OOC: I apologise for this story being impossibly long... but some things cannot be told in a few lines. I hope at least a few of you will persevere.... o.
This is the residence Don Atilla Farquar, retired Elder of the Corsair Brotherhood, on planet Crete. It is a modest hacienda surrounded by meagre dirt fields attempting to grow crops.
It was a warm evening and Farquar sat in his favourite chair in the living room, catching up on the news on his portable tablet. His ward, Jacinta Villanueva, a young woman of 17 or so years, breezed into the room and took a seat on the lounge near him. She sat running her fingers through her luscious dark hair, thinking, for a minute before speaking.
"Padre, if you are not busy," she said at last, "may I speak with you."
Farquar put down the tablet. "Why do you call me that?" he asked.
"What?"
"'Father'."
"Because you are the only one I have ever known," answered Jacinta.
"You have a father, Jacinta, and he died defending our homes from the Marginados," said Farquar." As did your mother. They were both my dear friends, which is why I promised them I'd care for you if they were..." He could not say it twice.
"Then I honour both them and you by calling you 'Padre'," said Jacinta with that charming, impish smile that Farquar found completely disarming.
"Yes, you do," he said warmly, "and you are my hija in spirit, if not in blood."
"Then why do you not give me your name, Don Farquar?" asked Jacinta, and Farquar could sense she was putting off the real reason for this conversation.
"Because, angelita," he said, "I want you to always remember who you are, where you came from."
"You know, Atilla," said Jacinta with a cheeky grin, "I could be Senora Farquar."
Her step-father threw his head back and laughed. "Oh my nina, you already have me wrapped around your little finger. Would you make your power over me legal, too?" Then he grew serious. "But I guess you did not come to make light banter with me."
"No..." Jacinta said, clearly having trouble broaching the subject. "Padre... I have thought about this for a long time now."
"And what is that, carino?" said Farquar.
"I wish to join the Brotherhood," she said.
Farquar was taken aback. "What?"
Jacinta raised her chin. "I want to fight for our people," she said, "against the Marginados and Caza Recompenzas. Like my mother and father... like you."
"I don't think that's a good idea, angelita," said Farquar, and resumed looking at his tablet.
"Why not?" said Jacinta, her voice going up a notch, "Why should I not join your old muchachos?"
Farquar put his tablet down again and took a breath. "Because... I need you here, on the farm."
"Our people need me, too. Against all the enemigos who would destroy us."
"Your place is here."
"You can hire anyone to work the farm. Why must I be stuck here?"
"Because... you are too unskilled, and too young. Yes, too young to fight and too young to see the foolishness of your ways."
"You were no wiser when you joined the Brothers."
Farquar's expression became haunted for a moment. "That was a different time... things were different... I will not say more."
"I don't care. And you forget I already know how to fly, Padre, you taught me yourself."
"You know nothing, child. Combat is not like flying a crop-duster or transport. There can be no hesitation, no error. The Marginados will not simply box your ears and send you home."
"I am not a child any more, Atilla! You cannot stop me going to fight."
"Headstrong girl! You will stay here, and that is my decision."
To Farquar's surprise, Jacinta did not keep arguing the point. Nor did she assume the pouting or whiny expression as on other occasions. She just looked her step-father in the eye, holding his gaze with her deep brown eyes, her face grave and inscrutable. As Farquar beheld his foster-daughter thus, for the first time saw her as she had become -- a grown woman. He suddenly realised that she would get her way, as always, but not by the wheedling or sweet words of a wanton child. But because she was now an adult, responsible and mature, and mistress of her own destiny. He felt an odd mixture of pride and sorrow.
"See me again tomorrow, Jacinta," he said quietly. "I will consider this overnight."
*
The next morning Farquar sat in his dim study, working at the computer. Jacinta opened the door and stood silently in the doorway, waiting for him to look up. Farquar did not seem to notice her. She watched him for a while; her step-father looked sad while he read the screen, murmuring, "Oh, Ares, why? Why?"
He noticed her and quickly blanked the screen. Then his eyes grew wide and he rose to his feet.
Jacinta stepped forward and the study lights came on. There she stood, wearing a flight suit her mother had owned, the uniform of the Corsair guerrera. She carried the helmet in hand and a bag of her belongings was slung over her shoulder. But most shockingly to her foster-father, her beautiful hair, the locks and tresses of midnight she would wear cascaded about her shoulders and were her pride and joy, were all gone. Completely shaven.
At first Farquar was most angry to see his ward like this -- because of her lovely hair, and because it was clear she had defied his wishes and not bothered to await his decision. But then his wrath subsided; as she stood before him, defiant and courageous, grim and beautiful in the garb of the guerrera, he had to admit, she looked magnificent.
"You are the picture of your mother," he whispered. "Well," he added more loudly, "I see you have made the decision for both of us."
Jacinta's face grew troubled. Farquar looked pointedly as her clean-shaven head, and she ran her hand over it. "For the ease of wearing the helmet," she said bashfully. "It will take some getting used to."
Farquar could only muster a melancholy smile.
She stepped forward to stand right before him. "Padre," she said, "If you do not want me to go... if you have decided for me to stay, I will obey you."
After a sleepless night Farquar had come within a hair's breadth of so deciding. But he did not, could not. "Have I the right?" he said, to himself more than anyone. "To keep you safe from fate, wrapped up like a fragile and irreplaceable thing..." He looked into her deep brown eyes. "I am but the bow; not the archer, nor the wind."
Just then a man in farmer's clothes appeared at the door. "Excuse me, Don Farquar," said the man respectfully. "We have word, the transport from Yanagi is due to arrive."
"Ah! Bueno, bueno. Gracias, Jose, I will be there shortly," said Farquar suddenly excited, and the farmer left. "If those new fertilizers are worth half what we paid for them," he said to no one in particular, almost giddily, "they will turn our barren acres into something to produce a bountiful harvest. They will repay themselves hundred-fold in feeding our people."
The welcome diversion passed, he turned back to his step-daughter and became grave once more. "But excitement and adventure and the open road... these are things a 17-year-old craves, not crops and fertilizers." He breathed a sigh. "So, nina, I must go, and I sense you are eager to be on your way. But before, there are three things I would give you."
He put his hands on her slender shoulders, tenderly. "Uno, much as it pains my heart to see you go, I would not stand between you and destiny. You have my blessing, querida."
Jacinta went to say something but Farquar shushed her. "Dos," he went on, "my titles. I was going to wait till your 18th birthday, but... I had the papers drawn up and signed, and you are now Dona Jacinta Villanueva-Farquar. And on my death, owner of this humble hacienda and caretaker of the souls who call it home, but mistress to no one."
Jacinta was moved to tears, and much relieved. "Thank you, Padre, these two things mean the world to me," she said.
"And Tres..." Farquar continued, "I cannot let you go without a companion to keep you safe."
She looked away. "Oh Padre, even now you would not send without a nurse maid--"
"Oh I think you will welcome this companion," said Farquar with a grin, and handed her a small remote control. "It is la Diablilla."
Jacinta gasped. "You mean... your Titan?"
"Yes."
"But--"
Farquar shushed her with a touch to the lips, and lead her silently out of the Casa to the sheds. An unassuming cluster of buildings, in the midst of which was one no different from the others except that it was a little taller, and appeared to be reinforced.
But Jacinta knew that building well, and especially what it housed: many times over the years she had accompanied her foster-father to see the ship which he called his "little she-devil". At first Jacinta was permitted only to watch while he lovingly cleaned and serviced the vessel. But as she grew older she was allowed to help, and she came to know the Titan as well as any crop-duster or service droid on the farm.
Now Farquar pressed a button on the shed door, and another. Slowly the top and sides drew back, revealing la Diablilla in her glory.
Although Jacinta had seen the ship many times before, this time was different, special. It now belonged to her. "Bonita!" she whispered.
Farquar was also looking longingly at his beloved Titan. "Well," he said to Jacinta, "start her up!"
She touched a button on the remote, and could not help but smile. Immediately the engines flared up, humming. The cockpit canopy drew back.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" said Farquar with a wide grin. "She won't wait for you forever!"
Jacinta clasped him in a tight embrace, and he kissed the shaven head of his step-daughter.
"Mind what I tell you now, nina," he said seriously, drawing back from her. "Present yourself to the Brotherhood, and if my name still carries any weight they will consider your application. Be not arrogant or boastful of either your heritage or your abilities! These will not impress the Elders. Listen to all the Hermanos say, they will teach you to be a great pilot."
Without a word but with a look of love and gratitude, and another hug, Jacinta put on her helmet and climbed into the cockpit. The canopy slid closed and the engines roared, and the ship lifted off. Jacinta seemed a little raw at the controls at first. But in seconds she had them mastered as the Titan shot into the clear morning sky, and Atilla Farquar watched both flushed with pride and with a dreadful knot of fear.
"She has it in the blood," he muttered to no one. "God speed, querida."
