The hunger welling up in Victor surprised him, considering all he had been through over the past day or so. The idea of eating before meeting the Lysandran emperor, the man whose empire Victor had spent most of his adult life fighting, struck him as surreal. But his stomach didn’t care.
Victor’s guards removed his manacles and left the room, locking the door.
Before he really knew it, Victor sat down and devoured the food on the table.
After finishing his meal, Victor stripped off his suit and the sweat-soaked uniform under it. He then used the small shower stall in the corner. He didn’t use it for long, but not from consideration for Lysandran hot-water regulations. He was simply too anxious to luxuriate in the hot water.
After showering, Victor found a neatly folded uniform resting on the bunk. It was the blue of the Imperial Battlefleet rather than the gray of the Republic Navy, but it lacked any kind of ornamentation or insignia.
After a moment’s hesitation, Victor donned the uniform. It was clean and comfortable. Just to make sure he didn’t look too much like a Lysandran officer, Victor removed his rank pins and badges from his Republic Navy uniform and attached them to the Lysandran uniform.
He was surprised to see that the magnetic attachment points on the Lysandran uniform mostly matched those of his Republic uniform.
He looked at himself in the mirror, noting the mongrel appearance of a blank Imperial uniform with Savannan decorations. Exactly the kind of thing he should be wearing for his meeting with the enemy’s emperor.
The hatch opened, and one of the guards appeared. “It’s time, Captain,” he said.
Victor gave himself one last look in the mirror before turning to depart. The guards reattached his manacles and then led him to the hangar, where he boarded a shuttle. Other than him and the guards, no more passengers were present.
Victor was given a window seat, allowing him to watch as the shuttle flew from the hangar. A few minutes later, the small vessel docked with another warship.
The guards took him from his seat and lead him off the shuttle into the hangar bay, which Victor realized was laid out differently from Admiral Loris’ battleship. Hers must have been a different class of warship.
He boarded an elevator that took him down several levels, and, from there, the guards led him to an immense conference room with the vaulted ceilings of a cathedral and windows looking out into space. Victor was certain the windows were actually screens. A room like this would not be kept on the surface of the hull, vulnerable to enemy fire.
A black metal table rested on thick legs in the center of the room. The way it absorbed the light in the room mesmerized Victor.
“Welcome aboard the Spear of Lacano, Captain Selan,” said a man standing at the window on the other side of the room. What Victor first thought to be statues turned out to be a pair of armored Imperial Marines as they turned their helmeted heads toward the newcomer. “Leave the Captain here.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” said the leader of Victor’s escort. He, with his two other marines, disappeared through double doors and closed them.
Victor stood at the entrance, frozen by indecision, then the man at the window turned around. Short black hair, matching beard, and piercing sapphire-blue eyes. A face known, and hated, by every citizen of the Savannan Republic. He was Magnus Lacano, the Lysandran emperor.
“Please take a seat, Captain Selan.” The emperor stepped toward the table, his bodyguards following him, their armored boots thumping like drum beats against the hardwood flooring.
Victor thought about insisting on standing but decided against it. He gained nothing by appearing insolent. Not when the emperor had Victor’s homeworld at his mercy. Victor took the seat at the foot of the table.
The emperor sat down at the head of the table, flanked by his two guards. Victor noted the broad, satisfied smile on the emperor’s bearded face. “Admiral Loris was very complimentary about you, Captain Selan. Your attempt to destroy the Shroud showed great courage. No surprise from the best captain in the Republic Navy.”
“I don’t know about that,…Your Majesty,” Victor said. The title tasted like ashes, but one did not needlessly antagonize a victorious emperor.
The emperor grunted in amusement. “Yes, you no doubt think the captains who died valiantly in battle to be better than you. Very noble and very wrong. You’ve destroyed more of my empire’s ships on a kilo-for-kilo basis than any other Republic captain. And the fact you survived is a testament to your skill and luck.”
“Skill and luck enough to fail at a suicide mission, Your Majesty,” Victor said.
The emperor gave him a sympathetic look. “You’re disappointed to be alive, aren’t you? I can’t say I blame you. It’s hard to see the final defeat of one’s homeworld.”
Victor shifted in his seat. He hadn’t been expecting empathy from Magnus Lacano. “Yes, it is, Your Majesty.”
“So, what do you expect to happen now, Captain Selan?” asked the emperor.
Victor was startled. “I think you would know better than me, Your Majesty.”
The emperor gave him a knowing smile. “Humor me.”
Victor licked his lips. He had a feeling he was being played with. “I was told that the Republic surrendered. I assume that means you’re removing the crews from the surviving Savannan vessels.”
The emperor’s smiling face became as shade darker. “Removed. Yes, you could say that.”
“What do you mean?” asked Victor.
The emperor made a dismissive wave. “Oh, nothing, Captain Selan.” He cleared his throat. “I assume you expect an occupation force to land on the surface of Savannah soon.”
Victor’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “If not already. That’s generally what happens to worlds you conquer.”
“True enough.” The emperor leaned forward. “Tell me, Captain Selan. What do you want?”
Victor was confused by the question. “Your Majesty?”
The emperor spread his hands. “What do you want? It’s a simple enough question.”
It was also a very odd one. “Well, winning the war would’ve been nice.”
The emperor chuckled. “Fair enough, I suppose, Captain Selan. Let me rephrase my question. What do you want right now?”
Victor shrugged. “To go home, Your Majesty.”
The emperor nodded, his smile predatory. “Yes, home. To your wife and son living in that lakeside mansion, yes?”
Victor stiffened. “What did you do to them?”
The emperor raised his hands. “Nothing, Captain Selan. Nothing. They remain on the surface. Though their exact location isn’t known to me. I haven’t looked. I just read our rather extensive dossier on you, that is all.”
Victor relaxed a little, but he couldn’t shake the feeling Emperor Lacano was toying with him.
“I had three sons, you know? All dead now. I just have my daughter, Lysandra, and my concubines waiting for me back at the Imperial palace.” The emperor sighed sadly. “A father should never have to outlive his own children.”
“No, he shouldn’t, Your Majesty,” Victor said.
The emperor gave Victor a grateful smile, but a dark glint was in his eyes. “Much appreciated, Captain Selan.” The emperor stood. “Join me at the window.”
After a moment of hesitation, Victor stood and walked around the great table to follow the emperor and his bodyguards as they walked up to the false window.
Victor stopped well short of the window, but the emperor beckoned him closer with a gesture. He walked forward, surprised when one of the massive armored bodyguards stepped aside to let him stand next to the monarch.
Savannah was visible through the window, huge, as if the Spear orbited just a few hundred kilometers above the surface. Victor had no way of knowing if that was true.
“A beautiful world, Savannah. Hard to believe it was covered in glaciers just a couple short millennia ago. Truly, the First Civilization had mastered the art of terraforming,” Magnus Lacano
said, staring down at the planet below. The world’s only continent rotated into view.
Victor stared at the emperor, who could be reached easily. With his hands manacled in front of him, Victor was certain he could grab Lacano’s neck before the bodyguards reacted. Of course, Victor doubted he’d do much more than briefly choke the emperor before the bodyguards killed him. Likely by crushing his skull with their strength-augmenting gauntlets.
Then he noticed a familiar item hanging from the emperor’s belt. When the emperor saw where Victor’s attention was focused, he chuckled. “Yes, I had your variblade brought to me.” He drew the variblade and, to Victor’s shock, formed the blade into a curved edge. It should have been impossible, and Victor couldn’t stop himself from blurting out, “How…?”
The emperor raised an eyebrow and smiled. “I’m something of a collector of ancient weapons. One of the items I happen to own is a reset key for First Civilization variblades.”
Victor’s shoulders sagged. That weapon had been carried by his ancestors over a millennium, and it would be him that lost it, along with the war.
The emperor studied Victor. “I see this blade means a great deal to you, which I can understand. It’s a fine example of First Civilization craftsmanship.” He lowered the blade until the tip hovered just short of Victor’s chest. “And, unlike most heirlooms, this one is fully functional and very, very sharp.”
Victor stared at the emperor, not sure what would happen next but prepared himself to be killed with his family’s ancient sword. It would’ve been appropriate, given his failure.
“You’re not afraid to die. I suspected as much. You were willing to die to stop me.” The emperor retracted the blade and reattached it to his belt. “But I won’t kill you. That’s not what you’re here for.”
Victor licked his lips. “I don’t understand. What is it you want from me?”
The emperor glanced at the window, down at the planet. Victor followed his gaze. Lake Valor came into view. A second later, a fireball appeared on the western shore where his family estate was located. More fireballs sprouted around it, covering the entire continent.
Shock and dread ran through Victor like a lightning bolt. “NO!” He turned from the window and lunged at the emperor but was caught by an armored arm. He thrashed futilely against the strength of the battle armor.
“Hold him up to the window,” the emperor said. The Imperial Marines did as he ordered. Victor tried to turn his head away, but the emperor grabbed a fistful of hair. “No, you watch. You watch the example that I make of your world!”
Chapter 4
Victor awoke from the nightmare, his vision blurred from sleep. He reached with his left arm to touch Gina—only to find empty air when his arm went over the edge of the bed.
He wiped his eyes, clearing his sight. This wasn’t his bedroom. It almost looked like a hospital room with its cream-colored walls. Simple, comfortable-looking furniture decorated the room. Cool, soothing artificial light provided the illumination.
The lack of any windows concerned Victor. But the concern he felt was muted. He tried standing but sat back down when his legs shook beneath him. Drugs? he thought.
Victor stood from the bed again, steadying himself on a bedpost. He was dressed in an undershirt and boxers. The same he put on in his rush to…
He clutched his head in pain. “No, no, no!” He remembered the final battle and the planetary-scale murder that occurred afterward. The drugs in his system cushioned the sudden upwelling of guilt, grief, and cold anger, but he still slid down to the floor. There he curled up into a ball and let out a long, anguished wail.
They were dead—Gina and Alex and everyone on planet Savannah who he ever knew or loved. All dead. The Lysandrans had killed them…. No! Magnus Lacano had killed them, all to avenge his sons.
Then Victor’s recent memory returned. The emperor—so close by that Victor could feel the heat of the emperor’s breath—had whispered their names to Victor, “Prince Cisar, Prince Rinald, Prince Landis. Remember those names, Victor Selan. For them, I burned your world and made you watch. Remember, and, when the scavengers pick you up, you will tell them and spread the story across the galaxy. This is what happens to those who kill my kin and terrorize my citizens.”
Immediately afterward the Imperial Marines had forced Victor into a hibernation pod, to float in space until the said scavengers found him.
He shook with sobs as he lay on the pod’s floor, pulling at his hair as the terrible memories assaulted him.
He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, but eventually the pain ebbed, leaving only the slight drug-induced haze he felt.
Standing up, yet no longer in the pod, Victor studied his unfamiliar surroundings. “Where…where am I?”
“The Stone,” answered a man with a deep ancient voice.
Victor hopped back like a frightened rabbit, looking around frantically for the source of the voice. But no one was here. It took a moment for his drugged brain to realize the voice likely came from a speaker. He cleared his throat. “Who’s…who’s there?”
“An old man who wishes to help you,” he said.
“No, no, this is a trick." Victor shook his head, trying clear his mind. "Why did you drug me?”
“To calm you. You’ve had…a very bad experience. I’m afraid that, without the sedatives, you’d be inconsolable.”
“Inconshol—” Victor found it hard to coordinate his mouth enough to say what he wanted. It reminded him of the drugs the navy gave out after a particularly traumatic combat experience. The realization crept into his awareness like molasses. “You're…treating me.”
“Yes.”
Victor sighed and slumped back down on the bed. “I don’t, I don’t…don’t see how that can help.”
“There will be scars, and the pain will never completely go away. But you’ll learn to live with it,” he said.
Victor looked to the ceiling; he thought he could hear the voice coming from above, but the acoustics of the room left him unsure. “Why are you helping me?”
“Because I need your help.”
“My help?” Victor chuckled. “I’m not much help to anyone.”
“Not in your current state, no. But you will be in time. I’m sure of it.”
“And what makes you think that?” asked Victor.
“Because I think you’re the right man for the job.”
“And what makes you certain of that?” asked Victor.
The man chuckled; it was a dry sound. “Nothing is certain in this universe. But some things, some people, have the probability to do…interesting things.”
“Probal…probal…” Probability was more syllables than he could handle at the moment. “You think I can do…stuff?”
The man sighed. “In a word, yes. Do—Did they have poker on your world?”
Victor swallowed and said, “Yes.”
“Then let’s just say, from my point of view, if you were one playing card, you would be an ace.”
“An ace? You’re not making any sense,” Victor said.
“Yes, well, you’re not exactly firing on all cylinders,” the man said. “We should talk after the sedatives make their way from your system. You’ll find a dispenser in the wall near your bed if you need food or drink. I think you’ll like what’s on the menu.”
“Wait!” Victor stood as he yelled. “I’m not done asking questions!”
No answer came. Victor was alone again.
He sighed. He felt tired and hungry. He looked to the bed and felt drawn to it, tempted to return to the oblivion of sleep. But sleep meant dreams, and he doubted he would have any good ones.
Hunger was easy enough to deal with. He hadn’t eaten since…
He sat down on the bed, his appetite gone. He settled for staring down at the thick carpet. Digging in his toes, he found it far more interesting than such an activity had any right to be. Probably due to the drugs.
He looked at the door and staggered to it. He kept from f
alling, but whatever was in his system was playing hell with his sense of balance. He grabbed the doorknob and tried to turn it, but it didn’t budge. He pulled, and the door didn’t so much as jostle. He considered breaking it down, but that felt like more work than he wanted to do. Instead he put his back to the door and slid to the floor. Without really noticing, sleep overtook him. It was mercifully dreamless.
***
When he woke up, still propped against the door, he felt better. Not good but better, functional. The sedative seemed to have worn off. Of course, without the drugs, the pain in his heart had an edge to it which he didn’t feel before. Like a splinter, digging deep into his soul. Something he might ignore for the moment or at least pretend to.
The Stone—that’s what the man had called this place. It had to be a base of some kind. But whose? It could all be a cruel, convoluted trick pulled by the Lysandrans, but Victor doubted it. If they had wanted to torture him further, there were more efficient ways of going about it.
He glanced down at his undershirt and boxers, and decided to look around for more substantial clothing.
He walked to the room’s single bureau and pulled open the top drawer, finding several neatly fold shirts of varying colors. He pulled out a black shirt, as well as a matching pair of pants from the drawer below.
He dressed himself and looked at the mirror set in the wall. Dressed all in black, as a man in mourning should be.
His stomach growled and practically dragged him to the food-and-drink dispenser. He hit a button labeled Breakfast, and, after a few minutes, a plate with a steak and eggs came out.
He grabbed the knife and fork included with the meal, and dug into the high-protein food. Neither the steak nor the eggs were the real thing. They had the slightly odd texture of cultured food. Not that it surprised Victor. One shouldn’t expect real food to come from a dispenser.
The meal was still satisfying. He felt his mood improve gradually as he digested, hard to believe as it was. He wondered if the food had been seasoned with mood enhancers but decided against it. He had captained starships long enough to know that few things could improve morale like food.
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