alignment.

Really, Darien replied with a flat unimpressed tone. Can you be more specific?

Would that I could, but the rarity has yet to make itself fact. We watch the stars and wait.

Wait for what?

For the alignment.

Well, what will happen then? Don’t tell me a Messiah will be born to bear the burden of sin for all mankind, he said with all the rancor his sarcastic heart held.

She eyed him with curiosity. Very well, I shall not tell you this for such a thing is not in this alignment. I do see potential for a humble man to join with a powerful force. Why, what do you know? Are you reading the stars too?

Not at all. I am merely a potion master, a rogue wielder of elements and chemicals, things of substance and matter. I do however know of a superstitious world where they look for such things as Messiahs and sons of gods.

That is strange for the son of Lycasis to say. Your people do not believe in multiple gods.

They didn’t believe we would be destroyed without so much as a protest by the Stellar Council either, yet it happened. That is why I laugh at signs and stars and sons.

How curious you are! Do you still mourn for a child?

Y…yes, I do.

You mourn for no reason. Make your heart glad.

Glad? Why? I have a great deal of reason for grief!

You are hasty and erroneous. The child you mourn lives. All Hunda rejoices in the life of Stuart’s son.

Oh. Oh! Yes. He almost forgot about Erich, but it was true Erich was alive. Darien saw his nephew with his own eyes. It did not bring Yjarnnah back but the mystic was right. Erich’s survival was something for which to rejoice. Such occasion does give cheer to the heart.

The Hunda mystic smiled and went on her way.

Far away on the planet Senga, Yjar Nibs looked up at the sky and sighed. He did not know it was the day of his fifteenth, or One-Five, birthday. He wondered why he thought he heard singing, but it was only for a moment, and sounded more like bird calls. He returned to his studies.

Ever since the Heart and Soul readings, Hartin Medina kept an eye on Spence Beace. He wondered why the young vicar was ever defrocked. As a lifelong military man, Hartin was not aware of the policies and maneuvering of the clergy. As a man whose first memory was the ornate altar of the Cathedral of Arne, however, Hartin held a great deal of respect for the servants of the God of All.

Spence Beace did not really seem all that out of line to Hartin. He was livelier than any of the older clerics, and certainly a lot more outgoing than his contemporaries. Hartin approved of the lively and outgoing among his warriors; he wanted fire and spirit in his fighters. Spence Beace was not a very good warrior but Hartin did not expect it of him. The man was a clergyman for God’s sake, literally, and therefore his training to live the example of mercy and compassion was a handicap in a cockpit.

Spence taught in the poddacks of the GPQ’s and if the vicarage had not been his original and true gift, then teaching certainly would have been. He kept the children interested in learning with his enthusiasm and boundless energy. But Hartin could tell that despite his ebullience, Spence preferred his vicar’s robes to his textbooks. There was something about the way ex-Vicar Beace silently mouthed the words during services and a hungry sort of look in his eyes told the Warrior General of this private truth.

Hartin invited young Vicar Beace as he still referred to him, to attend late tea at the Medina quarters one evening. Hartin was curious about Earth and wanted to know more about it. Spence gratefully accepted the invitation. Even though his brother’s family was happy to have him stay with them for lack of available apartments, it was a little crowded there. Spence felt he was imposing. It would be nice to have some place to go and give his brother’s family an evening’s break from having gangly Spence underfoot.

Spence discovered his sister-in-law sent his uniform out to be cleaned along with the rest of the family’s laundry, and he would not have it back in time to wear it to the Medina tea. He had no choice but to wear the turtleneck sweater, jeans, and denim overshirt he wore on his trip from Earth. His hours were barely enough to cover food and laundry needs. Spence could not save enough for clothing, not that he had a proper place to keep them, of course. His hours seemed to disappear. He showed up at the Medina’s door wondering why he was not better at handling hours. Hartin’s daughter Lyra answered the door, and she looked him up and down curiously. She ushered him in without comment.

Well, it’s the good Vicar Beace, Hartin greeted. The tea is just about ready for us. He had Spence sit in the front room that the Medinas still referred to as ‘the parlor’, where their stately collection of beautiful ancient Thuringi furniture adorned the room. Spence admired the intricately carved chairs and delighted in the plush cushions. They reminded him of his grandparent’s house on Old Thuringa, where people from all over came to visit. Spence remembered counting one idle day and tallied well over thirty people before giving up and enjoying the crowd. The Elders and stately adults chatted over lina tea and bran cakes while youngsters and restless adults played games on the expansive lawn. No one was ever bored at the Beace establishment.

Thank you for inviting me, Spence began, and Hartin waved away his words.

Truth be told, I intend to pick your brains more about Earth.

Father, you aren’t going to interrogate the poor man, are you? Lyra asked sharply.

I do not interrogate people, her father objected.

Oh, he doesn’t start out that way, Lyra told Spence as she sat the tea tray down on the wide low table before them. Kneeling in the floor, she moved with fluid grace as she poured tea from the carafe to the cups. Her hair was piled high and affixed with beautiful clips and tiny jewels. Long thick coils of hair hung down in back and rested on one shoulder. It was similar to an Earthian style Spence admired, and he was struck by a curiously homesick feeling for a world not his own. Father starts out having a chat and then it becomes an inquest, and then before you know it it’s an interrogation, Lyra informed Spence.

It is not, Hartin growled in a manner of having been through this conversation before. Perhaps you may think so because I believe in checking the intelligence quotient of your would-be suitors that call for you. I can’t help if they haven’t any measurable amount. Lyra gave as close to a scowl as her ladylike demeanor would allow. Besides, I invited the young vicar here as my guest; none of yours are welcome.

I doubt that anything your father might ask can possibly top the Bishop’s scrutiny, Spence told them both. And the funny thing was, he didn’t listen to anything I had to say. I told him Earth is not like Old Thuringa and it was unrealistic to believe it is in any way. The leading officials of that world don’t even recognize the existence of life on other worlds. Their societies evolved all on their own and are more numbered and varied than any other world we know. And yet the Bishop expected Earth to be in line with his way of thinking and couldn’t grasp the fact that they weren’t! I vow, Hartin, it was as if his mind was sealed shut. Hartin and Lyra gazed at him in wonder, Lyra still holding the pot of tea in her hands. Um… have I said something I oughtn’t?

Lady Melina Medina chuckled as she entered the room from the bedroom hallway. Not at all, Vicar. Do continue your tale. Lyra dear, put the teapot down before you scald yourself. Lyra made a startled jump, and did as she was told.

No really; if I’ve overstepped the bounds of good taste please let me know, Spence told them.

It’s not a large concern, Vicar. Melina sat next to Hartin. I believe it’s simply that my husband hasn’t heard anyone other than me call him by his given name in many a day.

I beg your pardon, General! Spence exclaimed.

No no, quite all right, Hartin said. As my lady said it’s of no large concern. It’s quite all right to speak my name; there’s no ban to the deed. Please have some tea, Vicar, and tell us what might have upset the bishop about Earth. I never got to settle in and speak at length to any of the scouts without interruption, and Michael Sheldon breezed in and out before I got a chance to gain a private audience with him.

Only if you will please refer to me as Spence. I am no longer a vicar, you know. In fact, every time someone addresses me by my former title, I keep looking over my shoulder, expecting the late Bishop to suddenly materialize to set them straight. Hartin chuckled.

Lyra stared at Hartin, then at Spence. Who was this man who could elicit chuckles from her stern, rigid father? Was he a witch who could magically transform an unyielding face of stone into a warm countenance of flesh and blood? But as Spence chatted about Earth, Lyra warmed to him too. She did not ask him anything. She simply listened and poured tea for the four of them.

First of all you must understand the Earth is huge, Spence was saying. The American continents of North and South have roughly the size of the land mass enjoyed by Old Thuringa. It is two-fifths total of the world’s land mass.

Word! Hartin declared.

The rest is water, many bodies of water. It staggers the mind. And the people! Oh, forever! Why, New York City alone has over nine million people in and around it.

It has what! Where do they put so many people? Melina asked, astonished.

All kinds of places. Houses, apartments, boats – there are even people who have no homes. Earth is such a large place with such astonishing variety that it’s overwhelming. The people are all different kinds of tribes and races – why, the Stellar Council pales in comparison with the variety Earth offers! Given all these differences and the fact that they are short-lived, I tried to explain that they are a fractured group of societies. We are strong in our beliefs and it is very likely that it will be impressionable Earthians who will be influenced by us, not us by them. I could not get through to Bishop Trapis that our island is far removed and he had nothing to fear. He only heard that millions of people did not subscribe to a belief in the God of All, or in any God, and he was afraid they would lead us into disarray.

What do they look like?

They are different; what I mean is the races retain their cultural heritages in many cases, but… Spence struggled to find the words to explain. Generally they look like us, only with more styles and examples and interests. There are no Aquatics among them. Many people called Africans resemble the Sturbin in features but Africans are darker, with different shades like the Gollar. Asian people have facial traits quite like the Chassiren, according to some of the scouts, or like Senga only perhaps less fleshy. One cannot really say that is an Earthian because so many are like D’tai or Galian or Borelliat, depending upon where you meet them. I was just thinking a bit ago, how closely you resemble some of the more stylish American ladies, Lady Lyra.

I do?

Yes, quite. Oh, they say that styles change with the direction of the breeze, but with your hair up like that, and draping down onto your shoulders like this, you look very American. All you need is a mini skirt and dramatic eye makeup and tall white boots, and you could be escorted into the most fashionable establishment in New York, I’d fancy.

Lyra was pleased to hear this, if only she understood what he meant. What is a mini skirt and dramatic eye makeup? And why do they wear white boots? Are there no other boots?

Yes, but white boots were in fashion when I left. Oh, their clothing tastes are as varied as the people, and they use much darker and flashier colors over the eyelids than a Thuringi woman would to enhance the natural beauty of the eyes. And mini skirts – he smiled ruefully, and looked at her parents. Well, they are definitely not seemly, I’m certain, and the Bishop would very likely return to haunt me if I were to corrupt you with the notion of them.

What are they? Lady Melina asked, as consumed with curiosity as her daughter.

Well, they…of course they wear blouses above, but their skirts extend from their waists to just about…here, he explained, marking an imaginary hemline on his upper thigh.

Word! Hartin exclaimed.

Oh, my! Lady Melina gasped.

On purpose? Lyra asked, appalled.

Spence laughed at the look of horror on her face. Not all of them wear these things, and for certain their Elders aren’t very approving of them when they do. But their young men appreciate them. These styles are worn only in certain countries, of course. There are many countries that refuse to allow their women to even expose any part of their bodies for religious reasons of their own.

I suppose you appreciated the freer countries, Lyra speculated. Her words were rewarded with the sight of an uncomfortable Spence Beace.

Well, he mumbled, pardon me for being a man.

And it’s your belief that I should wear such a costume? Lyra asked.

Not if you find offense in it.

And you don’t?

I couldn’t say, Spence said, frank to the last. It depends on whether or not you have knobby knees.

Oh! Lyra vocalized her dismay.

Hartin could not stop the smile that came to his face. She had them when she was small, the general confided in the former vicar.

Father! Lyra objected, and suddenly realized with a jolt that her father made a joke. Hartin Medina, the standing Warrior General known to the Wild Factor as ‘Stone Face’, made a humorous comment. Perhaps she never noticed any time before if he made a joke. His sense of humor was arid.

Don’t let Lyra take herself seriously, Hartin advised Spence. She’ll wield her bearing like a club.

Do you suppose it will be difficult for Thuringi to get along with Earthians? Lady Melina asked Spence, effectively diffusing Hartin’s needling.

Oh, I really doubt that we’d even have to worry about a one-on-one situation, Spence replied. I believe that once they know us and understand us, we’ll do well together. The Isle of Thuringa is fairly small, but it will be a safe enough place for us to live without undue outside influences. It’s what I tried to tell the Bishop and his clerical council, but they weren’t listening.

What about this Jesus legend? Hartin leaned back and crossing his leg over the knee of his other leg. It sounds rather high-handed to me.

Well, think about this Hartin, Spence said as he put his cup down. He had a tendency to gesture with his hands when he got wrapped up in a story, and he did not want to sling tea all over the Medinas and their furnishings. There are those people who are in search of redemption from the evil that they do; the nature of sin as they understand it. They believe – their belief, mind you, and only the sect called Christians hold with this belief – that this Jesus came to Earth to die for their sins, and that as the Son of God he conquered death and reigns in Heaven with his father.

That is what I gathered from Friend Michael Sheldon’s recording. And just how do they feel they warrant such a gift? Hartin asked, astonished at the nerve of these Earthians. I have never understood this.

For all they know, they are the only people on the only world God ever created, Spence replied. I know, I know; the fact of millions of stars with millions of possible worlds revolving around them seems to have escaped these people. They have only really begun embracing the idea of other worlds in the past couple of centuries. The ability to print words is only a few centuries old there, and they haven’t any computing ability other than pen and paper.

Forever more, Melina breathed, A raw world, indeed.

Are they stupid? Lyra asked.

Spence turned to her. No, not at all, dear. They are quite clever and many are gifted in fact. But Earth has had a very curious and even barbaric past. They are some of the most fascinating people I have ever known because you cannot pin them down. They can create beautiful, soul-stirring music that uplifts you, yet there are also those who commit the most atrocious crimes against each other. Earthians build mind-boggling architecture and accomplish admirable medical feats, and often do selfless acts of kindness for their fellow man. Yet they also burn trees and certain rocks and utilize nuclear power for energy and heat.

How can they be so diverse?

Billions of people can have billions of outcomes.

For a moment Lyra gazed at him before she burst out laughing. "Vicar Beace, you are surely teasing us now! Billions of people, billions? How can any planet support such a vast number? She tapped the tip of his nose with her index finger. I think I should check to make certain there isn’t anything stronger than lina tea in your cup, vicar."

Well, when we arrive on Earth and you take one look at that vast blue globe and all its variety, I’ll be certain to stand squarely behind you. That way I’ll catch you when you faint and fall on your disbelieving rudder, Spence came back, amused. Lyra gave a gasp. Such language, such a common phrase from a religious leader; and in front of her parents at that! No one spoke that way to her. The Saulins were from an old noble family, perpetually on the royal court and always with a member of the family counted among the clergy. The Medinas were of a warrior clan on the order of the Shanaughs. There were some things one simply did not say to a lady with an ancestry such as hers. Even Erich Phillipi at his most demanding took care when he addressed Lady Lyra Medina de Saulin.

Lyra turned to her parents for their reaction, and did not find the expected support there. Hartin sat with a half grin on his face, as if Spence said something similar to what he thought. Indeed, Hartin would have gladly paid for Lyra to get such a comment tossed her way. Too many young men tiptoed around her as it was. Melina sat perfectly still, her cup to her lips, frozen in the moment, her eyes wide but merry. It was not the first time she heard a bold statement but hearing it from the radical young vicar was more amusing than distressing.

How dare you speak of my – so personally, Lyra said reproachfully, addressing Spence again. I’ll thank you to remember who you are addressing, vicar.

You should recall, I am no longer a vicar, he reminded her. Very well, then. I take back my comment, and I will remember to simply let you fall when the time comes. His eyes twinkled for a moment, and he picked up his teacup. I hope you don’t mind my observation, Hartin and Lady Melina, but I honestly believe that once you see Earth, you may want to be seated, yourselves.

Hartin sat up abruptly, slammed his teacup down on the low table, and leapt to his feet. The movement startled them all, and Spence wondered if his mouth had finally spoken a word further than his own rudder could afford to bear. But Hartin did not head for the vicar. Instead he went to an ornate cabinet with a smooth black stone top, under some decorative lights in a corner of the room. Pulling open a small door, he removed a bottle and carried it back over to the three gathered around the table. He uncorked it and poured a generous amount of liquid in his teacup, and held it up in offering to Spence. Spence nodded, and Hartin filled his empty cup.

Borelliat brandy, Hartin clarified. He reached over and added a bit to Melina’s tea. Hesitating for a moment, he added a dollop to Lyra’s cup. He put the bottle down and lifted his cup for a toast. To straight talk and good company, he offered. They all echoed the toast and drank.

Oh, I’d almost forgotten how good this was, Spence sighed. You are indeed a gracious host, Hartin, to break out such bounty.

It’s been a long time; this seemed like as good a time as any. No sense in allowing it to sit in a dark cabinet getting lonely, Hartin said.

My cup would be glad to help make a little more, less lonely, Lyra hinted, and Hartin nodded in approval.

Now you sound more like a Medina, he told her, pouring more brandy into her cup.

And do you have complaints against the Saulins? Melina teased. He added to her cup. Hartin, I wasn’t asking for a boost.

Got it though, didn’t you, Hartin told her. Are you fond of Crackle, vicar?

Spence gasped. Have you Crackle? Oh, yes – oh, no. What I mean is, I am fond of Crackle but it is not fond of me.

Fortunately, I am a medical, Hartin reminded him.

I am fond of Crackle, Spence said promptly.

That’s a man, Hartin said approvingly, and left the room to fetch some.

Melina watched her husband leave the room before turning back to Spence. "You must realize, Vicar Beace, that even as