Ransom: Shadow of an Empire - Cross of Secrets (III)

Chapter III: Echo

Samantha picked up the lost youngster who had nearly been trampled on in the crowded transfer area.

“It's alright!” she soothed the tearful child. “Let's find your mother.” Shifting the child to her hip, she called out, “Whose child is this?”

A woman swiftly pressed her way through the noisy throng and took the child away with a grateful smile. Samantha smiled back and watched as the mother disappeared again. The young woman looked around. A constant but slow stream of refugees lined up, were given their transfer files, and guided through the doors and into the Lumenara V. Almost every refugee wore only rags and scars.

Samantha whispered a prayer for them all as she hastily joined the rest of the volunteers in attempting to alphabetically organize the group. Soon after someone called for a computer engineer to fix a statically operating computer.

Opening her emergency tool kit which she always wore clipped to her belt, Samantha pried open the front panel and peered inside. Within five minutes, she had rerouted several finicky electrical currents and slammed the panel shut. The computer screen came back up with a happy beep and Samantha found herself being dragged off to fix one of the precious 3d-printers which was spouting out a hundred copies of the same ID tag.

At last, Samantha collapsed against a wall and noticed, after a moment's respite, that there were only a few straggling refugees left. She blew a loose lock of hair out of her face. Her feet ached, her eyes ached, and her heart ached. She looked around.

Her eyes stopped on a young girl who was standing off by herself, gazing at one of the many flickering panels of false moonlight. The maid's back was to Samantha, but it was clear that the girl was not looking forward to the transfer. Samantha felt a twinge of sympathy and made her way over to the girl.

“Hey,” she said softly. “You're the last one. Aren't you looking forward to going home?”

The girl turned to look at her. She seemed to be about fifteen years of age, but her eyes were solemn with the clear wisdom that comes with suffering.

“I cannot go home,” she answered in a delicately musical voice. “There is no home for me to go to anymore.”

“I'm sorry,” Samantha murmured. “I literally lost my home too, when I was young. There was a meteor shower which destroyed the planet.” She exhaled and gave the girl a smile. “What's your name?”

The girl shook her head. “I lost my family,” she murmured. “I promised myself that no one would speak my name again. But you may call me . . . ” she searched for a name. “Tristelle,” she said finally. Samantha understood. She squeezed the girl's hand.

“Come on,” she said. “I'll help you get through the transfer. I've been helping all day, so I know how it works.”

The maid smiled quietly and accepted the offer. They made the way through the process, getting the files finalized and processed, found that there were no more available cabins, and were promptly told to meet Dr. Elise Menedez of the Lumenara V for the standard medical exam. Samantha led her companion to the Lumenara's infirmary, only to be gently pulled to a halt. She turned in surprise.

“Please,” said the maid, “I do not wish to be examined. There is nothing wrong with me. I am neither ill, nor injured, and I feel alright.”

Samantha felt a bit bewildered, but she understood.

“If it makes you uncomfortable, and you're certain that you're alright, I'll ask her to give you a pass,” she replied. “But you'll still need to be screened for any hazardous bacteria.” This Tristelle agreed to, and was relieved when the young, pretty doctor smiled and told her that all was well. The maid thanked her gratefully and followed Samantha out. A few minutes later they were standing in the plaza of Lumenara V.

“Well,” Samantha sighed, glancing around, “since the cabins are all full, I'll have you stay with me.” She looked at the girl to see if that was alright. Tristelle nodded.

“I know you must be starving after all that,” the engineer continued, “so before we get a new dress made for you, we'll grab something to eat.” She led the girl to a nearby bakery, where they both tried an unusual lingonberry and cream-cheese pastry and a fruit salad. Then Samantha guided her new friend through the plaza, watching as the maid's eyes grew huge upon seeing the massive gardens with flowering vines and sparkling brooks, bubbling fountains and laughing children.

“Why,” she said softly, “this is like the gardens back home! Even the bricks are like the Cythian stones.”

“I understand that our captain designed them himself,” Samantha replied. “I heard him say that he had lived briefly on Cytha.”

“Then there is a bit of home for me here,” murmured the girl. Suddenly she brightened. “Is there a chapel onboard?”

Samantha nodded. “I'll take you there after we have dinner tonight,” she told her. “But now, a dress.”

She led the way to the onboard Academy of Design, where specially designed computers would visually take an individual's measurements and created any desired garment. Despite being a computer engineer and having fixed a few snags in the software, Samantha had never utilized this technology herself, so she simply had to experiment so that she could show her companion what to do.

She was rather amused when she realized that she had accidentally ordered a shawl instead of a scarf. She laughingly stuffed the shawl back into the machine, whereupon it was instantly recycled into another customer's coat. She raised her eyebrows at Tristelle, who smiled in reply and stepped onto the computer platform. In less than a minute she had been measured and was staring at five thousand garment options.

“I wish I had a Cythian dress like my mother used to wear,” she said longingly. Instantaneously several Cythian styles popped up on the screen. The girl exclaimed softly in delight and quickly chose one. Samantha stared.

“How odd!” she exclaimed. “This computer isn't supposed to have voice commands. Maybe the software was just updated?”

They both shrugged and watched happily as, in mere minutes, a simple but beautiful Cythian dress was created before their eyes. This stop was followed by a quick shower in Samantha's cabin.

Samantha left her new roommate to herself for a time. Her mind was clicking very rapidly. Tristelle had lightly explained her story and Samantha wanted to see the Captain. She headed to the briefing room and waited outside. She knew that Marc would be conversing with his senior officers as well as Captain Berron and Lord Ransomme.

She was staring thoughtfully at a familiar Cythian piece of artwork when the doors of the briefing room finally opened and Marc exited. He interrupted his conversation with Lieutenant Briggs when he saw Samantha.

“Waiting for us, Ms. Anselle?” he asked, pausing. Samantha turned and looked keenly at him.

“Yes. Permission to ask an odd question?”

“Permission granted.”

The engineer's eyes flickered to the rest of the group. The officers noted it and quickly proceeded down the hall.

Samantha turned back to Marc and asked bluntly: “Have you ever been married?” Marc stared.

“That's . . . what I call an odd question. Yes. Once. A long time ago. Long as in fifteen years.”

“Good! That's what I wondered.” Samantha walked away. Marc stared after her and turned back to see the Cythian image of Our Lady of the Sunrise. He sighed and shrugged at her, wondering what was up with his engineer-on-call. He, too, walked away.

---

Samantha, humming to herself, headed down to check on the Tech Center. Everything seemed to be under control, even the finicky coolant. She made sure to thank Truitt and Konstan for allowing her to take the day off.

“That's quite alright,” Truitt replied. “You've hardly seen the light of day since you joined the crew, Sahma.” This was Samantha's nickname among her friends.

“That's true, Sahma. Even I've seen every deck on the Lumenara V, and I've been here two years less than you,” Konstan reminded her. The generally mischievous seventeen-year--old assistant engineer treated her as his sister, and thus his sky-blue eyes were unusually serious.

“By the way,” Truitt interjected, “I heard that you have a refugee staying with you. You'll be interested to know that the Captain will be formally welcoming all the refugees at precisely –” he checked his watch. “Six p.m.”

“That means I have less than two hours beforehand,” Samantha calculated, “and I promised to show her the chapel after dinner. I'd better hurry! Thanks again!” She flew out of the Tech Center and hastened to her cabin on Level 1, where she found her quiet young roommate dressed in Cythian style, kneeling to pray. Samantha waited respectfully until the maid finished and looked up.

“Shall we eat now?” she inquired.

Samantha nodded, and explained about the Captain's welcome speech on the way to the plaza.

“We won't have much time in the chapel,” she warned, “and right now I know that God would want you to eat well, and slowly! Or you'll hurt yourself if you rush.”

Her companion accepted this. They sat down to eat a healthy meal of salad, fresh fruit, whole grain bread, and a few appetizers. The maid picked up a small round toast, broiled with a sharp, crispy cheese and rosemary-herb butter.

“I have eaten this before!” she said. “Back home, I think. What are they?”

“They're called crudiccis,” Samantha answered, popping a slice of blackberry havarti into her mouth. “I think it's another thing which the Captain introduced. I'm sure you'll encounter plenty of Cythian food around here. He seems to really have loved living on Cytha.”

“That is good for me,” the maid murmured, smiling at the toast in her hand. “It is almost like being home.” Samantha smiled, too, glad that her companion was warming to the Lumenara V.

“Speaking of the captain,” she remarked, dunking a strawberry into her yogurt, “I'm looking forward to the welcome speech. Afterward there will be a chance for the refugees to speak with him. He could use a friend who understands loneliness.” She looked across the table at the girl who sat contentedly eating only the spinach from her salad. A Cythian trait, perhaps. “With the common love of Cytha, I think it would be good for both of you.” Tristelle looked up and studied her friend's face.

“I will meet him,” she said softly, “if you think that it will help him.” Samantha nodded and they finished eating.

It was now quarter to five, and the engineer was eventually coaxed into leading the way to the chapel. It was beautifully designed to look like a morning sunrise, the sun being the beautiful gold tabernacle, atop which the monstrance was constantly placed for adoration. The chapel was gilded, with soft hues of arctic blue, cream, and peach imitating a morning sky. Sunlit windows made the pair almost feel as if they were at their respective homes.

“But this is home,” Tristelle whispered, gazing adoringly at Christ, “because this is Christ.”

---

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