Rebellion at Ailon
Page 46
In stark contrast, all antimatter containment systems of any conceivable design were fail-dangerous. Antimatter, when brought into contact with normal matter, annihilated, converting the entire mass of the reactants into an equivalent amount of radiation and heat. If containment failed, there was nothing preventing the antimatter fuel from contacting and annihilating its own container. The only saving grace to the Glory’s design was that it never traveled long distances, and so it had a small antimatter fuel supply just large enough to navigate through the Regency’s worlds. Had it been a true interstellar ship with enough fuel to travel hundreds of light-years, its destruction would have killed every single man, woman, and child on the planet, with enough range to kill everyone in orbit or on the near side of the moon, too.
In addition, although large and luxurious, the Tor’s Glory had been a very poorly-designed military vessel. To call it a warship was laughable; to call it a battleship was insane.
“In the aftermath of the tragedy, twenty million of our people died. Including my own wife, who slowly died from untreatable radiation poisoning over the course of several months.”
In an instant, Saar’s expression changed from rage teetering on insanity to one of soul-crushing sorrow. His voice changed, too. It was no longer the loud, booming bass he used to such great effect in public speaking. Now it was weak, mournful…but still with a deadly, slightly-insane edge to it.
“And while our people suffered and died for Marcell’s incompetence, he went free. Not only is he still free, but he has flourished, taking Commodore Kruse’s position. Now, he is an Admiral with several fleets in his command, running rampant and unchecked throughout the Independent Regions.” His voice strengthened again. “Nearly a year ago, I set out to the Cadria Minor system, where Marcell had been captured and was being held for an auction to his enemies. I rushed there as quickly as possible, ready to take him and bring him back here. To bring that madman to justice and finally provide closure and justice to our people.”
His expression became frighteningly enraged again, and after a long pause he suddenly slammed a fist into his podium. The amplified sound boomed over the crowd, making several distinct echoes as it reverberated from the nearby buildings.
“He escaped!” Saar screamed nearly at the top of his lungs. His eyes were now full of murderous rage, and he spat out his words quickly and forcefully. “But I promise! I promise with everything I am, citizens of Tor, that Thaddeus Marcell will pay for his crimes against Tor! The blood of twenty million of our citizens demands it!”
Saar looked over his shoulder for a second. Then, behind him, two of his guards stepped forward, dragging a man in shackles with a hood that completely covered his head. They brought him up beside Saar, who then withdrew a long, ornate sword from somewhere inside or behind his podium. The guards pushed the man down, forcing him to his knees with his head before him.
And then, suddenly, without preamble or warning, High Prince Saar swung his sword and decapitated the man.
Murmurs of shock rang out among the crowd. Fletch looked around and saw that nobody moved. Saar, he’d realized, had begun a true descent into insanity over the past few years. His people were afraid of him, and they all stood deathly still lest they draw the Prince’s unwelcome attention to themselves while he was caught up in a blind rage.
The Prince bent over and picked up the man’s head. He removed its hood and held it up high for all to see, hanging it from his fingers by its sandy-colored hair. The giant holographic projection in the air above Saar zoomed in and focused until the head took up its entire display volume. Its eyes were open in shock, and a thin stream of blood trickled from its neck.
This time, Fletcher couldn’t hold back his own expression. He looked to his side and saw the same look of surprise and disbelief on his wife’s face. What they had just witnessed made no sense at all.
Fletcher looked back to the hologram that hovered above Saar’s platform, and studied the face on the now-lifeless head he was holding.
The face was that of Thaddeus Marcell.