Going Home: A Shrinking Galaxy (1)
08 May 2023Vasil Vasilescu
For as big as the galaxy is, it can sometimes become awfully small without any warning. Nowhere is that more prevalent than in large concentrations of people. Colonia, being an interstellar tourist trap, can sometimes shrink to a near singularity with the mass of people passing through.One such singularity manifested in the concierge lounge of the Hotel Atheni where I was sitting with a dozen or so others and drinking a very well-made whiskey sour. A young couple sat on a couch across from me, watching ships and stars move across the lounge’s clear dome as Jaques Station slowly spun. They sat huddled together like enamored lovers who could not stand to be out of reach.
The concierge did not so much approach as he seemed to materialize out of nowhere. “Commander Vasilescu, everything is taken care of regarding the mistake with your open-ended reservation. For the inconvenience, I’d like to offer you complimentary dinner at Caupona, if that is acceptable.”
“That will be fine. Thank you.”
“Shall I make a reservation for you, sir?”
“Not now. Maybe later. I’ll let you know.”
“Of course, commander. Enjoy your stay and do not hesitate to contact concierge services if there is anything you need.” The concierge nodded and left as quickly and unobtrusively as he had arrived.
The couple across from me looked at one another, then side-eyed to me, hints of confusion and disbelief in their faces. I thought nothing of it until the man leaned slightly forward and began to shrink the galaxy with a few simple words.
“Scuzați-mă, domnule.”
I looked up, instinctively responding in the language of my childhood without realizing it. “Da, che este?”
“Esti ruda cu Octavia Vasilescu?”
And like that, past and present collapsed, compressed into a single moment by the gravity of a name I’d not heard or spoken in decades. I had no reason to expect anyone outside of the Cemiess system would even know the name, much less ask me if I was related. Uncertain what this couple could possibly want, I answered cautiously, but not in Romanian. “Octavia is my sister. I am Vasil Vasilescu.”
The couple’s faces brightened, and the man extended his hand across the table. Still cautious, I shook his hand to be polite. “I can’t believe this. My name is Andrei Covaci and this is my wife, Ioana. Your sister was our Stăpână.”
If anyone hearing the conversation understood the meaning of the word, they did not make it obvious. Someone like Andrei, with just a hint of an Imperial accent, who referred to another person as their “Mistress” would have certainly drawn more than a few derisive glances.
“Was? Then you are not currently employed by my sister.” Euphemisms, an old habit I'd picked up from slave traders when talking about slaves in unknown company. Slaves were not owned, they were employed; not bought and sold, hired and fired; they were not freed or granted manumission, they sought other opportunities.
“We were both with her for ten years,” said Ioana. “When our contract expired four years ago, Stăpâna Octavia graciously invested in our start-up.”
“I see,” I said, understanding that they were once bond slaves, people who sell themselves into slavery to repay debts, or as an alternative to prison. It was also not unusual for talented slaves to be given their freedom and money to start their own business. Of course, it came with the caveat that the former owner expected a profit on their investment. A freed slave could find themselves re-bonded if the losses were severe enough.
“So, Andrei, Ioana, what brings you to Colonia?”
“Extended vacation,” said Andrei. “Follow the Colonia Bridge, visit the sites. Usual tourist things. And you?”
“Refits and repairs. Colonia was closest.”
“You know, some of your family think you are dead.” Ioana said this like it was an apologetic precursor to bad news. She was about to say more but a polite clearing of Andrei’s throat and a squeeze of Ioana’s knee stopped her.
“That does not surprise me. I have not been home or spoken to anyone in the family for years. I spend most of my time charting systems in the deep void.”
“Oh, that must be good money,” said Ioana
“It is really more of a hobby. I got very lucky trading goods in my younger days. Now I can afford to spend months at a time roaming the galaxy or camped out on some undiscovered earth-like planet.”
“Sounds like early retirement,” said Andrei.
“I suppose in a way, it is.”
Ioana set her hand on Andrei’s arm, excited. “Octavia won’t believe this, seeing her brother, alive, in Colonia. What are the odds?”
“Nearly impossible,” I said. And so improbable, I thought, that such a chance encounter seems suspect.
“Well, I think it is fate,” said Ioana, smiling. The wonderment in her voice and her bright, joyous smile almost made me believe it could be fate. Though, this particular act of fate had not yet revealed whether it was to be a boon or a bane.
If Octavia was involved, likely a bane. But I am biased. She, the eldest child, was the one who convinced my father to reduce the coming-of-age gifts given to me and my other siblings. The less we got, the more she would inherit. Of all the Vasilescu children, she embraced the Imperial pursuit of luxury the most, and there is no easier way to attain wealth and status than by inheriting it.
I considered wishing Andrei and Ioana well, ask them to say hello to my sister, and excusing myself, but I wanted to know if this meeting was as random as it seemed, or if there were hidden motives. I motioned for the blue-suited concierge to come over and told him, “I’d like a 1930 reservation at Caupona. Party of three.”
“Of course, commander. I’ll see to it right away.”
I looked back to Andrei and Ioana. “I think you will enjoy Caupona. They serve no synthetics and the braised rabbit pappardelle is excellent.”