Paths of Absolution: Part Two
17 Jul 2022Dixon-Phyre
Mikael gritted his teeth as he made his way into the Mamba’s cockpit. Coming back onboard had taken a major effort of will; but if he was going to be caring for an invalid, Burning Spectre was definitely not the ship for it.Recalled his last conversation with Ramona, before they took her away for surgery.
“You will come back, won’t you?” she had said, almost pleading.
“Of course I will. You won’t even know I’ve been gone.”
She had held his hand until the last possible moment and then she was gone, through doors, away to the ministrations of the medical team.
Jump after jump, progress felt painfully slow. The Mamba had the smallest witch-space range of any of his ships, but at least it did not take long to scoop fuel to fill its modest tank. Finally, Levy Hub loomed before him and he let the auto dock take the ship in. He gathered what few personal effects he had on the ship, and went to the shipyard office. Watched as the Mamba disappeared into the cold dark of the storage area, then set out for another hanger.
He could feel his heart thudding as the frost-covered bulk of In Nomine Mortis rose from the depths, the landing pad shuddering to a creaking halt. Walked over towards the boarding ramp, pausing to briefly lay a hand on the landing gear.
“I’ve missed you, big old slab,” he said gently. Once aboard, he inspected the wreckage of his cabin, shivered at the associated memories - and got in touch with the shipyard.
The technician, smart in a grey uniform and cap, raised his eyebrows at the state of the room. “Ouch!”
“Let’s just say booze was involved and leave it at that,” said Mikael. “I want everything ripped out and replaced, different layout, and needs to be done before tomorrow.” The tech grinned.
“Well now, there’s a little challenge. Let me get my team together, and I’ll take you through a few options.”
Seven hours later, it was done. There was nothing now in the cabin that had any association with what had gone on before, and that was what he needed. Gentle white walls contrasted with black-enamelled fittings. The neighbouring room had also undergone a certain amount of refitting, so as to allow ease of use for a convalescing person.
Why am I doing this? he thought. Because I need to. For atonement.
The work done, he slowly lowered himself into the pilot’s chair, slipping the keycard into the console. Felt the gentle thrum of the T-10 powering up. He had always subscribed to the ancient Shinto belief that all things have their own spirit; at that moment, he truly sensed that the ship was a living thing, waking up, coming to life around him.
“Okay, milady,” he said, wrapping hands around control column and throttle, “let’s go!”
The Type-10 had a jump range nearly twice that of Burning Spectre so the return journey was swift and uneventful. Upon his return, the hospital informed him that Ramona’s surgery had gone without incident, but strongly recommended giving it a day before visiting again, so the medics could be sure everything was okay.
When he finally entered the room, he saw her sat up in bed, prodding at a datapad. Noted the smaller frame over where the right leg had been.
She looked up and gasped. “Mikael!”
“Who were you expecting? Edmund Mahon?”
She put the datapad down in her lap and her eyes roved across his face. She rubbed a hand across her mouth.
“I…I was so sure you were gone for good…” she blurted. Her cheeks coloured a bit. “Sorry. I guess I’m just not very good at having faith in people.”
Mikael approached, gazing at her thoughtfully. Like Ophelia. Doesn’t trust folk. I wonder why?
He sat down next to her, glancing at the datapad. “Hostels? Places to stay?”
“Just being prepared,” she said defensively, snatching the pad up and shutting it down. There were a few moments of silence; she seemed terribly embarrassed about thinking he wouldn’t return. To break the awkward quiet, he picked up the paper carrier bag he had brought with him.
“Got you something,” he said, passing it to her. She took it carefully, reached inside and let out a little exclamation as she took out a old-fashioned teddy bear. Held it up, speechlessly looking between it and him.
“I thought about flowers,” he said levelly, “and they’re all well and good but after a while, they fade, wither and get chucked in the bin. A ted, on the other hand, is always there. It’ll listen to you without prejudice, it’s something to cry into, it’s there when you need it in the middle of the night.”
She lowered her eyes and snuggled the teddy to her shoulder.
“You soppy git,” she said softly, “It’s lovely. Thank you. I never had one as a kid…”. Saw his look of surprise. “My parents thought it was a foolish Federation frippery, something that made you weak.”
“You’re…Imperial by birth?” he said, not concealing his astonishment, “I would not have guessed in a thousand years. You’ve got a regular Fed accent.”
“Yeah,” she said grimly, “because I’ve spent the past few years training it into my voice.”
“Seems we’ve both got a lot to explain to each other.”
Ramona’s eyes grew heavy; she let out a breath and wriggled down under the sheets, the teddy clasped firmly.
“Uh. Guess so. After I get out of here. Oh Mikael. Sorry. The dope is sending me under again. Sleepy….” And then she was out again, just like that. He sighed, but remained for as long as he was able.
Slowly walked back to the ship, and although he wondered about what he might have gotten himself into, realised that he did not mind...