Pax Imperia (The Redemption Trilogy)

by Mike Smith

  May God have mercy on my soul, Harrison thought to himself, retaking his seat. May God have mercy on all our souls.

  For a moment he wondered what the wetness was on his face, before he realised that it was his own tears. With his task now complete, Harrison continued to sit there. Where else was he going to go? There was nowhere to run to, assuming he even had plans to try and escape, which he did not.

  Instead he sat there patiently, awaiting his fate.

  *****

  Where the hell was he?

  For the hundredth time, Sofia paced up and down the length of their apartment. Jon was nothing if not punctual. She assumed it must have something to do with her husband having been in the navy so long, that when he set a time to be somewhere he was always there exactly on time. Not a minute early, not a minute late.

  Therefore, the fact that he was now an hour overdue was starting to get her seriously worried. Their wedding was meant to be getting underway any minute now in the Senate, not that she had even given that a second thought. All she wanted to know was that her husband was alive and well.

  Then she could kill him, for scaring her half to death.

  She had already tried, many times, to call him over the data-net, but each time the call had failed to connect, with the simple message that a connection could not be established. Unable to contact Patrick either, she had finally, in desperation, reached out to Paul, who had arrived only a short while earlier. Explaining the situation to him, although not able to tell him much, as Jon had been reluctant to tell her anything, he had agreed to go and try to track them down. That had been over thirty minutes ago and, since then, she had heard nothing further from him.

  Meanwhile, standing in front of the wide, floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the Senate, Sofia wrapped her arms tightly around herself. She had been unable to dispel the feeling of terror that had taken hold of her that morning as Jon had departed their home. For some reason she had convinced herself it would be the very last time that she saw him.

  A loud rumble of thunder from outside drew her gaze back to the windows and the Senate building, a few hundred meters from their apartment. Sofia frowned in puzzlement, for it was a beautiful crystal-clear day, the sky a bright, azure blue, not a cloud in the sky. How could there be thunder?

  Sofia actually saw the first bolt hit the Senate. It was a glowing light, which seemed to descend from the heavens, as if Zeus himself had cast a bolt of lightning from high atop of Mt. Olympus. It travelled faster than the speed of sound, everything seemed to happen in slow motion, and in perfect silence. The bolt glowed brightly from friction as it descended through the atmosphere, before striking the side of the Senate, just underneath the cupola of the building.

  The explosion was massive.

  First a bright light blinded everything and everyone. Then the resultant detonation threw debris hundreds of meters into the air. Finally the shockwave expanded outwards in all directions. It was a visible thing, as it pushed back on the surrounding atmosphere, carrying dust and fragments along with it.

  Since their apartment was only a few hundred meters from the impact site, the blast took less than a second to travel the distance and the huge pressure wave blew out all the windows in its path.

  Standing only a few feet from the windows, Sofia would have been killed instantly had the windows been made from ordinary glass. But these windows had been replaced some years before, at Jon’s insistence, with Tri-Aluminium Silica. The same material which was used in the manufacture of windows and viewports on the great starships that plied the heavens. At over half an inch thick, the manufacturer certified that the window would stop any sort of energy weapon, including a direct hit from a pulse cannon and could stop any shell up to and including a fifty calibre, armour piercing round.

  That glass saved Sofia’s life.

  The blast wave tore off the front façade of the building, with the resulting impact and concussion wave shaking it so hard, she was knocked to the floor. But the glass held, when all others in the building failed. Many occupants of other apartments were killed outright by the flying shards. Anybody caught outside at the moment of impact was already dead, killed instantly by the pressure of the expanding blast wave.

  As the impact from the detonation and shockwave started to dissipate, the outline of the Senate building became apparent. The side where the projectile had impacted had disappeared. However, it was a testament to the construction of the building that it had not collapsed. Part of the cupola had crumbled, where the surrounding loadbearing supports had been vaporised in the explosion, but the building stood.

  A proud and defiant symbol against all those that would try and tear it down.

  Soon after, however, more bombardment rounds started to descend from the sky, in a seemingly random pattern of destruction on the Senate and surrounding buildings.

  Stunned by the first impact, half blinded by the resultant explosion, Sofia crawled on her hands and knees to look out of the cracked windows at the scene of devastation. Watching in stunned disbelief at the damage that was inflicted, as one-by-one the railgun rounds impacted. Wherever they fell nothing was left spared, the destruction utter. Sofia could not take in the scene, could not comprehend what was taking place in front of her.

  It was only when another round struck a glancing blow on the Senate, that realisation struck. “Father!” she screamed, remembering he and the rest of the Senate had already convened for the start of her wedding. Scrambling to her feet, she dashed to the door of their apartment, which had already opened of its own accord, the building’s crisis management programme having long since activated, opening all the exits.

  Overcome with shock, Sofia gave little thought to what she would do when she reached the Senate, not even worrying about her own safety as railgun rounds continued to land in the vicinity, causing mass death and destruction.

  However, in the end, it made little difference, as a few minutes later one of the last railgun rounds fired by the Indomitable directly struck their apartment block. Like the other rounds that landed before, it instantly vaporised the building. Nothing remained of the home Jon and Sofia had made for themselves.

  *****

  Their small atmospheric transport shuttle, with Jon at the controls, was still several kilometres from the Senate when the first bombardment rounds started to rain down. From a distance they appeared to Jon as glowing stars, descending from the heavens. Having spent almost a decade in the Imperial Navy, Jon understood what his eyes were showing him, but he could just not believe it.

  Still some distance away, the impacts were bright flashes of light on the horizon, and it took him a couple of seconds to realise the inherent danger that they faced, travelling at an altitude of several hundred meters straight into the oncoming shockwave. However, by then, it was already too late.

  The leading edge of the shockwave struck the small shuttle.

  This far from the point of impact the blast wave had dissipated significantly, but it was still strong enough to completely flip the shuttle over. Fortunately, as a result of training and habit, Jon was tightly strapped into the pilot seat, as he felt himself pressed sharply backwards into his seat with the shuttle now facing the opposite direction—inverted.

  To make matters worse, the dust and debris from the shockwave were instantly sucked into the intake system of the oxygen-breathing ramjet engine. While they were still travelling at several times the speed of sound the engine exploded, depriving the shuttle of its only source of power.

  “Brace yourselves,” Jon shouted to the rest of the occupants in the back of the shuttle. “We are going down.”

  *****

  Admiral Sterling was roused from a deep slumber by the sound of distant alarms and shouting. For a short time he was disorientated, wondering where he was, confused after a lifetime of too many different ships, systems and emergencies. The Admiral was long past the age of retirement and the Senate had been pushing for him to retire. However, he would be d
amned if he was going to hand over his command to some wet-behind-the-ears whippersnapper, who had only achieved his rank by kissing political ass—

  “Report!” He demanded having slapped the communication console. His voice, deep and gravelly, was still heavy with sleep. What the hell was going on? As memory flooded back, he remembered he was still on board the Protector, flagship of the 12th Confederation Fleet, in orbit around Eden Prime. Now fully awake, he recognised the alarm blaring in the background as the sound for General Quarters. But what the hell? How could they be under attack? They were in orbit around the most heavily defended system in the Confederation. However, a panicked voice over the intercom answering his earlier question quickly answered that question,

  “Admiral, we need you on the bridge, immediately. We have an emergency situation sir.”

  “What’s going on?” he demanded gruffly, reaching for his jacket. He always slept with his pants on; after all, it would hardly look dignified for the Fleet Admiral to arrive on the bridge sans pants.

  “It’s the Indomitable, Admiral,” the bridge officer continued in a panicked voice. “She has just opened fire.”

  “Opened fire? On who? On what?” he roared.

  “It’s the Senate, Admiral. The Indomitable has just fired on the Confederation Senate.”

  At a quick glance at the chronometer next to his bed, Sterling recognised the time and the significance of the event. Jon and Sofia’s wedding had been scheduled to get underway several minutes earlier. The Senate would be packed. Every significant and notable dignitary in the Confederation would be in attendance.

  Forgetting his advancing age, Admiral Sterling sprinted for the bridge.

  *****

  “Report,” he blared for the second time above the din of the shouting and alarms as he stepped out onto his bridge.

  Captain Morden, Commanding Office of the Protector, promptly approached his side, passing a datapad to him. “Several minutes ago, with no forewarning, the Indomitable activated her weapon-systems, targeting the Confederation Senate on Eden Prime and opened fire with thirty rounds from their dorsal railgun battery,” Morden quickly summarised the report on the device for the Admiral.

  Sterling glanced at the datapad with stunned disbelief. He would need to oversee rescue operations on the planet, but there was nothing he could do for them now, more urgently he had to deal with the Indomitable. “What is the status of the Indomitable now?”

  “She has been refusing all hails since opening fire on the planet, Admiral. Her weapon systems are still powered up, but so far she has not opened fire again.”

  Sterling sank into his own seat, in disbelief. “Who is in command of the Indomitable?” he asked in barely a whisper, already knowing the answer to the question.

  “Captain James Harrison,” came back the prompt response.

  Sterling just lowered his face into his hands in despair. He had known Captain Harrison for over a decade and had sponsored his promotion to Captain, pinning the rank insignia on him personally. In Sterling’s opinion there was no better officer in the fleet. The day that he finally stepped aside, he had hoped Harrison would step into his position. “Arm all our weapon systems and target the Indomitable. Prepare to fire on my command,” Sterling ordered Morden.

  Captain Morden took a step back in surprise, the shock clearly visible on his face. “Admiral?” he queried uncertainly. “You want us to fire on one of our own ships?”

  “Do it now!” Sterling thundered, his voice echoing across the bridge, all conversation stopped, all eyes turning to face him. None of the bridge crew could ever remember seeing the Admiral so rattled. “Do it now,” Sterling repeated in a quieter, but firm tone. “Before they have the chance to fire again.”

  With a nod from the Tactical Officer, Captain Morden turned back to Admiral Sterling confirming, “Weapons powered up and locked on to the Indomitable. Awaiting your orders, Admiral?”

  Sterling hesitated, feeling a bead of sweat forming on his forehead, wiping it away with the sleeve of his uniform. He knew that every eye on the bridge was fixed on him, waiting for his decision. Worse, Sterling could recognise the hopelessness of the situation. For Captain Harrison was his direct subordinate and, more than that, a close friend. If he hesitated in ordering the destruction of the Indomitable his crew would view it a sign of weakness, but ordering his ship to open fire was an even worse option. The fleet had to know what events had taken place on board the ship to precipitate such a horrific attack. If he ordered the destruction of the Indomitable, then he would also be destroying any possible evidence, evidence that could even implicate him.

  “Operations,” he demanded, turning to stare at the officer. “Can you tell in advance if the Indomitable is about to fire again?”

  “Maybe Admiral,” the Operations Officer replied cautiously. “The railguns consume a lot of power, we should be able to recognise an energy spike in their reactor, prior to them actually opening fire again.”

  “Yes, or no?”

  “Yes, Admiral,” the Operations Officer replied.

  “Very well, continue to monitor the Indomitable. If it appears that she is about to fire again, then I am ordering you to fire on her.”

  “Understood, Admiral.”

  “Communications,” Sterling turned to the other officer. “Any response from the Indomitable to our hails?”

  “No Admiral,” came the prompt response.

  Sterling tapped his fingers nervously on the armrest of his chair, deep in thought. It was obvious that he could not continue in his current capacity. Any investigation needed to start immediately in order to find out what had happened. Unfortunately, he was too intimately involved in the chain of command, he had to step aside, to isolate himself from the investigation. However, who could run the investigation in his absence. Who was even left alive down there? Sterling thought morosely.

  “Get me Commander Radec,” Sterling ordered his Communications Officer.

  *****

  A blinding pain at the back of his head was the first thing Gunny felt as he slowly regained consciousness. Reaching back he delicately touched the large lump that was forming. He winced and, upon withdrawing his hand, Gunny was relieved to see in the dim, emergency lighting of the shuttle that there was no blood.

  The last thing he could remember was the Commander’s desperate warning from the cockpit then, after that, everything had gone black. Glancing around at his surroundings, he assumed they had landed, but seeing as the small shuttle seemed to be resting at an angle, Gunny assumed that crashed was probably a more accurate description. A groan of pain from the other side of the shuttle had Gunny quickly releasing his restraining harness and checking on the other occupants.

  Fortunately they had all survived the impact, with the most serious injuries seeming to be a couple of broken bones. After breaking out the emergency first aid kit and confirming the health of those in the back of the shuttle, Gunny made his way forward, on unsteady feet, towards the cockpit. He had grown concerned, when after several minutes, the Commander had still not appeared.

  With the shuttle only running on emergency power, it took him several minutes to prise the doors open, only to find the cockpit—empty. The cockpit was tiny, barely able to fit a pilot and co-pilot in close proximity. Even then Gunny took a long while to confirm that indeed there was no unconscious body trapped under the pilot seat. Gunny’s search uncovered no bodies, but he did find the cockpit emergency escape hatch was open. Sticking his head out of the narrow exit, Gunny could barely see more than a couple of feet. A vicious dust storm seemed to be blowing outside and visibility was practically non-existent. Certainly Gunny could not see any sign of the Commander.

  In the cramped cockpit of the shuttle, Gunny had to bend his massive bulk so he could squeeze into the pilot seat, wondering what the hell was going on. Where had this storm suddenly come from? Where had the Commander disappeared to? Gunny could not believe, no matter how desperate the Commander was to attend his wed
ding, he would ever abandon the ship. Not without first checking on the passengers at least. Gunny was a practical man, firmly believing you should tackle one problem at a time. The Commander could wait; in the meantime he had injured marines that required medical attention. Hence he activated the shuttle’s communication system, glad to see it had survived the impact, and started to broadcast a distress call.

  Unbeknownst to the Marine Sergeant, this was quickly lost amidst the cacophony of myriad other cries for help.

  *****

  “Admiral,” a familiar voice called out to him, from behind. “What is going on?”

  Sterling turned around, and was relieved to see a harried Paul Harrington stepping through the doors onto his bridge. Tall, with his blond hair and bright cerulean-blue eyes, he looked like he belonged on the front cover of some modelling magazine. However, the Admiral had known the man for over a decade, back when Paul had been a Fleet Captain leading a Special Forces task group in the Imperial Navy. More importantly, he was one of the Commander’s closest friends.

  “Where is the Commander?” Sterling demanded impatiently, ignoring the question. Right now Sterling needed the Commander to take command of the Indomitable and find out what the hell was going on over there.

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” Paul replied in a worried tone. “I received a call from Sofia over an hour ago, telling me the Commander and Gunny had gone missing. I pulled their flight itinerary and found their destination to be a small piazza several kilometres south of the Senate, but by the time that I arrived they had already gone. It looked like a hell of a firefight had just taken place. It was a mess, with spent shell casings and bullet holes everywhere. The place looked like a morgue, as it was littered with corpses. I was just about to return to the Senate when I received the alert that the Senate was under attack and thought it best to divert here first. What the hell is going on, Frank?” Paul demanded.