Pax Imperia (The Redemption Trilogy)

by Mike Smith

  “Commander, do you wish me to engage countermeasures?” the ship prompted him. For the ship was equipped with both powerful defensive and offensive systems, electronic warfare systems that could jam or disable the missiles, or powerful railguns that could engage the missiles many kilometres distant. They could even vanish from sight, if he so wished, by simply activating the ship’s stealth systems, but instead he ordered none of these.

  “No continue on course to the Invincible, take no further action,” he commanded. For this was not a battle about ships, missiles or guns. Instead this was about power, namely who controlled it. Jon had never wanted it, but had little other choice when it was thrust upon him. From what Anna described, Malthus was obsessed with it, prizing it above all else. Convinced that it had been stolen from his family, that they were the rightful heirs to it, not him. Not that Jon particularly cared, as he had no plans to allow Malthus to live long enough to ever see that dream come to fruition. Marcus, his father and his, going back five generations, all the way to Edward Aurelius, had fought and died for the Empire; to ensure that the chaos, death and destruction prior to its founding never returned.

  They were the Empire, and in turn the Empire intrinsically belonged to them.

  It was time for a demonstration of that fact, a clear display of power of who was the rightful heir to the Imperium. Jon just hoped that it was a performance he would live long enough to see through. “Continue on course,” he insisted, observing the rapidly approaching missiles clearly now. The bright glow of their engines clearly visible, a swarm that only continued to grow and multiply as they came ever closer.

  “Ten seconds until collision,” The Endless Light calmly reported.

  *****

  “Ten seconds until impact,” the Tactical Officer called out to the two Commanding Officers, who were still locked in a silent battle of wills of their own, reflecting the violent conflict taking place outside.

  “Nothing to say Admiral?” Benson smirked, breaking the silence. “I’m sure the Senator will reward me well for the death of Radec. Perhaps a Fleet Admiral position that will become vacant very soon?”

  “I wouldn’t count on it. You’re an idiot,” Alexeyev snapped back. “Do you have no idea who that man is?”

  “Who cares? He’s a dead man.” Benson shrugged, turning back to the tactical display.

  “Three seconds,” the officer called out.

  “Two.”

  “I’ll give Sofia Aurelius your regards,” Benson smirked.

  “One.”

  The command deck officers collectively held their breaths, waiting for the resulting explosion—that never came.

  “Failure to detonate,” the Tactical Officer called out in stunned disbelief.

  “What?” Benson howled.

  “I don’t understand it,” the Tactical Officer insisted. “The missiles are still active, they’re armed, they were on target, but then they just—missed. They passed right by the shuttle, as if it wasn’t there.”

  “Operations,” Alexeyev called. “Have you confirmed the identity of that shuttle?”

  “Let me check, Admiral,” the Operations Officer replied, surprised by the question. “Yes,” he said. “The shuttle is on file. Reported as the Endless Light—”

  “And?” Alexeyev prompted him, already guessing the answer.

  “It’s Emperor Marcus Aurelius’ personal shuttle, Admiral.”

  Alexeyev nodded in understanding, before turning back to Captain Benson. “Let me enlighten you, my poor misguided fool. On board that shuttle is Jon Radec; he was the Commander of the Praetorian Guard, right hand of the Emperor Marcus Aurelius, husband to his daughter, Sofia Aurelius, and his chosen successor. Furthermore he is flying the Emperor’s personal shuttle.”

  “I don’t give a damn who he is, or who he bedded for the job,” Benson fumed. “He can call himself whatever the hell he likes for all I care. He is going to die here and now. Let’s see if he can dodge railgun rounds like he did missiles. Tactical, order the fleet to target the shuttle with their guns, open fire as soon as he is in range.”

  “You see,” Alexeyev droned on conversationally, ignoring him entirely. “What you obviously don’t realise is that for the past two hundred years, the Aurelius shipyards have had the exclusive contract to design, build and maintain the Imperial Navy’s fleet of warships. Every ship, missile, gun and fighter in this fleet was built and maintained by the Aurelius family, right down to the deck plating and bolts that you’re currently standing on.”

  “Fire,” screamed Benson, spittle flying from his lips. “I gave you a direct order. For God sake why are you not firing?”

  “I don’t understand it, Captain,” the Tactical Officer reported in frustration, pounding on his console. The main computer has just locked out all the fire control systems.”

  “I tried to warn you,” Alexeyev continued on relentlessly, “but you refused to listen. This ship, the entire fleet, it belongs to him.” Alexeyev pointed towards the view-screen where the Endless Light was just becoming visible, a faint pinprick of light that was rapidly growing larger. “You might question his authority, but the ship doesn’t. It knows who its true master is, and he is coming here. Now.”

  Suddenly all the lights on board vanished, and the ship went deathly quiet.

  “Just like last time,” Alexeyev sighed into the darkness. Maybe, if he was lucky, Radec would let him live, just long enough so he could watch Captain Benson die first.

  *****

  Jon let out his own sigh of relief, as the swarm of missiles vanished around the ship, disappearing into the dark ether, from whence they came. While he might be alone on the Endless Light, he could feel the presence of Marcus next to him, nodding his approval. Not just him, but all the generations that had preceded him, that had made this possible.

  “Commander, ships are powering weapons. They are targeting us with medium and short-range railguns. We will be within firing range in thirteen point five seconds,” came the ship’s not unexpected warning.

  “Then it is time for the next demonstration,” Jon ordered. “Remotely override the manual control of all ships in the fleet. Lock out their fire control computers, helm and life support systems.”

  Until Sofia had demonstrated such power he never knew that such actions were possible. For years earlier, she had displayed the absolute control that her family had over these ships, in a similar shuttle, on this very fleet. Jon was now convinced that it was no longer Alexeyev in charge, for the Admiral had already received this demonstration of his power before, and knew the vulnerability of his ships. Jon was curious why he had not shared this insight with Malthus? Perhaps things were not as black-and-white as he had first assumed. He would have to question Alexeyev closely upon this arrival.

  “Ships are powering down weapon systems,” the shuttle reported.

  Not that Jon needed the verbal confirmation, as the result of his actions was clearly visible to his naked eyes. For the mighty ships of the Confederation 8th Fleet were succumbing one-by-one. The massive engines that kept the fleet in close formation, were shutting down. Their bright external navigation lights faded, before extinguishing entirely. The large railgun batteries, which moments before had been actively tracking them, now ceasing movement and falling still. Within the space of a few minutes, the mighty fleet that had guarded this system for decades, was reduced to nothing more than dark floating shapes, prisons for their crew.

  “Open the port hangar bay on the Invincible,” Jon ordered curtly, as a bright blaze of lights suddenly appeared in the dark, ahead of the shuttle, as the massive hangar doors began to ponderously open, permitting entry to its master.

  *****

  Once the shuttle had come to a rest in the hangar bay, he ordered the ship to close the hangar bay doors. While doing so he stood, opening the small but comprehensive armoury on the small shuttle and withdrawing a heavy pistol, with spare clips, before stopping. The crew of the Invincible numbered a little over four
thousand. What was he planning on doing, shooting them all? Unfortunately people could not be as easily reprogrammed as computer systems, but they had something computers did not. A conscience. Free will to decide upon their own course of action. Putting the pistol and ammunition back in the armoury, he decided he would rely upon this to defend himself with. As for Alexeyev and Malthus, he tapped his ever-present sword at this side. He was more than adequately armed to deal with them.

  “You remember my instructions?” Jon addressed the ship, possibly for the last time.

  “Instructions received and acknowledged, Commander.” The ship confirmed calmly.

  Jon doubted he would be able to remain so calm, if he had been ordered to disable all safeguards around the small fusion reactor, the heart of the shuttle, and drop the magnetic containment around its core, if the ship had not heard from him in several hours. The resulting explosion would be more than enough to destroy the flagship, including Alexeyev and Malthus.

  With a nod of understanding, he opened the shuttle’s hatch, stepping out onto the flight deck, and heard the portal close and lock firmly behind him.

  *****

  Not unsurprisingly he stepped out onto a fight deck full of guns. All pointed unwaveringly at him. What was surprising was that they held their fire. Jon considered this his second lucky break in a row—discovering Sofia alive and well being the first—therefore it was sure not to last.

  From the long line of pulse rifles that were pointed at him, the ranking officer stepped forward, taking care not to stand in the line of fire. “Commander Jonathan Radec, I have orders to place you under arrest,” his voice echoed around the silent flight deck. The tension on the deck was palatable, every eye on the man wrapped in the dark cloak standing before his shuttle.

  “What am I charged with?” Jon’s voice rang out clearly over the crowd.

  The officer looked around nervously, wanting only to carry out his assigned orders, not to participate in a conversation, but it was a fair question. “Murder, sedition, overthrowing the duly elected government,” the officer paused for a heartbeat. “Treason.”

  “Those are serious charges indeed,” Jon nodded his head solemnly. “Punishable by death.” His gaze raked across the line of marines with their weapons drawn, and behind them the deck crews, watching proceedings agog. After all, how many times in one lifetime do you see an Emperor arrested? “However you are arresting the wrong person, because it is not I that am guilty of those crimes, but your senior officers. Those same people who issued the orders for my arrest. So I pose the question—who is it really that is committing treason? Me? For trying to bring them to justice. Or you? For protecting them.”

  The silence in the room was deafening, nobody breathed as Jon’s words rang out across the flight deck. The ranking officer went deathly pale, looking like a stiff breeze would blow him over, looking around desperately for help, but none was forthcoming. What could he say? If he continued with his orders, he was committing possible treason, if he failed to follow his orders he would certainly be charged with dereliction of duty. The officer was paralysed by indecision.

  “Many of you here know Captain James Harrison, of the 12th Fleet,” Jon called out, realising that he needed one final push to make them understand the sort of people they were protecting. “He was a popular Captain, well-liked by all and, by all accounts, a fine officer. I’m sure many of you have also heard the rumours that he was behind the attack on Eden Prime.” Jon paused for effect, letting his words sink in, before he hit them with the truth. “The rumours are completely true. James Harrison gave the orders to open fire on Eden Prime. He was directly responsible for the deaths of thousands.”

  This time the group was not quiet, the shock rippled out through the crowd, for many did indeed know Captain Harrison.

  “Why did he do it?” Jon called out to the crowd. “Why would anybody do such a thing? I will tell you why. Because he had no choice. I would have done the same in his situation; every one of you here would have. Why? As the people that you are protecting took his family. They made him watch as they raped his wife.” Jon paused for a moment to let that sink in, before delivering the final resounding blow. “Then they threatened to do the same to his young daughter.”

  At this the crowd went deathly still. Many of them were married, even more of them had families of their own. Each silently wondered what they would do in the same situation. Their expressions quickly turning to anger and then fury and, before the marines realised what was happening, the crowd behind them started to push and shove. Only able to see the armed marines who were protecting people who would commit such evil acts.

  Shouting now, to be heard by the crowd pushing at the Marines, he called out. “But do not take my word for it. Hear the words from the very lips of the deceased—Captain James Harrison!”

  The crowd fell silent, stunned at the apparition that had suddenly appeared next to the Commander. The apparition seemed to flicker and waver as if he was as insubstantial as a ghost. With eyes closed, head bowed, the spirit finally spoke. “My family,” it whispered. “They will hurt my family.”

  “Who has your family, Captain?” Jon asked the apparition.

  “I don’t know,” it uttered. “I received a call from whoever had them, it was heavily encrypted and untraceable. They didn’t identify themselves, they claimed to have my wife and daughter, and they would kill them if I did not go along with what they said.”

  “How did you know that their threat was real? That they even had your family?”

  In a dead voice, which carried from the grave, it replied. “Because they forced me to watch while several of them took turns raping my wife. They told me if I didn’t watch, if I looked aside even for just one moment, that they would kill her. After they had finished, they told me what I had to do. They warned me that if I told anybody, or did not carry out their orders to the letter, they would do the same to my daughter. By the Maker, she is only seven years old. I couldn’t. I had no choice, I had to—” Whatever else it was going to say was lost to the sound of sobbing as the apparition completely broke down—and then vanished.

  In the great cavernous bay, nobody uttered a sound; the occasional sob could be heard in the background, like a chorus to the grief-stricken words that had just been spoken by the dead. As Jon stepped away from the shuttle the crowd parted before him, none making a move to intercede, until he stopped in front of the ranking officer, who had earlier called for his arrest.

  “It’s over,” Jon replied softly. “You have done what duty demanded of you. Now step aside, and let me do my duty. For I promised Captain Harrison that I would bring those people to justice.”

  “Was that really him?” the officer whimpered in fear.

  Having reprogrammed the emitters in the hangar bay prior to stepping from the Endless Light, Jon looked at the spot where the holo-recording had been standing. “Yes, it really was,” he confirmed sadly, stepping around the officer, departing the flight deck.

  *****

  Jon sighed with relief when nearly an hour later the door to the command deck slid open at his approach. For he had run a gauntlet of sealed bulkheads, decompressing corridors, locked lifts and automated defence systems as the bridge crew, increasingly frantically, did everything in their power to impede his progress.

  It had all been for nothing.

  For every sealed bulkhead opened at his approach, corridors re-pressurised as soon as he arrived, lifts pausing momentarily before speeding him to his destination, automated defence systems powering down at the very sight of him. For as quickly as the command staff placed another impediment in his path, the ship’s computer reversed it, clearing his path to the bridge. The senior officers could only observe helplessly, as the angel of death took another step closer, and another, until he had finally arrived.

  Jon barely saw the butt of the pulse rifle out of the corner of his eye, before it came crashing down onto the back of his head. When he finally came back to his senses
, blinking away tears, he was lying on the floor of the command deck, with two pulse rifles hovering inches above his prostrate body.

  Touching the back of his head, where a large bruise was already starting to form, Jon looked up, observing the immediately recognisably form of Admiral Alexeyev standing in the middle of the command deck with a grave expression on his face.

  “Admiral,” Jon acknowledged him, wincing as he touched the painful lump.

  “Commander Radec,” Alexeyev replied formally, his eyes darting to one side of him.

  Trying to twist his head, to take in who or what the Admiral was looking at, Jon blinked back tears at the excruciating pain that seemed to hold his head in a vice. He quickly looked ahead again, deciding that abrupt movement was a bad idea at the moment. Anyway the mystery of who or what the Admiral was looking at was soon resolved, when the aforementioned person stepped into his line of sight. Jon took in the man with a single glance, from the polished black boots, to the immaculate black and red uniform of the Confederation Navy, observing the Captain’s insignia before letting his eyes linger on his face. Taking note of the blond hair, pronounced nose, grey eyes and pursed lips his eyes widened in recognition. “You’re looking good Senator, have you lost some weight recently?”

  Captain Benson looked started for a moment, before laughing. “You are referring to my father. I am his son, Captain Benson,” he preened.

  “Ah, yes, I remember now,” Jon replied dismissively. “Anna mentioned you in passing. How did she describe you? The younger, cruder, more arrogant version, but completely lacking in intellect.” Jon glanced at the man disdainfully. “She was a good judge of character.”

  The smirk instantly vanished from Benson’s face, to be replaced with a flash of anger. With a grim nod from him at the two marines behind Jon, one of them smashed the butt of the rifle, once again, down on his head. Jon went crashing to the floor, yet again. “Did anybody ever tell you that you’ve got a really big mouth?”

  “Not really,” Jon groaned painfully from the floor. “But I’m frequently told that most people wish me dead soon after meeting me for the first time. I always thought it was because of my winning personality, but perhaps it could be my mouth…” Jon tried to pick himself up off the floor, but when he did everything started to spin, and he could feel the bile rising in his throat. Therefore he decided that just continuing to lie on the floor was a better idea.