That felt like an easy thing to ask of him and to hear it be said was like a lifetime of fulfillment finally delivered.
"Mi conoscete. Farei scoppiare una guerra, piuttosto che cambiare." "You know me. I'd rather wage war than change."
After all, why would he change? Better still why should he? He was perfect in the eyes of one of the few who mattered. The rest? They might as well have been cattle. And the whimsy of sheep warranted no consideration. To finally hear something so coveted brought on a surge of confidence that was practically intoxicating, and at least in the moment nothing else mattered. Anything and anyone else could afford to wait while he thoroughly savored this and more importantly sought to share it.
She smiled faintly as he spoke those words and contentedly murmured in her deep, melodious voice. She gave him a lingering look before drawing away and raising her index finger.
"Devi scusarmi - alcune astronavigazioni non possono procedere senza di me. Tuttavia, a parte la mia presenza, dovresti avere tutto il necessario per sopportare il nostro viaggio di ritorno a Malta."
"You must excuse me - some astronavigation cannot proceed without me. However, aside from my presence, you should have everything you need to endure our journey back to Malta."
The luxurious cabin echoed with her confident steps on high heels as she approached a wardrobe and slid one of the non-flammable panels built into the wall to reveal a small library of leather-bound paper books. Indeed, they were not original volumes from Sol but faithful replicas of the most classic literary works, undoubtedly transcribed by some craftsman on planet Malta.
"Quanto tempo è passato da quando hai tenuto in mano un vero libro l'ultima volta..."
"How long has it been since you last held a real book..."
She paused momentarily to dim the bright, white light in the cabin by turning the switch to a warmer, sun-like light.
"...in una luce calda e amichevole?"
"...in a friendly, warm light?"
A proud, radiantly white smile appeared on her face as she presented the amenities of his cabin before her loud steps took her back to her companion. The golden watch with an integrated display on her left wrist chimed softly. It must have been something vital as she immediately headed for the exit of his cabin.
"Riposa qui, sì?"
"Rest here, yes?"
She briefly turned back to bid him farewell before quickly stepping out onto the inner bridge of her ship. As the door closed behind her, Damien found himself alone in his cabin. He had to strain his senses even to discern that he was aboard a spaceship.
Meanwhile, outside in the icy expanse known as the Barrier, electrostatic discharges whipped from the Amalfi as the newly repaired Rift Drive, crafted by a group of freelancers known as Starfliers, charged up. In the misty, icy haze, a small sphere of nothingness opened before the Outcast luxury yacht, pulling tiny ice crystals into its maw. Several strong static arcs leaped between the vessel and the rift in space-time before the generously illuminated Amalfi entered the artificially created darkness.
A real book in his hands, this made him think. How long had it actually been since he held one or better yet smelled the pages? It didn't feel as if it were a memory confined to some far flung corner of recollection. More recent than that, certainly.
"Circa un mese. I tempi sono stati occupati a gestire i voltagabbana di una causa fallita." "About a month. Times have been busy dealing with turncoats of a failed cause."
There was a lack of regard or respect for how he referred to whomever those people were and that helped narrowed the list for Fiorella. But she would find him less vocal when met with the request to wait here and rest. Clearly he would have preferred having her stay but was not nearly impulsive enough to protest in the face of navigational necessity.
This room would do for now, along with whatever selection of reading material it had. It might even do him some good given that he had a lot to think over regarding how this meeting with her father would go. Malta was a strange place for people like him, probably more so now post-revolt. More of an emphasis on caution might be necessary along with some deference to local custom, whatever that was. By the time the door was shut Damien felt as if his mind had turned into a runny soup of ceaseless contemplation.
After just under eight hours, a confident yet cautious knock sounded at his cabin door. Beyond the door stood a crew member dressed like Fiorella in elegant dark clothing accented with gold jewelry. It wasn't easy to ascertain her age, but she likely was as old as Fiorella or slightly younger, with short black hair, brass skin and venomously green eyes adorned with soft green eyeshadows.
"[Good evening. Fiorella invites you to the bridge. She desires your presence as Amalfi makes its approach to land on planet Malta, claiming she owes you some suicidal maneuvers since your encounter on planet Houston.]"
Her smile was contagious, and her gaze could make lesser men sweat; she patiently waited to see if her invitation would be accepted and, if so, indicated for him to follow with a slight gesture. Their journey to the bridge was brief - passing a few cleverly disguised, yet still armored doors protecting the ship's most vital rooms. Experienced eyes might notice retractable panels in the floor and walls at strategic points, ready to serve as defense points for the crew at a moment's notice, offering cover for defenders and concealed remotely controlled heavy weapons.
The bridge, hidden at the ship's center and devoid of windows, felt surreal. More reminiscent of a luxury yacht's bridge than a warship - there were only six stations for officers, affording each a very comfortable and spacious working area. External sensors and cameras were relayed directly to holographic displays covering the front half of the bridge, including the ceiling and floor, creating the illusion of sitting in the vacuum of space. Another peculiarity was the absence of what one might call a captain's chair - Fiorella sat at the foremost position, practically in space, her only controls being a hand-sized flight stick with numerous buttons on her right hand and a panel with five throttle levers and other switches on her left. The holographic display around her showed only basic instrumentation related to system status and sensor data, not flight data for the ship. Damien could only guess what Amalfi's current speed and vector were.
Surrounding them was the emerald green of Omicron Alpha and their target - the solitary, almost golden-looking planet they were rapidly approaching. If someone had turned off the remaining instrumentation on the holographic displays and dimmed all the lights in the rear part of the bridge, it would have been like a dream. Apart from the hum of electronics and quiet conversations between officers, the vessel was utterly silent.
This ought to be good, he thought to himself. Though he neglected to respond to this member of the crew in words, he did communicate readiness with an emphatic nod of the head and in visibly following along. Evidently he had also dressed up a little to match the company he would be keeping. This ensemble must have been the work of his usual tailor also from Houston, Stace. It was a stark departure from the militant formality exhibited by his last piece of work. All black and deceptively plain from certain angles, but as ever the devil was in the details. The fitting was immaculate and with careful attention given to the stitching in particular. The raised collar terminated just beneath the adam's apple and beneath that just where the head met the shoulders was a golden rose enclosed by a coiled serpent - all of which was tastefully hand sculpted in gold. Where the jacket ended and waist of the trousers began was obscured neatly by a bespoke belt, the buckle of which was shaped from dark metal made to resemble a winged star. The shoes were clearly inspired by the pair from the previous set, perhaps Damien was simply that fond of their design. There were subtle differences for the eye to easily spot, ranging from the arrangement of the straps, to what seemed like thin lines of gold at the ankle. More still, they even sounded different when in brisk motion and were barely audible when confined to slower and more deliberate movements.
His entry to the bridge revealed one more detail, that being an extremely subtle pattern to the jacket which at least for the moment was not easy to recognize, seeming to shift just out of prominence just when the eyes were beginning to focus. Maybe this was Stace's way of torturing people that stared too long, or a means to ensure that people did. Obvious differences aside, these little details made it seem like he really was part of the family and his confidence coupled with a complete lack of apprehension.
"Avete la mia attenzione. Non che sia difficile per te." "You have my attention. Not that it's difficult for you to."
It was slightly cheeky of him but she had sent for him under equally humorous pretenses, and so it only seemed fair to match the energy.
As Malta approached briskly, it was not long before they were in the upper atmosphere. Concurrently, alarms and warnings for atmospheric entry blared. The autopilot presented evasive maneuvers, yet she utilized none. Fiorella turned in her seat toward Damien, greeted him with a light smile, and, through her non-verbal communication, nodded to one of her officers, who silenced all protests and suggestions from the control systems with a few button presses. They also turned all weapons rearward, hoping to protect their more sensitive barrels from the atmospheric entry. Once again, the bridge was tranquil, punctuated only by the groaning strains of the ship's hull.
As Amalfi entered the atmosphere, a fiery hell enveloped its front hull with plasma lashing about. Fiorella pulled the joystick towards her slightly, lifting the ship's nose and broadening its aerodynamic profile. The groaning of the strained hull intensified, and the vessel began to vibrate gently. The sound of cracking pervaded as individual joints reached the limits of their tolerances. Damien could swear the Outcast ship was flexing around its center of lift.
After several long minutes, Fiorella managed to slow Amalfi enough that their holographic displays ceased being overwhelmed by the fiery inferno, revealing the endlessly flat golden-orange plains of the planet's surface, occasionally interrupted by introduced and cultivated forest vegetation or small hills and mountain ranges. Fiorella smirked in her seat and executed a barrel roll with her ship, gracefully plummeting at supersonic speed toward the surface.
At the edge of the troposphere, Fiorella reignited Amalfi's engines at two-thirds thrust and switched them to reverse. The ship loudly protested and slightly stretched towards its rear as it equalized the stresses on its structure. At five kilometers above the ground, their target was visible - a small, cozily appearing town with low, white-plastered buildings contrasting with the generally golden surface of the planet, a smaller starport, and a large paved area likely serving as a landing pad for their capital ship.
Fiorella pulled the Amalfi’s nose closer to her, and the ship began to decelerate sharply and slightly gain altitude. Air vapors condensed under them as the vessel’s flat belly was an improvised lifting surface. She again turned off the engine thrust and allowed her yacht to fall to the ground gently. As soon as the Amalfi got close enough to the ground, its antigravitational units engaged at full power, allowing the ship to touch down lightly on the runway. The pressure and temperature instantly threw dust and soil into the air, enveloping the slowing ship in a heated sandy cloud.
Only after everything was over did Fiorella guide her ship at a gliding pace toward the massive, semi-buried anchoring site. The Amalfi slotted into the pre-prepared anchoring points and allowed itself to be lifted by cushioned flaps above the ground. The Outcast lady with piercing, emerald green eyes then initiated a several-hour shutdown sequence.
"[A bit more cumbersome than your hoverbike, yet a potential collision with the planet's surface could be equally impressive, would not you agree?]"
With these words, Fiorella rose from her seat. The holographic displays around them began to dim.
"[My ship is powering down for anticipated maintenance. I would recommend you to wear something lighter, Damien. It is a pleasant twenty-seven degrees outside.]"
Twenty-seven degrees outside? Definitely on the upper end of what Damien was used to back home, with temperatures generally being much cooler this time of year or ice cold given conditions aboard stations. But at least it was a simple enough problem to remedy. Deftly, he removed the jacket component of his outfit and flipped it over his right shoulder for the moment. A shirt underneath, also black but with much more room to breathe minus the jacket, could then have its sleeves rolled up. Once done, Damien then kept his jacket draped in half over his left hand and sought to link up with his partner before leaving. Happy to at least still retain the symbol mounted at the neck of his shirt even with the loss of the jacket.
His entry to the bridge revealed one more detail, that being an extremely subtle pattern to the jacket which at least for the moment was not easy to recognize, seeming to shift just out of prominence just when the eyes were beginning to focus. Maybe this was Stace's way of torturing people that stared too long, or a means to ensure that people did. Obvious differences aside, these little details made it seem like he really was part of the family and his confidence coupled with a complete lack of apprehension.
"Shall we?" Offering his hand, more for his own reassurance in venturing out together than anything else.
With a fleeting smile, she accepted his hand and let him lead her from the ship's bridge. However, just when it seemed they would leave the interior habitable part of her ship, she gently urged him towards her cabin, subtly taking the lead.
"[Just one more thing. I will not go to Malta just in black - I will put on some colors. Wait here, will you?]"
With these words, she left him waiting outside her cabin as she entered to change out of her black attire. Her choice was a white, loose-fitting blouse, black trousers, and light summer shoes of the same color. The third color, accentuating her appearance, was a golden sash tied around her waist, serving as a divider between the white blouse and black trousers. And finally, she donned her gold-toned sunglasses.
"[Now we can truly depart.]"
She accepted his arm and let him lead her out of the ship. Then, she retook the initiative, guiding him out of the unfamiliar Outcast starport with significant looks, facial expressions, and physical gestures on his hand.
The complex exuded a futuristic air - the architect clearly was not satisfied with mere functional design but felt the need to test what the local builders and craftsmen could achieve. Only the floors were straight and parallel; the walls, windows, and exposed chromed beams did not close a single right angle between them. The resulting structure appeared very dynamic, almost as if it were dancing or swaying in the wind.
Damien's eye, however, might have noticed other details - some parts of the starport were newer than others, without any regularity. Battles must have raged here too.
In front of the starport, a vehicle awaited: a ground vehicle. Essentially, it was a silver-painted luxury sports car in a coupé configuration. It bore no brand recognizable to Damien, likely custom-built on Malta. Its larger wheels and raised chassis were more pronounced than similar vehicles.
"[I hope you will understand my behavior, Damien. I am fully aware that personal vehicles are usually meant to be driven by a man on occasion like this - however - you do not know the way, and you are my guest.]"
Fiorella suddenly answered, as if responding to an unspoken or even unintended question from her companion, and took her seat in the driver's position. With a simple button press, she activated her car's electronics and fuel cells. By pressing another button, she retracted the roof. She did not bother with seat belts but patiently waited if Damien chose to buckle up.
He could notice that even as her crew dispersed to attend their own matters, some of them were still present and watching them from afar.
"Oh, I don't just understand - I approve of whenever you take charge." Truly, he didn't mind. Bothered so little by this supposed slight that his response was more a double entendre than anything else. Perhaps out of habit though he did make sure to properly secure himself once seated.
Thankfully by now his nerves had calmed, but that might have just been the initial effects of exposure taking the edge off. A quick glance at the read out of his watch did put saturation at negligible levels which was good news of a certain kind. Once they set off at decent speed, Damien used the opportunity to properly take in his surroundings. His last visit here was at the height of the slave revolt and things were far less pleasant then. It was definitely not the backdrop he had hoped his daughter would be born in, but at least it was over.
While clearly engrossed in the picturesque nature of the drug empire's countryside, there were several moments where Fiorella could catch her partner being more taken up with her than the view. It was an unspoken flattery, that even with the view available he still found his "chauffeur" distracting. But it was no mystery why.
It seemed like the further they went, the more quaint the buildings become. One could be forgiven for mistaking certain sections for villages if presented with mere pictures and no context. What gave them away however was the inability to do away with splendor entirely, it was always present in some form. That might not have been the case in the wake of the revolt, but it had been long enough that all the craters, scorch marks, and bodies were gone.
Still, this was a nice enough drive that he would pose no objection to a detour or two.
The planet Malta was inhabited by its sparse population, leaving much of its landscape either wild or semi-wild. The untamed areas, characterized by high soil acidity, supported only the growth of native Cardamine grasses and a few other introduced weed species from the seed banks of Hispania. This landscape appeared bleak and monotonous, reflecting the challenging early days of the Outcasts on this planet. While such wild areas were almost non-existent in the northern hemisphere, the southern hemisphere still boasted vast expanses of wild, unrefined land.
The semi-wild landscape, partially fertilized with Alien Organisms, presented a far more intriguing sight. Cultivated, more resilient, but demanding bushy golden-orange grasses were interspersed with non-native plant species sporting green, blue, or orange foliage, providing a richer and more colorful mosaic of Malta's scenery.
The fuel cell-powered car moved with surprising quietness, the only audible sound being the rolling noise of the tires on the unpaved road.
Malta represented a fusion of seemingly incompatible philosophies. On the one hand, there was a clear desire to advance Maltese civilization, capable of withstanding all real and anticipated challenges. This was particularly evident in space and in the Outcasts' approach to technical questions and solutions with perfectionism. On the other hand, an element directly competed with this progressiveness.
The small chapels and shrines, built over four centuries ago, were still well-maintained and frequented. Offerings were fresh and recent. This almost archaic traditionalism was evident even in a forward-thinking Outcast woman like Fiorella. Her companion might have noticed how she slowed down each time they passed one of these small sanctuaries, careful not to disturb them even with the air swirls naturally created by their car.
The Outcast religion underwent radical changes following the Nomad Wars in 801 AS, even briefly and directly venerating the Nomads through organized churches. Those times were long gone, but the need to worship local spirits among the populace never disappeared despite their high level of education and prosperity.
"[I have never expected to see you like this, Damien. On my home planet, without a breathing mask, without canned - what do you call it? - a spam? It looked absolutely awful.]"
After a long drive, Fiorella spoke, adjusting the rearview mirror to glance at Damien.
"[It was never about enslaving you. I do not find slaves particularly interesting. They do not challenge my intellect in any way, they merely obey as they have no other option. However, my family and I value sharing our experiences, feelings, and perceptions. It is simply a desire to share my world with yours – temporarily or permanently; timeframe does not really matter.]"
"[Last time... it was... like you were a stranger, a vagrant passing through my home. I was not fulfilling - and my father was - is still furious.]"
A hint of sadness was felt in her own voice for a few seconds before a joyful tone replaced it. She even chuckled for a bit as she apparently searched through her own memories.
"[I sincerely hope you are not going to use my traditions against me and force me to eat yet another one of those dreadful cheeseburgers on Houston.]"