by Mike Smith
“Oh? Pray tell. Any luck attempting to complete the job you left half-finished and finally kill Commander Radec?” This statement was delivered with a wizened cackle.
Once again Sejanus had to fight to keep the anger from his face. He constantly wondered how this old man, permanently sealed in this room, with absolutely no contact with the outside world, seemed to so accurately identify his continued frustration. He had spent years trying to track down the location of Radec, who seemed to have vanished as quickly as he had appeared. Only resurfacing some eighteen months prior on a remote station named Terra Nova, the head of Vanguard Shipping, a small logistics company operating far out on the Rim. Sejanus had spent most of the past year fruitlessly trying to put an operative in place who could eliminate the Commander. All to no avail. The station was impenetrable, the crew equally so. Sejanus idly wondered what it was about the man that seemed to instil such devotion in the people surrounding him, so none could be brought or bribed.
The only opportunity that had arisen was when Radec made a rare trip off-station to a civilian trading post called Transcendence. That operation had been an unmitigated disaster when the Commander and an unknown civilian had killed several of the assault team and managed to escape.
Sejanus refused to rise to the old man’s gloating, although it mattered little. His silence was enough to answer the question. The prisoner just gave a short bark of laughter, going back to spreading the jam across his warm roll.
“I thought you might be interested in news regarding Admiral Harkov?” Sejanus was pleased to note that the knife the man was using to spread the jam stilled.
“How’s the old boy doing?” Came back the disinterested response.
“Not well. He’s dead.”
“That's unfortunate,” the old man replied, placing the knife carefully back down on the table and finally looking Sejanus in the eye once again. “I was hoping to have a chance to talk to him one final time. When I could look him in the eye, before ordering his execution. I hope he died painfully?”
“I can only assume so,” came back the response. “I understand that somebody rammed a nuclear warhead into his flagship.”
“Really?” The old man trailed off. For the first time in a very long time the vigour and fire was present in his gaze once again. “I wonder who possibly could have done such a thing and, of course, who would have known the necessary codes to activate such a horrific weapon? Tut, tut, so many safeguards in place to stop just that sort of thing occurring.” Once again the old man cackled, with just a hint of the madness lurking in his mind.
Sejanus ground his teeth together in annoyance. The news coming out from the Zeta-Aquilae System was fragmented and confused at best. His spies inside the Confederation Fleet had been able to confirm the destruction of the Imperial Star and the death of Harkov, but little beyond this. It would seem the Commander or somebody on his staff had used the weapon, but where it had come from or how it was activated was purely speculation. Sejanus had hoped their prisoner would offer some insights, but sadly conceded the secrets locked up in the old man’s head would forever remain beyond his reach.
“I just thought that you would be interested in the news.” Sejanus stood in preparation for leaving the old man alone with his secrets.
The old man cocked his head to one side, as if deep in thought, for a moment. “In gratitude for this news I will agree to share one secret with you.” He interrupted Sejanus’s departure. “As I would never dream of taking this secret to the grave with me.”
Sejanus turned to face the frail man, who was leaning heavily against the table, curious about what secret he was finally prepared to divulge.
“I made a terrible mistake with you Alex. I recognised in you power and ambition, and naïvely thought these were the traits needed for a great leader. Well I was wrong. I have since come to observe that love is far stronger than hate. Love is not a weakness, but a source of limitless strength, something you will never be able to comprehend. Hence, while the Praetorian Commander was your replacement, he is in no way the lesser of you. You will never be half the man he is, and will always live in his shadow.”
He failed to mention it was only with the certain knowledge that the Commander still lived, and hence his daughter was safe, that he was able to maintain a trace of his sanity. Locked away in this comfortable cage for so long, he had never regretted turning his back on this dark, evil man. He found it ironic he had been so obsessed with finding somebody to succeed him, and to care for and love his daughter, that in the end it was she who had made the right choice, not him. She had opened his eyes to realise that love, duty and honour could conquer all. He only slept at night knowing Commander Radec would always be there at her side, watching over her, keeping her safe, loving her.
“Perhaps,” Sejanus replied, keeping a tight rein on his temper. “But when I find him and kill him, and this I promise you I will, I’ll bring your daughter before you, on her knees, and force you to watch as she submits to me. Finally, and only then, will it be my turn to step out of the shadow and into the light.”
The old, frail man, merely a shadow of his former self, watched helplessly as the doors slid shut, locking firmly behind Sejanus.
“Commander,” he spoke to the empty room, aloud. “If you can hear me, then help me. Please,” pleaded Marcus Aurelius. The last Imperial Emperor, a man who had once ruled over almost ten billion individuals.
Little did he realise that he was already speaking to a ghost.
Chapter Two
Terra Nova, Zeta Aquilae System
The doors to one of the station’s pressurised docking bays slid open to reveal the commanding presence of Master Sergeant Patrick “Gunny” Reynolds. At over six feet in height and weighing almost two-hundred pounds, the man’s presence was intimidating enough, without the addition of the heavy pistol that was firmly strapped to his thigh. Rumour had it Gunny had once, single-handily led a marine boarding action against a pirate cutter, only to have the pirates immediately abandon ship when faced by him.
The pistol, however, was enough to raise a few eyebrows on the station, as these days the station was completely safe—in contrast to several weeks earlier. Seemingly a lifetime ago for the crew considering more recent events, when heavily armed Syndicate Enforcers had swarmed throughout the station, only to be abruptly halted by the combined efforts of Jon, Miranda, David and Gunny. In addition the station was now protected by significant space-based weaponry and a still sizable contingent of Confederation Navy warships, the remnants of the Confederation 12th fleet, the rest having departed only a few days earlier.
The need for the pistol quickly became apparent after Gunny stepped into the small docking bay, coming to a halt next to Paul Harrington, the station’s chief of operations. Up until recently Paul had reported to Commander Jonathan Radec, the owner of the station and Vanguard Shipping, the company that presently inhabited it. However, with his death several days earlier and the announcement of Miranda Sun as the interim-CEO of Vanguard, there was currently a question mark over who was actually in charge of the company and station.
Gunny looked up in surprise at the dark, twisted shape resting several meters in front of the pair. “Another one?” He asked, surprised. “I thought that we had found all of the escape pods by now.” Almost fifteen meters in height, half that in width, the pod had definitely seen better days. Scratched and twisted in places, it had deep rents running along one side where it had obviously collided with something larger. Gunny was astonished it still seemed to be mostly intact.
“Space is a large place, Gunny,” Paul replied, “and the Commander made one almighty mess out there,” he added sadly. Paul had known and worked with Jon for several years and counted him as one of his closest friends. He felt his absence keenly.
“It’s safe?” Gunny inquired. In a suicidal mission, Jon had flown a nuclear warhead into Harkov’s flagship, the Imperial Star, destroying it utterly. Many of the escape pods that had been recove
red had particularly high levels of background radiation.
“For the moment, but we don’t want to linger too long. You ready?” Paul inquired, motioning towards the weapon at the sergeant’s side. Some of the occupants of the pods had been extremely hostile upon being rescued. A mixture of fear, oxygen deprivation and in many cases concussion from the explosion could make a dangerous combination. Hence they had made it a standard operating procedure to always have at least one armed member of security present any time opening one of the pods.
“Sure. Do we know if there is anybody alive in there?” Gunny asked.
“According to the status readouts, there is probably at least one person alive on-board, as the pod displays a higher than expected level of carbon dioxide.”
“Okay, then open the pod bay doors, Paul.” Gunny imitated with a grin, releasing his pistol and flicking off the safety. Taking a step forward, toward the darkened pod.
Paul approached the pod and, studying the controls briefly, activated the emergency release for the doors. Both men tensed as the door slid partially open before jamming, the malfunction obviously caused by the damage to the pod after it had ejected from its mothership. With a resigned expression both officers cautiously approached the pod, with Gunny easing his head slowly between the gap left by the now partially opened door.
“Looks like the pod is running on emergency power only,” Gunny grunted. “I can’t see a thing inside, emergency lights only. I’ll go first,” he stated in a firm tone that brooked no dissent.
Paul just nodded in agreement. After all, Gunny was armed, and had at least three inches and seventy-five pounds on him. Paul had complete confidence the sergeant would be able to handle any situation that might arise. Hence waiting for a count of ten in his head, to give Gunny a head start, he slipped into the pod behind the sergeant.
With the extremely low light, mostly just shadows cast by the dim emergency lighting, it took several seconds for Paul’s eyesight to adjust to the gloom. Eventually he could make out Gunny standing above a body in a white Imperial Navy uniform, collapsed in a foetal position on the floor of the pod. Quickly glancing around Paul confirmed there were no other survivors and was disappointed nobody else had been able to make it off the ship in time. Turning back to Gunny, Paul was surprised to note the sergeant still had his weapon drawn and pointed unwaveringly at the body on the floor. It was obvious the man was unconscious and therefore no threat and, as he was the only occupant of the ship, there was no obvious need for the weapon any longer.
“What’s going on Gunny?” Paul inquired, moving closer to the pair. It was only when he reached Gunny’s side that he noticed the tight expression on the other man’s face, and the firm grip he held the pistol with, his fingers turning white with the strain. The pistol remained unflinchingly pointed towards the motionless body.
“Gunny—” Paul’s voice trailed off when, in the dim light, he finally could make out the features of the sole occupant of the pod. His breath caught in his throat. Staring in disbelief at the body. “No, it’s not possible,” he stated in shock, subconsciously taking a step back. “We saw him die. We saw his ship explode. It’s not possible. He’s already dead.”
“He soon will be,” Gunny agreed. His finger tightening around the trigger of the pistol, now squarely pointed at the unconscious man’s head.
“No!” Paul loudly interjected, suddenly breaking out of his stupor, realising what the sergeant was contemplating. “We don’t execute prisoners.”
“Normally I would agree with you,” Gunny replied in a grim voice. “But I’ll make an exception in this one case,” he added, continuing to put more weight on the trigger.
“Holster your weapon. It’s not worth it. He’s not worth it. We’re better than he is.”
“You were in the C&C. You heard what he threatened to do, what he almost succeeded in doing. He doesn’t deserve the chance to live.”
“That's not our decision to make,” Paul replied firmly. Relived to see some of the tension being released from the trigger of the pistol.
“Then whose decision is it?” Gunny asked reasonably.
Having no answer to that question, instead Paul ordered, “Take the prisoner to sickbay and get the Doctor to check him out. And Gunny?”
“Yes?”
“Try not to bounce his head off every bulkhead between here and medical. Once there I want a security team to lock down medical. Nobody goes in or out without Doctor Richardson’s prior approval.”
“That’s assuming the Doc doesn’t just shoot him on sight? You do remember he was Marcus’s personal physician for over a decade, and personally delivered Sofia. He always had a soft spot for Sofia. You remember what those mercenaries almost succeeded in doing to her upon this man’s orders?”
Paul winced. He had forgotten and could feel a headache quickly coming on when he began to realise he was possibly the only person on the station who did not want this man dead. Sighing aloud, Paul just replied, “Just do the best you can Gunny. I’ll try and work out what to do with him next. Perhaps we should just hand him over to the Confederation.”
“You mean to the President?” Gunny’s eyes brightened at the prospect. Sofia had been elected Confederation President several months earlier, and everybody on the station knew she had harboured strong feelings toward their recently-deceased Commander. A man who gave his life to stop the actions of the very man lying at their feet. “I fully endorse that decision. After all, I would have just shot him. Sofia will likely do far worse. She has more of her father’s steel in her than she realises.”
With that Gunny reached down and effortlessly, but none too gently, threw the man over his shoulder. The dull thud of the body colliding with the bay doors on the way out reverberated throughout the small pod.
Rubbing his eyes wearily, Paul realised that he had a long day ahead of him, trying to decide what to do with Admiral Harkov. The individual personally responsible for the death of Emperor Marcus Aurelius, the downfall of the Imperium and, indirectly, the death of Commander Jonathan Radec, owner of Vanguard Shipping and Paul’s closest friend.
*****
With a massive roar of the powerful twin ion engines, the heavy fighter shot away from the station. Its destination? Well the pilot had not yet thought that far ahead. Miranda Sun had grown up within the Syndicate, a powerful shadowy organisation spanning multiple star-systems, unscrupulous in what goods they dealt in, concentrating on whatever had the highest profit margin. Be it contraband, weapons or even people. The organisation had come to an abrupt end, however, only several weeks earlier, in no small part to Miranda’s own actions. Her eyes had been opened to the organisation’s true nature due to Jonathan Radec, starting with the death of her own parents at the hands of the Syndicate.
Now in her late twenties, with a slim, willowy body, long, dark, flowing hair and exotic features, her face was definitely oriental—high cheekbones, full lips and straight nose. Combined with her almond-shaped brown eyes, Miranda had garnered a lot of attention since her abrupt arrival on Terra Nova almost six months earlier. However, during that time, she had made such an impression on the crew she had recently been promoted to interim-CEO during the Commander’s recovery. Following his recent death it seemed this temporary arrangement was likely to become permanent, as the only other candidate, Paul Harrington, had made it perfectly clear he had no desire for the job.
It was in no small part due to the recent death of Jon that Miranda found herself fleeing the station at high speed. During her short stay she had found herself developing strong feelings for the young, enigmatic Commander. Since his death it had seemed every room on the station, every corridor held painful memories of their short, but poignant, time together. Hence, desperate for some solitude, she had taken her ship for a brief flight. However, even then she could not entirely escape, for this beautiful ship—a now long since decommissioned Imperial heavy attack fighter, a Wraith—had been a parting gift from the Commander. In memory of Jon she
had named the ship The Last Praetorian. A fitting tribute, she felt, to the person who had bestowed this expensive gift upon her. Even now she could picture the last few moments of the Commander’s life, as his personal shuttle, the Eternal Light, barrelled into the massive star carrier. Both disappearing in a blinding flash of light only moments later.
Turning her thoughts away from such painful memories, she once again focused on piloting her ship. Prior to this Miranda had never actually owned anything of her own, hence found herself cherishing the ship even more. With a deft touch of the flight controls, the ship danced around a particularly large piece of space debris. This corner of the system was now littered with detritus from the recent battle. The Confederation Navy had issued a cover story about a fatal ship accident to account for the large amount of debris and higher than ordinary background radiation from the nuclear explosion. Only a few people in the Confederation, the crew of the Terra Nova included, knew what events had actually transpired here.
A battle that had probably determined the very future of the young Confederation.
Turning her attention back to the area of space around her fighter, she set the ship darting to the right, then the left, evading particularly large pieces. It seemed that the debris field was particularly dense in this area of space. It mattered little, as it was only when she glanced down at the navigation computer that she realised just how far away from Terra Nova she had travelled. Lost in her thoughts, she had flown far farther than she had originally intended. Taking one last look outside the cockpit windows, she prepared to swing the large fighter around and reverse course back to Terra Nova. As CEO she now had responsibilities and could not afford to just disappear for significant periods of time.
As her fingers were about to dance across the fight controls to alter course, she saw a flash of light from the periphery of her vision. Assuming that it was just some starlight reflecting off another piece of space debris, she ignored it and had once again reached for the flight controls when she saw it again. It was too regular a flash to be just a mere reflection of light. Something was broadcasting that signal. Miranda finally did alter the course of her ship, not towards Terra Nova but in the opposite direction, towards the beacon of light, curious about what the source could be.