Pax Imperia (The Redemption Trilogy)

by Mike Smith

  Jon stared at him, shocked by his declaration. For while he had loved Marcus as a father for many years, it had never occurred to him that the love might be returned. With tears running down his face, Jon admitted aloud something which he had never told anyone before. “I loved him. He took me in when I had nowhere else to go and he gave me a family, when I felt as if I had lost my own. He taught me that power did not always corrupt, but instead it could be used wisely, to help others, not only for selfish reasons and personal gain. I miss him. I miss them both so much.”

  He understood how Jon felt, and while there was nothing that he could do for his own son he at least could help this man, whom he had also come to care deeply about. Embracing Jon, he tried to convince him one last time. “Then do this for them. Take up their mantle of leadership. Prove to all what Marcus could see in you. Show them what a true leader is. Somebody who can inspire everybody to be greater than themselves, somebody that everybody can look up to, to aspire to be. Finish what Marcus and Sofia started.”

  Instead Jon just released his pent up breath, shaking his head. “I cannot do that, it will destroy all that is left of Marcus and Sofia, along with their reputations. Everybody will think I only used them to further my own ambition. I cannot and will not do that to them.”

  Whatever else he was going to say was cut short abruptly by the door sliding open and Paul entering the room. Casting his gaze quickly around the room, he was not in the least surprised to see all the destruction around him. Looking directly at Jon he said. “I have just received a call from the marines down on the planet. The rescue teams have finally made it into the Senate.”

  Jon looked up in desperation, with a tiny flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe—but that hope died when he noticed the expression on Paul’s face.

  “You need to go. Now,” Paul uttered quietly. “Gunny is refusing to leave the body, he won’t let anybody else get near it. Not until you arrive.”

  Jon nodded wretchedly, wondering if this day could get any worse. Losing Sofia was bad enough, but both of them? He was just numb with grief. Stopping for a moment to pull his sword out of the table, he walked slowly towards the door.

  As he passed, Paul gently rested a hand on his shoulder, commenting. “Jon, I’ll still be here when you get back. If you need to talk, to—I’ll still be here,” Paul repeated, at a loss for words, not knowing what else to say.

  Jon did not reply, just allowed Paul’s hand to drop from his shoulder as he stepped around him, the door soundlessly sliding open at his approach. However, he stopped before stepping over the threshold, replying, “Thanks Paul.” Then he was gone, the door sliding shut behind him.

  Paul sighed, before taking the seat recently vacated by Jon. Noticing the untouched glass of Scotch still resting on the table, he picked up the glass, bringing it to his lips. Suddenly remembering the Admiral, and technically he was still on duty…

  Admiral Sterling just waved his concerns away, refilling his own glass from the bottle that sat on the table between the two officers.

  “What a day,” Paul muttered, after taking a sip from his glass. “After receiving the news about Marcus, I called Carol and the kids. I don’t know why. I guess I just wanted to reassure myself they were fine.” Paul winced when he remembered that only a couple of hours before he had been holding the Admiral’s son at gunpoint. “I can probably arrange a meeting with Captain Harrison if you want? At the very least I could probably slip him a datapad with a message?” Paul offered.

  Sterling just shook his head, refusing the offer. “Half of the fleet is already convinced I am involved in a conspiracy to assassinate the entire Senate. The other half is simply unsure, so I cannot be seen to have any further involvement.”

  “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I really am. If there is anything that I can do?”

  “You can talk to the Commander. Try and convince him to see sense.”

  “I take it that it didn’t go well?” Paul enquired, as the Admiral had already briefed Paul on the plan prior to talking to Jon. He had already voiced his doubt that Jon would accept the position.

  “He wouldn’t hear of it,” Sterling sighed. “Did you know that Marcus had always intended Jon should become the next in line to the throne and succeed him?”

  “Did I know?” Paul replied. “No. Am I surprised to hear Marcus had chosen Jon to succeed him? No, I am not surprised. I saw the way Jon used to look at Marcus; he worshipped the ground he walked on and, as for Marcus, it was common knowledge throughout the Imperial Navy that the Emperor had more than a soft spot for his Praetorian Commander.”

  “Well I hope you can change his mind,” Sterling said desperately. “As unless Commander Radec embraces his destiny and accepts his role as the last Emperor of the Imperium, none of us are going to live long enough to ever see any of our families again.”

  Chapter Four

  The Senate, Eden Prime, Eden System

  Arriving back on the surface of Eden Prime, Jon was confronted with a very different scene to the one he had faced the previous day. Part of him was surprised that everything seemed to be carrying on, as if he had expected the world to stop turning with the death of his family.

  Looking up into the sky, he could still make out the haze from the thousands of tonnes of dust that had been blasted into the atmosphere. While visibility had vastly improved from the day before, he guessed it was going to take a considerable time for the dust to settle completely. What had changed little was the thick coat of white dust that covered every surface and, in some places, the wind had blown into drifts several inches deep.

  With the storm gone, Jon could clearly see now everything that had been concealed the day before. While the Senate building was still standing, he could observe the horrific damage inflicted upon it, with the cupola cracked and broken in places and some of the walls now nothing more than piles of rubble. It was a miracle the building still stood at all. Although he assumed that, at a later date, it would have to be demolished and completely rebuilt.

  The area surrounding the Senate was mostly bare, as the structures had been flattened. All that remained visible was the occasional shattered wall and a few foundations of former buildings. The destruction had been absolute and the death toll horrific. Currently standing at over five thousand dead, this was expected to increase dramatically over the coming days. Jon knew many of the bodies, like Sofia’s, would never be found, having been simply vaporised by the tremendous amounts of energy released at the point of impact.

  Jon was not here to observe the devastation all around him. He was here to collect their father. Stepping from the shuttle, he approached the crowd that had formed around the entrance to the Senate. Many of the people were rescue workers, with emergency medical teams in attendance to help remove the bodies. Interspersed amongst the crowd, the media and reporters were clearly visible. Their hovering holo-cam recorders looking like tiny satellites orbiting around them. He bit back his frustration, knowing they had as much right to be there as anybody else, but still it made him angry that they were like a pack of vultures, attracted by all the pain and misery surrounding them.

  Jon bowed his head, hoping to pass by unnoticed. For while his name and face were still not widely known in the Confederation, his visibility had been dramatically increased by the announcement of his marriage to Sofia, the Confederation President. Unfortunately his luck was not to hold, for at least one enterprising reporter spotted him and, with a call of “Commander Radec,” the pack quickly descended upon him. He lengthened his stride to try and escape before they could surround him, ignoring all the questions shouted in his direction.

  “Commander Radec, do you have any comment?”

  “Do you know the reason behind the attack?”

  “Can you confirm the rumours that all the Senate are dead?”

  “Commander how did your wife die?”

  The last question shouted from the crowd had him halting mid-stride, and the group, as a whole, took a safe st
ep back upon seeing the expression on his face. However, they were rescued just in time by a small detachment of marines, surrounding the Commander and whisking him away from the waiting reporters.

  “If you will follow me Commander, I will take you to Master Sergeant Reynolds,” the young Lieutenant, who was obviously in charge of the detail, respectfully announced.

  Jon just nodded his head in acknowledgement, following the Lieutenant into the Senate, where they wound their way around the heavy lifting equipment, floodlights and rescue workers that had taken up residence within the building.

  Finally they arrived at the Great Hall, where the Senate had been in session when the orbital bombardment had started.

  The destruction was everywhere, with heaps of mangled metal and shattered stone throughout. Looking up, Jon could just see a sliver of sky through one of the larger cracks in the ceiling but his attention was instead drawn to the middle of the Great Hall, where Gunny stood near to the base of the speaker’s podium. With his back straight, he was staring into the distance, his gaze fixed.

  As Jon approached, the Sergeant executed a flawless salute. As he stood before him, Jon could see the tears glistening in his eyes and he did not need to look down to know what he would find at Gunny’s feet. Instead he looked Gunny in the eye, returning the salute, before ordering softly. “I relieve you of your duty, Sergeant.”

  “I stand relieved, Commander,” Gunny replied equally quietly, turning his back to give Jon some privacy, but not moving far away from his position.

  Jon reluctantly lowered his eyes to look at the body resting on the floor at his feet. It took him several seconds to make out the features of the body, as the white Imperial Navy uniform Marcus had been wearing was covered with a thick layer of dust. Falling to his knees at the side of his father, Jon delicately brushed the dust away from Marcus’ face. The first thing revealed were his emerald-green eyes, open, staring sightlessly upward. With trembling fingers Jon reached up and gently closed his father’s eyes for the last time. Looking at the rest of his face, Jon was relieved to see there did not seem to be any other major injury. A small cut on his forehead, probably from falling masonry, was about the extent of his visible injuries. What did surprise him was his mouth, which was upturned at the edges, as if Marcus’ final thought was something that had pleased him.

  Ever so gently, Jon reached underneath his father, effortlessly lifting the body into his arms. He clutched the man close to his chest, the same way a person might hold a small baby. “Rest now,” he whispered. “I’ll take you home, away from this mausoleum of the dead. Back to the stars, where you can be reunited with your wife and daughter.” With that Jon turned back the way he had come and, with sure steps, made his way towards the exit, leaving behind the rest of the dead. He could sense Gunny falling in step behind him as their guard of honour.

  Stepping out into the weak sunshine of the early morning, everybody around them fell silent as they observed the Commander and the man he carried. But the silence only lasted a moment and, with a cry, the pack of reporters surged forward towards the pair, all trying to get an exclusive photograph.

  Jon froze on the spot. Like a doe caught in a hunter’s crosshairs, not knowing where to go or what to do.

  He was finally rescued by a shout from Gunny, summoning the nearby marines. Once again they formed a cordon around the pair, but this time the reporters would not be deterred. They had caught the scent of an exclusive, and nothing and nobody was going to keep it from them. That was until Gunny’s next order rang out over the crowd. “Marines, present arms!” Suddenly the reporters found themselves much less confident, staring down the barrels of a dozen pulse rifles, being held firmly by a dozen very angry marines, who looked as if they would like nothing better than to be given the order to open fire.

  “This is outrageous,” one reporter near the front of the pack exclaimed. “We are well within our legal rights to—”

  Whatever he was going to say next was lost as the butt of one of the pulse rifles slammed into his stomach, knocking him to the ground. One of the marines demonstrating his legal rights to get the reporters to show some respect for the dead.

  Noticing one of their fallen colleagues, the rest of the pack backed off a little, allowing the marines to make a path for Jon and Gunny to approach the waiting shuttle. Even then, calls from the group continued to ring out around their cordon and above the noise from the hovering holo-cameras recording the scene for the viewing public.

  Jon and Gunny finally made it to the shuttle, which wasted no time in departing and leaving the hordes of reporters and media behind.

  Naturally enough it was the lead item on every single news network for the rest of the day, with news anchors and voice-overs describing the pair and their deeply entwined history. The viewing public mostly ignored this, with many recognising the grief of a son, who was taking his deceased father home for the last time.

  For the vast majority of the people of the Confederation, this was their first real glimpse into the life of the man who was soon to become their Lord and Master, the last Emperor of the Imperium.

  It was a sobering first impression.

  *****

  The comforting hand resting on his shoulder interrupted Jon’s thoughts. Looking up from the body of his former master and father, Jon saw Paul looking down at him with a concerned expression.

  “You shouldn’t stay here Jon, it’s not healthy. Marcus has gone now. He doesn’t need you to watch over him any longer,” Paul said worriedly. Jon had been sitting by the Emperor’s body for several hours now, ever since they had arrived back on the Protector and Marcus had been moved to the morgue.

  “I’ve got nowhere else to go, nothing to do,” Jon replied in a distant, lost tone of voice.

  “Then come with me, back to our home. I’m returning to Terra Nova shortly. You have people there that love you. Miranda has been frantic. It took me almost an hour to calm her down and reassure her that you were fine. I think she was preparing to come here and find you in person.”

  Jon frowned at hearing this, as he did not want anybody else who he cared for to be anywhere near here. Whilst Admiral Sterling had reassured him the perpetrators who had instigated the attack had been caught, he was not so sure. He had not told anybody about the warning he had received on the planet or the attack that followed. “How is she?” he asked. He’d been so caught up in recent events he had not even had time to spare her a thought.

  “Worried about you,” Paul replied promptly. “We all are. Come back with me and let us take care of you. You shouldn’t be alone at a time like this.” Paul was quietly terrified for his old friend. Just like the first time he had come to Terra Nova, he seemed to be retreating into himself, closing off from the outside world. It had taken Miranda in the past to break through the shell he had put up around himself. Now Paul was uncertain whether even Miranda would be able to rescue Jon from the sea of despair that he was adrift on.

  Jon just shook his head in reply. Terra Nova had never been his home and Sofia had helped him realise that. It was just a place where he had hidden away from his life, responsibilities and all the mistakes he had made in the past. He had not been living, just passing time until his death. If nothing else, she had taught him he could not keep on living in the past.

  “Then go home, back to your family, your parents. I am sure they must also be worried,” Paul encouraged.

  In truth Jon had given some thought to the idea, but had decided against it, as he didn’t think he could cope with the sadness he knew he would see in their eyes. Their compassion and sympathy since, once again, he had lost somebody he cared deeply for, that he had loved. In many ways he thought that would be even worse than going back to Terra Nova and hiding away for the rest of eternity.

  Paul sighed out loud at the noncommittal response from the younger man. Remembering his promise to the Admiral to try and convince Jon to accept the position of Emperor, he decided to give it one last try. After all, it
could hardly make matters any worse. “Then why not accept the Admiral’s proposal? I know you don’t want to, as you think it will somehow blight the memory of Marcus and Sofia, but it doesn’t matter what others think. If they were standing here today, they would tell you the same thing. You have an opportunity here, Jon, to do some good and to help others. They would want you to do this, if for no other reason than to carry on their work.”

  Jon rose stiffly to his feet, his muscles rigid from having been seated so long in the cold morgue. Not that he had noticed, as the chill that had swept through him as he looked out across that crater on Eden Prime seemed to have taken up permanent residence inside him. He wondered if he would ever feel warm again. Taking one final look at the body of the man resting on the table beside him, Jon realised that what Paul said was true. He could no longer go on living in the past, but the question still remained; what direction he should now take? This he still had no answer to. As he had been awake for almost forty-eight hours, he decided to sleep on it.

  With a nod in Paul’s direction, a small show of appreciation for his concern, Jon reluctantly made his way back to the dark, empty quarters that had been assigned to him.

  Somehow he knew sleep would be a long time coming.

  *****

  The room was dark, unlit, with the only light penetrating the room via the large viewport to Jon’s side. The stars shone brightly down on him, making his uniform and sword glisten with an ethereal light. He was resting on one knee, his sword present as always at his side, his head bowed. The room and scene were familiar ones to him. A small part of his subconscious mind knew he must be dreaming, as this room and ship had been destroyed long before by his very own hand. The Imperial Star, flagship of the old Imperial Navy, and his home for many years, had been vaporised when he had collided his shuttle, along with a nuclear warhead, into it.