Prologue

An extract from “Pax Imperia”

First published 2762, Marcus Aurelius II

The Imperium, more commonly referred to as “The Empire”, was founded circa 542 (New Confederation calendar) / 2312AD (Old Earth calendar). Arguably the most powerful and enduring geo-political structure since the Roman Empire’s repressive form of government, almost two thousand years earlier. It is undisputed that it was the largest Empire in history, at its greatest extent spanning almost 175 star systems, with a size in excess of 35 light years (in comparison the Roman Empire only extended 4 million square kilometres, there is no historical evidence that it extended beyond a single star system).

The Imperium was formed by necessity soon after the discovery of Faster-Than-Light (FTL) travel early in the 23rd Century. With massive over-population problems on Earth and the Sol system, FTL was offered as a way to escape the overcrowding and presented huge opportunities. These were confirmed with the early discovery of many hundreds of habitable worlds within a dozen light years of the Sol system; hence the second exodus of mankind had commenced. The first wave was led by the massive system-wide conglomerates that had formed on Earth and led to the initial colonisation of the Sol system. With access to the large colony ships and FTL engines they led the first wave of settlers, intent on profit; these were realised beyond their wildest dreams!

With abundant natural resources and no need for expensive environmental habitats or terraforming, these early corporations could under-cut all. As the cost of FTL travel fell the next waves were the religious and persecuted political groups. By pooling funds they could afford the massive costs charged by the conglomerates – which now found a lucrative secondary source of income for the now mothballed FTL colony ships. Within a decade humanity had spread to a dozen star systems, within a century over a hundred different star systems had become colonised. However, then came the Great Schism.

With the most easily colonisable systems already established and huge profits at stake, conflict quickly spread. Initially this was fought between the conglomerates over newly discovered systems but soon spread to recently established colonies where the conglomerates fought over who had ownership. With no legal framework that could be agreed beyond the Sol system, it became a free for all. With the side having the most ships often winning the disputes. It was during the peak of these conflicts that the separatist movement first appeared.

Abundant in natural raw materials the early colonies had become rich, but this wealth was being shipped back to the Sol system to line the coffers of the conglomerates. Incensed that others were becoming rich off the back of the early colonists, and long since having become self-sufficient they declared their independence and rebelled. War spread across colonised space like wildfire, leaving no colony untouched.

It is impossible to measure the loss of life, but historians estimate that it was in the hundreds of millions; interstellar trade all but collapsed. It was in the forge of war that the coalition of worlds, precursor to the Imperium was founded.

An enigmatic leader of one of the earliest colonies Edward Aurelius proposed a mutual defence pact with a number of the nearest smaller colonies. This was based on the idea of mutual defence; if one member were attacked all would come to the defence. After a few initial victories, the idea was an unqualified success. For the first time peace spread between the founding colonies and they were able to rebuild their shattered industries and economies. Initially these colonies ran separate patrols of their systems; soon these were being combined to form joint patrols. Finally the fleets of the various systems were combined into one overall organisation, the forerunner of the modern-day Imperial Navy.

The other colonies still plagued by attacks and with almost all trade halted, requested entry to this newly formed coalition. However, the early founding colonies had used their rebuilt industries and economies to become rich and powerful. They were distrustful of the other colonies, viewing them with suspicion. Lead by the powerful Edward Aurelius the cost of entry to the coalition was set high; tribute was demanded in terms of ships, people, resources and raw materials, in return they offered security and stability. Staring into the abyss of destruction most colonies accepted the onerous terms of entry. The initial founding colonies of the coalition became the core worlds, the latter entrants the rim worlds. Over time the coalition evolved into the Imperium – where the threat of expulsion and withdrawal of protection from the fleet was enough to keep all but the most fool-hardly colonies inline. Eventually Edward Aurelius passed into the history books, with his power base secured. Within the Imperium succession was passed onto his eldest son James.

For 500 years the Empire ensured the peace, via the threat of expulsion and withdrawal of the protection from the Imperial Navy. As generations passed the Aurelius family tightened their hold on power until they become synonymous with the Empire. With the backing of the Imperial Navy and his elite Praetorian Guards, the Emperor’s grip over the Imperium was… absolute.

Chapter One

Five Years Previously

The “Imperial Star” – Flagship of the Imperial Navy, Epsilon Indi System

The sporadic flash of light from the ships’ navigation lights were the only indication of the passage of the massive Imperial taskforce, as it glided effortlessly through space. Occasionally a ray of light from a distant star would briefly illuminate a section of hull, bristling with gun batteries or flight decks. The flotilla of ships was a huge force to be reckoned with, one that few enemies would confront directly.

Being late at night ship time, the corridors of the Imperial Star, flagship of the Imperial Navy were mostly deserted as Jonathan Radec made his way purposefully towards his destination. At almost six feet in height, with dark hair and grey eyes, at twenty-five he was the youngest Commander in the fleet, dressed in the white uniform of the Imperial Navy, with the crossed-swords insignia of his squadron, the 58th, the Emperor’s elite Praetorian Guard. Resting at his hip was his ceremonial sword worn by all Praetorians to reflect their sworn duty to defend the Emperor.

With the combined role of personal bodyguards for the Emperor and his immediate family as well as his aide-de-camp within the Imperial Navy, the Praetorians represented the full authority of the Emperor and the combined might of the far-flung star-systems that made up the human Imperium. Answerable only to the Emperor and permitted access anywhere, their insignia represented the full power and authority of the Empire.

It was therefore with some considerable surprise that Jon noticed the doors to the Emperor’s personal chambers barred to his approach.

“State your business here,” insisted one of the two imposing guards that were guarding the door, weapons crossed. Towering over the Commander, they must have been over six and a half feet in height and Jon guessed they weighed almost 250 pounds each. They both stared down at him dismissively, much as one might observe a bothersome insect.

Not in the slightest bit intimidated, Jon paused for a second or so to draw the guard’s full attention to himself. The guard who had demanded his purpose flinched on meeting his gaze. Jon’s eyes had darkened to an ice-cold grey that conveyed the peril they placed themselves in by blocking his path.

“Jonathan Radec, Commander of the 58th squadron, the Praetorian Guards. My business with the Emperor is my own, as is the decision to let you live, if you ever bar my entrance again.” Jon insisted with a chilling tone, a fanatical fire burning in his eyes. To emphasise the point he wrapped his hand around the hilt of the weapon resting at his waist.

The name did not register with the guards for a moment, until the officer’s title and squadron slowly percolated through their thought processes. The Praetorian Commander! The two guards quickly stumbled back a few steps to clear his path.

The Commander’s reputation preceded him. Especially his often-capricious nature! Rumours abound the fleet suggested that he had summarily executed the last officer who had refused a direct order – along with two others that had subsequently intervened. The Commander was a man that nobody crossed twice - few rarely lived past the first encounter!

Giving both guards a long stare for a few heartbeats longer Jon strode forward, the doors silently sliding open to permit his entry.

Once past the guards and the doors having slid shut, Jon allowed a frown of concern to touch his expression. For the past few weeks a sense of unease had crept up on him; much like the encounter that had just taken place. Unfamiliar faces, unexpected confrontations and a general sense of distrust and resentment aboard the ship. Over time Jon had come to recognise fewer and less friendly faces and trying to maintain a constant level of alertness was beginning to take its toll. Jon had often found himself considering taking his concerns to the Commodore. Commodore Harkov was in-charge of the task force that the Imperial Star was currently attached to and had final sway in all fleet wide decisions.

Jon had quickly discounted this for several reasons; after all what was he going to express as his concerns – that he felt uneasy about the atmosphere on the ship? He would be laughed off the Commodore’s bridge! It did not help matters that Jon and the Commodore had…history. Several months earlier during an ambush by separatist rebels, Jon had refused the order to withdraw given by then Admiral Harkov. Jon’s decision had saved their task force from complete annihilation and had resulted in Harkov’s demotion; the decision had resulted in bad blood between them. Instead, Jon made a mental note to bring up his concerns with his master.

The Emperor’s spacious apartments were luxuriously decorated. Not for the first time, Jon felt uncomfortable crossing the threshold from the spartanly decorated interior of the Imperial Star. The thick carpet now underfoot, and rich tapestries and paintings hanging from the walls made him feel as if he had stepped into another world. The normally bright apartments were currently dimly lit, not surprising due to the lateness of the hour. Not finding anybody in the reception ante-chamber that made-up the main entrance, Jon proceeded through the apartments towards the main observation lounge. The Emperor usually used this larger space for entertaining guests and Jon often found him there.

Upon entering the larger room, Jon’s gaze was drawn to the large observation window that consisted of one full-length width of the room. The Emperor liked to use this room for meetings as the starscape reminded the guests of the size and power of the Empire…and the Emperor. Having little interest in staring out of windows, Jon cast his gaze intently around and finally spotted the Emperor in the far corner, observing the rest of the task force from the window. Unsure if the Emperor had noticed his appearance, Jon fell to one knee ensuring to keep a close grip on the hilt of his sword so as not to impale himself.

Casting his gaze downwards to the floor, Jon stated, “My lord, you requested my presence.” His voice echoed around the still room before all was silent again. After a few seconds, still without any response, Jon started to wonder if he had been heard.

However a faint disturbance of air indicated movement and a few moments later the Emperor’s rich baritone voice responded. “Rise Commander and approach. I require enlightenment regarding events that have recently transpired.”

Jon winced, having a strong inkling of the topic of conversation ahead and not looking forward to it. Approaching the Emperor, a man whom he had faced daily since being given command of the Praetorian Guard, Jon was struck by how much older the man looked. His bright emerald green eyes, a trait of the Aurelius family line seemed to have faded and his dark hair had increasing streaks of grey. However, his face still bore the vitality of youth and the confidence that had been his trademark since Jon had first been introduced to him, years ago.

When Jon reached the side of the Emperor, Marcus Aurelius inquired. “I understand that there was a confrontation yesterday evening involving my daughter and one of the senators’ sons; explain to me what took place,” he ordered. Recognising that Marcus had no interest in excuses or justifications Jon recounted the events of the previous evening…

*****

The officers’ lounge on the Imperial Star was packed, as usual. With second shift having recently ended the senior offices and their respective partners congregated for a meal and drink before dispersing to their respective quarters. With recreation facilities on-board the star carrier severely restricted, it was a popular social scene, especially with the children of the senior officers and other VIPs presently on the ship. Unfortunately this also included Sofia Aurelius, only daughter of the Emperor, the crown jewel of the combined star systems. As far as Jon was concerned she was rich, spoiled, conceited and arrogant. Far too used to getting her own way… and yet there was something about her that constantly attracted Jon’s gaze.

Unfortunately as the Emperor’s daughter she also fell under the protection of the Praetorians. It was considered an unfortunate assignment to babysit the Princess, as she was referred to within the squadron. Therefore Jon insisted it only fair that everybody takes turns; unfortunately tonight was his turn.

Surrounded by the constant chatter of people, the occasional clinking of wine glasses and clatter of cutlery, Jon struggled to push through the crowd to locate the Princess. Finally making it through the dense crowd into the dining area Jon finally spotted her. Sofia was, as usual, surrounded by her harem of followers, mostly the younger and easily impressed girls of some of the senior officers and politicians. Often there was also a straggle of male admirers following the group at a distance. Jon noticed with deep irritation that a couple had swords belted at their waist. This was the result of one of the Princess’ earlier off the cuff comments that it was “so romantic to be surrounded by officers armed with swords, like my very own white knights in-waiting.” While there were strict regulations regarding navy personnel bearing swords outside official occasions there was no such rules for civilians, much to Jon’s constant irritation.

The Princess obviously observed his arrival, as she rolled her eyes in his direction. Leaning towards one of the younger women at her side, she motioned in his direction, whispering something that Jon could not overhear. A quick glance in his direction and a snicker from the young woman did little to improve Jon’s already foul mood.

Therefore biting back a scowl he looked around for somewhere to sit out the evening, however, as usual the officer’s lounge was packed and there was no free table in sight. This was quickly remedied by a vicious glare at one of the younger officers and his partner who quickly decided that they had an important appointment elsewhere. Resigning himself to a long evening, as was evident coming from the occasional giggles from the group Jon wondered who he was going to have to kill to obtain a drink…

*****

It was sometime later in the evening when a shadow crossed his table. Wondering who would dare to interrupt him; Jon was quite taken aback on looking up, to be staring into the emerald green eyes of Sofia Aurelius. The Princess was wearing an ivory-white evening dress that matched her pale white skin. This was offset by a streak of bright red hair, which obviously came from her mother’s side of the family. Taking a moment to let his gaze linger upon her, he noted that the dress showed off enough leg to be completely unseemly and that the only thing hiding the tiny straps was a gauzy white shawl that she had wrapped around her shoulders. No matter how exasperating Jon found Sofia, he would be the first to confess, only under torture, that she was stunningly beautiful.

Jon was once again reminded of the intimate dinner they had shared a few weeks earlier, when for the first time he questioned if her spoilt-rich-Princess act was not just that, an act…

******

“Commander, would you care to join my daughter and me for dinner tonight?”

The question came absolutely out of the blue. Jon had been standing stoically at the Emperor’s side all afternoon, monitoring the assortment of foreign dignitaries, senators and VIPs for any possible threat. The negotiations had just concluded; when the Emperor seemingly popped the question out of thin-air.

Jon’s mind went completely blank and hence said the first thing that came to mind. “I was not aware of any formal dinners scheduled tonight on your agenda, sir.”

“Nothing formal, just an personal family dinner with my daughter and me,” the Emperor responded.

Then why the hell am I being invited? Jon thought to himself rhetorically. However, one did not turn down dinner invitations from the ruler of almost 30 billion people.

“Of course sir, I’d be honoured.”

“Excellent, dinner is served at twenty-hundred hours. Don’t be late.” The Emperor disappeared though the door into his private quarters leaving the hint of the threat lingering in the air.

“Just fantastic,” Jon said aloud, sighing. Wondering what one wore to a personal family dinner with the Emperor and his only daughter - Princess Aurelius.

*****

Steeling himself, Jon pressed the announcer exactly three hours later, twenty-hundred hours and…no seconds. Jon had absolutely no interest in finding out what happened to an officer who turned up late for a private dinner with the Emperor…

Jon had absolutely no idea what to expect when the door slid open. He was most definitely not expecting to be staring into the sparkling green eyes of an Imperial Princess. A subconscious part of his mind noted that they both stood at equal height. Knowing for a fact that he stood a couple of inches taller than her, he could only hazard a guess that she was wearing a pair of shoes that made-up for the height difference. It was only through force of will that he kept his eyes focused on her face and did not glance down to confirm this observation. The eyes of a lowly Commander in the Imperial Navy did not rove unabashedly over an Imperial Princess.

Instead he bowed his head slightly in greeting, before inquiring. “I hope I am not late, Princess,” knowing full well that he was exactly on time.

“Not at all, Jon. Although my father apologises that he will join us in a few minutes. He is just finishing up a conference call with Admiral Sterling on Eden Prime.” The Princess obviously had no aversion to inspecting him, as Jon could feel her gaze roving over him, before her lips curled up in a slight smile.

Slightly self-conscious about his dress, Jon had, in the end, decided to wear what he usually wore to dinner alone – his white navy dress uniform, with sword. His only other choice of wardrobe - an academy T-shirt and shorts that he wore to bed, he had already rejected out of hand.

“Anyway, as you are joining father and me for dinner, why don’t we drop the formal titles? You are welcome to address me by my name.”

“My thanks… Princess,” Jon replied with a smirk, knowing fully well that the Princess often used his given name. Often to tease him about his overbearing attitude and lack of any kind of…social life.

He was about to continue when the Emperor swept into the room. Immediately dropping to one knee, Jon bowed his head and uttered, “My Emperor.”

“Commander,” the Emperor responded, striding past him towards the imposing dining room table.

Jon did his best to suppress the grin on his face, upon hearing the Princess laughing behind him. He could well imagine what she was thinking, after just mentioning about dropping formal titles and all.

“You can arise now, Sir Knight!” The Princess giggled into his ear as she glided past, her father already having taken his seat.

All in all, dinner was not the complete disaster than Jon had imagined. The conversation flowed easily around the table. Jon was amazed at how quickly conversation between father and daughter could easily flow between topics, one minute discussing progress on the negotiations earlier in the day, the next progress of the Princesses’ studies. Jon was relieved to be excluded in the most part from the conversation, although the two did occasionally query the Commander for his opinion. While Jon was not well versed in the intricacies of politics he was fully aware of the strategic and tactical implications of the negotiations, and talked both father and daughter through some of the possible military repercussions…

Mostly Jon just focused on the food, amazed at the number and variety of the dishes. Most he did not even recognise and tasted each with a certain amount of caution.

For a small family dinner Jon was certain that they ate better than 99% of the populace of the Empire. A simple meal with his family usually consisted of some vegetables freshly picked from his mother’s small vegetable plot, mixed with carbohydrate and protein supplements - filling, but hardly tasty.

Jon’s inspection of the final dish was interrupted by an aide reminding the Emperor of another conference call where his participation was required. Jon was half out of his seat and heading in the direction of the exit before the Emperor’s voice called a halt to his departure.

“Commander, stay and finish your meal,” the Emperor insisted, before turning to Sofia. “My apologies, I forgot about this call. Please you and the Commander finish your meal together.” With that the Emperor swept from the room with the aide fast on his heels. Two pairs of eyes followed his exit until the door slid firmly shut behind him.

Jon momentarily considered making his own apology, when he noticed the Princess’ despondent expression. Having intimate knowledge of her fathers agenda, he knew that these meals must be far and few between father and daughter. Looking at the unhappy young woman Jon felt something stirring inside him that he had not felt in a long time. Glancing around at the opulent – and empty - surroundings he could not help but feel some sympathy for her.

Therefore re-taking his seat, that only moments before he was more than happy to vacate, he stared thoughtfully at the young Princess, who was staring unhappily at the remains of her meal.

“Your father’s a great man,” Jon insisted softly. “He is only gone so often because he cares about the people. I cannot say that about many politicians that I know of.”

“But does he have to go every time, after my mother…” her voice trailed off.

Jon sighed sadly; he knew that her mother had died when she was young. Sometimes, late at night when her father was working with Jon accompanying him, he talked about her. Jon had no doubt that the Emperor had loved his late wife, her loss leaving a huge void in his life.

“I know,” Jon replied. “I know how much that you must miss her…” He tried to explain, but was interrupted by her angry outburst.

“You don’t know anything! You have never lost a parent.” She angrily pushed her chair away from the table; turning her back on Jon she moved over to the viewport, tightly clutching something around her neck, misery lying like a cloak around her shoulders.

Sighing, Jon once again rose from his seat and glanced wistfully at the door. It would be so easy, only a couple of steps and he could be through the door, back into the real world. A cold, hard, unforgiving world, as the young woman that was staring miserably out of the window could so easily testify to. However, the Commander was never one that had taken the easy paths in life, so, turning his back to the door, he slowly approached the Princess.

With the Emperor long since departed and the Princess with her back turned, he took a moment to observe the young woman. Noticing the strappy sandals, with the high-heels that she wore, he suppressed a triumphant smile, as his earlier observation had indeed been correct. Stopping a few feet from the Princess he ran his gaze up from the shoes, to her ankles, to her thighs, observing her narrow waist elegantly wrapped in an evening dress of sapphire blue, his eyes lingering on the pale skin below her neck, peeking out from beneath her fiery red mane. Raising his eyes further he stared into her eyes, that were reflected back by the pane of the window.

Noticing his hands that had risen unconsciously to embrace her, he carefully lowered them to his side – nobody touched a member of the Imperial family, not even the Praetorian Commander. Must be hell on a date, Jon thought to himself, wondering why the idea of Sofia on a date bothered him so much.

“You are correct. I have never lost a parent,” Jon replied softly, holding her reflected gaze with his own. “But that does not mean I have never lost anybody close to me. My younger sister died when I was not much older than you were, when you lost your mother.” Jon allowed some of the pain that he kept well hidden inside, to escape through his expression. “So I do understand how you feel. I miss her…every day,” Jon explained softly.

Turning around to face him, Sofia averted her gaze and said. “I’m sorry I did not know…”

Jon once again had to suppress the urge to reach forward and enfold her in a comforting embrace. Instead he simply quirked his lips up and replied, “That’s because I never told anyone before.”

Following a lull in the conversation, Jon’s gaze fell on the object that the Princess had tightly enclosed in her grasp. “Can I see?” he inquired politely, motioning towards the object around her neck.

Releasing it from her grasp, Sofia raised her head to allow Jon a better view of the object hanging from a delicate chain around her neck. Reaching forward he gently touched the object, taking care not to brush her warm, soft skin. It was a simple, but elegant gold wedding ring.

“It belonged to my mother,” Sofia explained, embarrassed. “It’s all that I have left of her.”

“It’s beautiful,” he said honestly, releasing it gently.

“If I am lucky my future husband will allow me to wear it on my hand when we marry.”

Jon knew enough about the Imperial court to realise that her father would arrange any marriage for her. It would be a political union, as much as a marriage. To expand the Emperor’s influence further over the Imperium. It occurred to Jon that as Sofia was the Emperor’s only child, if Jon were lucky enough to live long enough he would eventually kneel before this woman’s husband – as the new Emperor. In many ways their fate was already inexplicitly bound.

“You know, it was my sister that encouraged me to join the Navy,” Jon decided that he did not want to consider the future, not when the present looked so dazzling.

“Really?” Sofia asked, looking up into his eyes with a weak smile.

“Really,” Jon confirmed. “She told me that I would one day become a famous navy pilot and marry a Princess.”

“Really?” Sofia smiled.

“Really!” Jon insisted. “Although she was only six at the time - thought I was a Prince, and told me that I really needed to get a horse.”

Sofia giggled and took one of his hands, pulling him back towards the table and their now discarded meal. “Tell me more about her – please?” she asked with warm, understanding eyes.

“I don’t know,” Jon humoured her. He liked the feel of her hand in his and assumed that he would be spared the usual penalty of death; after all she touched him, not the other way around! “What’s in it for me?” he asked curiously.

Sofia tilted her head to one side and eyed him thoughtfully. “I’ll buy you a coffee,” she finally settled on with a grin.

Jon made a face. “Garr coffee. I cannot stand the stuff, it takes like engine oil!”

Sofia laughed at his expression. “That’s the synthetic stuff that you navy types all drink. I am taking about the real stuff. Freshly brewed from real coffee beans Commander…”

Jon seemed to think it over before nodding. “Ok, I’ll give it a try.”

At the end of the evening, Jon admitted to the Princess that she was right. Real coffee was far superior to the stuff that was served in the ships canteen. He did not admit to the Princess that her company was far superior to the coffee…

******

… Realising that he had been staring a second or two longer than was proper Jon averted his gaze and politely inquired. “Princess, is there some way that I can be of assistance?” The odd giggle coming from behind the Princess did not bode well for the response.

In an imperious tone the Princess ordered, “A number of my close friends have never seen a Valerian sword. Show them,” she insisted.

“You want me to do what?” Jon demanded incredulously. On second thoughts his original opinion of the Princess was completely accurate – she was rich, spoiled, conceited and arrogant.

However, the Princess simply lifted her chin and repeated. “Your sword, some of the girls want to see it. Draw it and show them.”

“I am a Praetorian, a Commander in the Imperial Navy, sworn to give my life to defend you, your father and the Empire. I am not here to entertain, or put on a show for your amusement, or your guests. I would suggest that you go find some other poor creature to intimidate.” With that Jon turned his back on the Princess and her entourage, until he felt a hand grasp his shoulder…

In any normal situation the owner of the hand would have lost it. Quickly followed by his life. However aware of his surroundings Jon’s gaze instead followed the hand back to its owner - one of the Princess’s distant young admirers, who obviously felt the urge to intercede.

With a scowl of indignation the young man announced in a loud tone, full of righteous anger. “You will treat the Princess with the respect that is due to her station, as she is my guest this evening. I insist that you treat her with respect and fulfil her request.” It was probably unfortunate that very instant that a couple at the next table knocked over a glass. As often does in these situations all conversation in the room stopped and hence the young man’s words rang clearly across the room. The room became deathly still and the young man paled slightly when he realised that all eyes in the room now firmly rested on him.

Jon internally cursed his bad luck. What had just been a testosterone-fuelled moment to impress the Princess had now swollen completely out of proportion. No civilian, enlisted person or officer of the fleet would ever dare demonstrate such disrespect to a member of the Praetorian Guard. Observing that the young man was one that wore a sword at his side, Jon already in a foul mood, made a snap decision to make an object lesson of this foolish young idiot… and to her royal pain-in-the-ass. Turning his smouldering gaze from the young man back towards the Princess, Jon stated with a nasty sneer. “It would seem that you will indeed have an opportunity to see a Valerian sword.” With a firm shake of his shoulder, Jon shook the hand loose that had been resting there and stood up. Forcing the young man to take a few steps back.

Within a few seconds a space had formed around the two opponents, licking his lips in nervousness the young man’s eyes darted to the sword resting at Jon’s waist.

“I see that you have your own sword, boy,” Jon stated in a scornful tone. “Why don’t you draw it and show your pretty toy to the girls?”

Glancing around desperately for anybody to assist him, but nobody would meet the young man’s gaze; finally he turned to the Princess beseechingly. The Princess took a step forward to intervene but froze mid-step when Jon turned his angry stare on her.

“This is none of your business, Princess! Stay out of it!”

Turning back to the young man caught like a deer in his headlights, Jon once again commanded. “Draw your sword boy, at least then you can die like a man.” Now completely terrified the young man finally drew his sword. The sword was a piece of art - made of bright silver with flakes of gold; it glittered in the lights of the room. Letting the point of the sword rest on the floor in front of him, Jon took a few steps forward until his feet were almost touching the point of the sword.

“Higher,” Jon insisted motioning to the sword in front of him. His hands still at his side, his sword still firmly encased in its sheath at his waist. With a nervous twitch the young man lifted the sword until it was a few feet off the floor, hovering around Jon’s waist.

“Higher!” Jon insisted, until the sword was now hovering between them around chest height. Grasping the sword with his left hand Jon pressed it against his clavicle, before staring into the eyes of the petrified youth in front of him.

“Now strike!” Jon demanded. At this the youth almost dropped the sword in shock!

“So help me,” Jon barked, “use your sword or I’ll use it to butcher you over the head!” Terrified beyond belief the young man desperately thrust with all his might as the sword slid smoothly forward… though empty space.

While the young man had desperately been trying to find the courage to lift the sword Jon had carefully tested the edge of the blade with his thumb. While the sword could indeed have decapitated him, it would have taken a good few minutes of hacking! The sword was just like the youth, all show and no substance. Even if Jon had drawn his own blade one good swing from his sword would have shattered the other.

Instead as the young man had thrust the blade forward towards his chest, Jon had calmly brushed the sword aside with his left hand, which had been resting on the blade waiting for the blow.

Totally off balance from the thrust, having expected the sword to penetrate flesh instead of air the young man stumbled forward straight into Jon’s forehead as with a resounding crack Jon slammed his forehead into the nose of the young man, the sharp crack reverberated around the room. The youngster dropped his sword, falling to his knees, hands grasping his broken nose. Kicking the useless weapon aside Jon stepped aside the youth and drew his own weapon. The Valerian steel from his sword did not shine or glow like the youth’s. Instead it seemed to glisten with a blue fire along the edges. Valerian steel was impossibly sharp and considered to be unbreakable - in the years he had owned this weapon, Jon had never had cause to question this.

Holding the blade a few inches above the neck of the young man, as the edge was deadly sharp; Jon cast his gaze around the room. Nobody had uttered a word. Every eye in the room was fixed on the blade that was hanging above the young man’s neck. The sword of Damocles ready to fall. Finally Jon’s gaze fell upon Princess Aurelius, gazing unflinching at the scene in front of her. Jon was suddenly consumed by an all-encompassing fury that this foolish young man had to die because of the Princesses’ impetuous actions. Glancing down at the youth who was still on his knees, not having uttered a word, even though Jon knew he must be in excruciating pain… he ultimately decided on a different course of action.

Stepping around the youth, sword still in hand Jon approached the Princess and raised the sword towards her throat. For a brief moment Jon allowed himself to be completely immersed by the gaze of the Princess. Although she had a sword hovering inches from her throat she showed no trace of fear; trying to read her gaze Jon finally settled on the emotion of …regret. She seemed disappointed in him, and the course of action that he had decided upon. Not in the least bit unnerved by the sword. Tearing his gaze away from Sofia, he glanced at the youth still holding his hands to his profusely bleeding nose.

With a slash of the sword he swung at the Princess - neatly cutting the shawl that was draped across her shoulders. Using the point of the sword he picked up the severed shawl from the ground and hovered it in front of the bowed face of the young man.

In a clear voice Jon exclaimed to the room, “I understand that in the past, on Old Earth, Princesses used to offer their knights a token of their gratitude for defending their honour. I think in this case you justify the reward.”

Surprised the young man raised his head to glance at the scrap of fine cloth draped across the sword, glancing up at the Commander in disbelief and with a spark of…hope he gently reached out, taking the offering from the Commander. Sheathing his sword the Commander offered his hand to the younger man with the explanation. “You showed an uncommon amount of courage boy; one that seems to be lacking in the fleet these days…” Jon cast his gaze around the room, but nobody would meet it. “Those qualities would make a fine officer… one day.” With that, as way of an explanation Jon helped pull the younger man to his feet and towards the exit.

“Let’s get you to Medical so the doctor can have a look at that nose…we can work on a story on the way of how you shed blood defending the honour of the fair Princess. We will just be a little vague on whose blood was shed…I am sure the doctor will find the whole business extremely entertaining.”

Just before the doors to the officer’s lounge slid shut, Jon glanced back at Princess Aurelius, standing alone in the space left by their exit, with a faint smile on her face.

*****

Having dropped the young man off at the medical bay and having been assured that he would make a full recovery, Jon was peering into a mirror observing the bruise that was starting to form.

“Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” Jon cursed loudly. “You can never walk away from a fight and damn the Princess for, for…” Jon was not entirely sure what to blame the Princess for, but was sure that there was equal blame, somewhere… A chime from the door interrupted his self-castigation, with somebody requesting permission to enter.

Glancing at the chronometer in his quarters Jon muttered, “It’s three in the morning, this had better be very important! Come!” He called. As the door slid open a figure quickly glided into the room and the door slid smoothly shut. The visitor was shorter than Jon and wearing a white cloak that masked his or her features. However a glance of red hair and green eyes peering out from under the hood started to give Jon a horrible premonition.

“Do you always greet your guests shirtless?” Princess Aurelius inquired pushing away the hood from her face. Jon could only stare at the sight of the Imperial Princess sneaking into his personal quarters at 3 o’clock in the morning in muted shock!

Finally recovering his wits, he gasped. “Have you taken complete leave of your senses? You cannot be here! If anybody saw you and word reached your father, he would, he would…” Actually Jon was not entirely sure what the Emperor would do, but he was very much attached to his head and would prefer that it remain…well, attached.

“Stop fussing, nobody saw me. I have spent most of my life on this ship and know how to get to places without being observed…” Jon did not want to even contemplate the implications of that statement. “Please put on a shirt, I don’t want to give people the wrong impression.” Jon had a sudden vision of somebody walking in on this meeting at three in the morning with her royal highness, Princess Aurelius, jewel of the empire in his presence and him being half naked… He made a grab for the nearest shirt and quickly buttoned it up to make himself somewhat presentable.

Fixing the Princess with another angry stare Jon re-iterated his earlier question. “What are you doing here in my quarters at three in the morning?”

“Why Commander,” Sofia replied coquettishly. “Would you have preferred to meet me in my quarters? I could always ask my father…”

Once again Sofia had got the better of him and Jon started to realise that along with beauty the Princess had also inherited her father’s razor sharp intellect. Realising that this was not the way to spar with the Princess instead he fell back to his formal bearing. “Not at all Princess, I am always ready to serve you and your father. I was simply inquiring how I could be of assistance.”

Sofia frowned at his formal response and replied with an impish smile, “I think I preferred you without the shirt. Anyway, as to why I am here I wanted to understand your actions earlier this evening.”

Thinking back to the events in the officer lounge Jon tried to think what particular action she was referring to. Remembering his anger directed towards her, that it was though her actions that young man had to suffer and slashing the sword towards her… “Princess Aurelius I would never have harmed…if my actions frightened you…” Jon tried to explain.

Sofia’s eyes clouded in confusion for a moment before she understood what Jon was referring to. Her expression softening, she moved forward to lay a delicate hand on his chest. Jon could feel the heat of her palm pressing though the thin shirt and for a brief moment regretted having put on the shirt.

“You never harmed me and I was never frightened by what you did. Ever since father made you head of the Praetorians I have always felt… safe with you around, knowing that nothing could harm me as they would have to go through you - my own white knight, with his magical sword.” Sofia explained wistfully with a hint of sadness.

Jon took a few moments to consider what her life must have been like, growing up without a mother, surrounded by her father’s court. Deciding that this topic of conversation was getting too personal Jon instead replied truthfully to her earlier question. “You wanted to know why I spared the boy’s life?” Sofia made a small nod to acknowledge that this is indeed what she had been asking about.

“I have seen too much senseless death and destruction over the years.” Jon tried to explain haltingly, “from the unification wars, through to the separatist struggles and pirate attacks. I just did not want another senseless death on my conscience tonight. Anyway…” Jon replied with a grin, “I am not that old and can clearly remember doing stupid things to try and impress the most beautiful girl at the party!”

Sofia seemed to mull his answer over in her head for a few moments before smiling softly and leaning forward kissed him on the cheek gently.

“Well…” she blushed slightly at her obviously impulsive action, “thank you for not hurting him. I had better get back before father starts to wonder where I am.” Nodding in understanding Jon released his arm from around her waist, which seemed to have moved there of its own volition when she had kissed him.

As she stepped through the door, Sofia looked back and commented with a smirk, “So you thought I was the most beautiful girl at the party?”

However, the door slid shut before Jon had a chance to reply. Shaking his head at the entire surreal encounter, Jon decided that it was time that he got some rest.

*****

“…I left the young man in the care of the senior flight surgeon Doctor Richardson,” Jon said. “He assured me that the young man would make a full recovery.”

The room was completely silent for a few moments as Jon finished recounting the events that transpired in the senior officer’s lounge the previous evening. Jon had come to the conclusion several hours earlier to leave out what had transpired in his quarters after the fight in the officer’s lounge. That would have raised more questions than answers.

Eventually the Emperor seemed to rouse himself from his contemplation and gazed at the Commander unblinkingly for a moment. Meeting the Emperors gaze unflinchingly, inside Jon idly wondered if the Emperor already knew about his daughter’s late night visitation. It was not as if the Emperor was lacking enough spies within the Imperial Fleet.

“Shortly after I had a visit from the foolish boy’s mother, you might know her…Senator Rione of the Callas Republic?” The Emperor suddenly announced, breaking the silence. Jon visibly winced; the Callas Republic was one of the larger factions within the Imperial Senate, very old and very powerful.

“She requested your head, followed by your corpse,” the Emperor added. “I forgot to inquire which she wanted first,” he added drolly. Jon was about to respond but a raised hand from the Emperor forestalled any response. “Some time later, I had a visit from the young gentleman who stridently defended your actions… I couldn’t fully understand all his arguments as his nose was heavily swollen and he had to keep stopping mid-sentence to get his breath, but I think I understood the essence of what he was trying to saying…” Jon had to forcibly close his mouth, which had opened in shock.

“The senator’s son…defended my actions?” Jon inquired incredulously.

“Indeed,” the Emperor let a small smirk appear on his face. “You seemed to have made quite an impact on the young man, if you will pardon the pun. He was strident in his desire to join the fleet as an officer.”

“He is certainly brave enough,” Jon muttered under his breath. Having the nerve to first draw a weapon on a Praetorian Guard and then demand an audience with the Emperor himself. “This was why you required my presence?” Jon inquired, surprised.

“No,” replied the Emperor, “although I must confess to a certain amount of curiosity about what transpired, as it is the talk of the fleet, about how you tried to kill my daughter and were only stopped by the valiant efforts of one of her friends, or how you saved my daughter’s life from a determined assassin… depending on which set of stories you want to believe.” The Emperor stated with a glint in his eye. Jon could only roll his eyes at the fleet scuttlebutt, by the end of the week the story would only have grown more absurd.

“I have a task for the Praetorians,” the Emperor continued to explain his real reason for the audience. “I have an important cargo that I want delivered to Eden Prime. This cargo is priceless and I want it delivered unharmed.” Jon raised an eyebrow at these unusual orders; it was not the Praetorians usual duty to act as cargo-haulers – not even for extremely valuable cargo. There was something that he was missing… “Due to the nature of the cargo you will be carrying I expect you to personally deliver this piloting the Eternal Light.” This was an even greater shock to Jon as while he had flown the Eternal Light on numerous occasions this was the twin ship of the Star Light, the emperor’s personal shuttle. As far as he was aware only the Emperor and his family ever travelled on this ship, which raised an interesting question of who, or what this cargo is, to which Jon had a terrible premonition…

“The cargo that I will be transporting is?” Jon inquired hesitantly.

“Is my only daughter, Sofia,” the Emperor responded, confirming Jon’s worst fear. “You have some concerns regarding this assignment?” He inquired, noticing the frown on Jon’s face.

“Not at all!” Jon hurriedly tried to reassure his master. “Your daughter is certainly a lovely person….” The sudden silence that appeared after that statement seemed like a black hole that was suddenly engulfing. “And she had a great personality,” Jon was quick to add. “And I find her company to be very…” he continued.

“Yes?” The Emperor prompted.

Demoralising. Uncomfortable. Maddening. Painful. “Delightful,” Jon muttered, and somehow managed not to choke on the word. Jon clamped his mouth shut before he could do any more damage. The Emperor just pinned him with another one of his searing gazes and Jon once again wondered just how much he knew about their relationship.

“My daughter is to finish her education on Eden Prime before commencing work at the Imperial Senate.” Jon knew for a fact that the Senate had been based on Eden Prime for the past two decades. With a sigh the Emperor motioned around the darkened room, with just the two occupants. “This is not the environment that I wanted to raise my family, however with the death of her mother I could not take the risk of being separated from her, however, now my little girl is growing up, she deserves her own life, to be able to stand on firm ground, to look up at the sky and feel the sun on her face.”

“Who knows,” the Emperor continued after a brief pause giving Jon a knowing look, “she might meet somebody on Eden Prime and decide to settle down and start a family.” Jon kept his face impassive but inside was debating what action he would take if any such suitor approached Sofia. Thoughts of choking such a suitor to death felt very appealing.

“I will protect your daughter with my life if necessary,” Jon reassured the Emperor. “No harm will come to her on Eden Prime while she is under the protection of the Praetorians.”

And I’ll be making damn sure that no one comes within ten meters of her! Jon did not voice aloud.

The Emperor frowned for an instant, as if he had been expecting a different response, finally acknowledging the response. “The Eternal Light is being refuelled on my orders as we speak. I expect you to be departing within the hour,” the Emperor ordered in a clear sign of dismissal.

Jon was taken aback for an instant at the abrupt departure but quickly dropped to one knee and bowed his head in acknowledgement of his orders. Quickly striding from the room, grasping the sword at his side tightly to avoid tripping over it in his haste, his thoughts were ablaze with preparations to be made for their early departure.

*****

Jon was therefore distinctly annoyed that upon exiting the Emperor’s apartments that he came face-to-face with the last person that he wanted to meet – Commodore Harkov.

Harkov was a thin man who, upon first seeing him, Jon thought look sleep-deprived and erratic. Jon had taken an instant dislike to the man. He maintained a high level of security and ran his ship very strictly, discouraging his subordinates from acting outside of their orders or asking unnecessary questions, all of which led to low morale on board. One incident, which Jon had been present to observe, occurred when Captain Thrace made a joke during a briefing by Harkov. The Commodore had struck him. Jon considered that Harkov embodied everything wrong with the Imperial Fleet, overbearing, inflexible, and more interested in personal gain than the ideals under which the Empire had been incorporated.

“Commander, a word,” Harkov demanded with a strong voice that carried his authority as a senior Imperial officer.

“I’m busy,” Jon replied brusquely without even breaking stride, forcing the Commodore to hurry to keep up with his longer stride.

“That was not a request,” Harkov called. “Need I remind you that I am your superior,” he insisted.

Stopping, Jon let out a hiss of frustration as he slowly counted to ten in his head before turning to face Harkov, his frustration plain for all to see. “No, you are simply a higher ranking officer, you are in no way superior, Commodore.” Jon placed just enough emphasis on his rank to remind him of his recent demotion by the Emperor.

It was obvious that Harkov was struggling to maintain his composure at the obvious insult. “I want to know what you were just discussing with Marcus,” he demanded.

“It was a private conversation,” Jon retorted. “I am sure if the Emperor,” Jon emphasised his title, “wishes you to be aware of the meeting, he will inform you himself. Now if you will excuse me.” Jon made it clear that he did not give a damn if he was excused or not, turning his back on the Commodore and continuing towards the flight deck.

“Fuck you Radec!” Harkov shouted at his retreating form. “You son-of-a-bitch, you think you are somebody just because you are Aurelius’ latest lap-dog! I’ll have your head on a platter one day! You mark my words! You’ll get what’s coming to you. You’ll see, sooner, rather than later.”

Stopping in the corridor and pivoting around to face the Commodore, Jon put his hand on the hilt of his sword and replied in a biting tone of voice. “On second thought Commodore I can probably spare a few minutes now.” Harkov just blanched before hurrying off in the opposite direction. With eyes as cold as the depth of winter, Jon watched until Harkov had rounded a corner and was out of sight before finally letting his frustration with the contemptible officer show. On the way towards the flight deck Jon could not shake the feeling that Harkov was going to haunt him for many years to come.

*****

Arriving at the flight deck, Jon was aghast to find dozens of cases piled high, all slowly being loaded onto the Eternal Light. As they were all marked with the Aurelius family crest Jon was willing to place good money that they belonged to the Princess. Already in a torrid mood following his run in with the Commodore, Jon was in no mood to cater to the whims of her royal pain-in-the-ass.

“Chief!” Jon bellowed towards the deck chief who was busy supervising the final pre-flight checks for the ‘Light.

“Commander?” He queried, hurrying over to Jon.

“What the hell is this?” He demanded motioning towards the cases some piled three, four high.

“Princess Aurelius’ personal luggage,” the chief replied. “She ordered that it should all be loaded prior to your departure.” He explained apologetically, correctly deducing that the Commander was less than impressed with the unwanted additional cargo.

“Dispose of it!” Jon snapped at the chief. His expression would have been comical had Jon been paying attention and not staring a hole at the small mountain of cargo, as if by sheer force of will he could make the small mountain vanish.

“Excuse me, sir?” The chief stuttered in disbelief, not believing what the Commander just ordered.

Turning his gaze back towards the deck chief, realising just how his previous instructions could have been interpreted he clarified. “Have the Princess’s cargo transferred back to her personal quarters on my orders,” he insisted. Wondering why the deck chief seemed to be rooted to the spot, and had not acknowledged his instructions, Jon followed his gaze across the bay to the sight of the rapidly-approaching aforementioned Princess. As the two officers watched her approach, Jon had time to appreciate the much more appropriate attire over the previous evening. With her red hair pinned up, with just a strand falling against her neck, which Jon suppressed the urge to brush back, and a long flowing red gown that matched her hair she looked every inch an Imperial Princess.

Upon reaching the duo she pinned the chief with her imposing stare and demanded to know. “Chief, why is my luggage not loaded, I’ve been informed,” she huffed at the word, “that we will be departing imminently.”

Chief Reynolds looked towards Jon beseechingly and taking pity on the deck chief, after all he was only following his orders responded.

“Your luggage will be following you at a later date,” Jon replied in the most patronising tone of voice that he could muster. “Capacity constraints, I’m afraid your highness,” Jon’s voice rang with sincerity that was mocked by the gaping cargo hold that was open behind him that could easily contain twice the cargo that Sofia had ordered loaded.

Her eyes narrowed in fury at the obvious barefaced lie from Jon and was obviously about to let rip when a sly smirk came to her lips and instead she replied, in a voice dripping with honey. “Well I leave these sort of considerations to fleet personnel, as I am sure that you will have no objection to me being undressed during the trip… Commander.” She breathed softly against Jon’s cheek as she glided past. Picking up a smaller case from the top of the pile she turned to the two speechless officers and explained. “My face-paints, after all if I am not going to have a thing to wear, a girl needs to look her best.” She offered both gentlemen a stunning smile, before following the boarding ramp up into the shuttle.

It was only with her back to Jon that he saw that what he originally thought was a very demure gown possessed no back, with bare skin showing from her neck, though miles of expansive back ending just above her derrière.

Once she disappeared into the ‘Light both men let out an audible gulp.

The chief was well connected with the fleet scuttlebutt and like most had heard the rumours whirling around about Commander Radec and the Emperor’s daughter, and like most had dismissed than as fantasy, but well… you could power a reactor with the sort of sparks that those two were emitting. He cleared his throat again – which suddenly felt very dry.

“Not a word Patrick,” Jon ordered, “not a word.” He then followed the Princess into the Eternal Light to prepare the shuttle for departure.

*****

With the shuttle pre-flight checks complete, Jon eased the Eternal Light smoothly out of the flight deck into deep space. Barely a few kilometres from the Imperial Star the 58th Squadron fell into an escort formation around the lone shuttle, as Jon laid in a course for the nearest FTL jump point for Eden Prime. With the course laid in, a communication window superimposed on the cockpit display lit up to display the face of Lieutenant Elizabeth Zhang; Jon’s second-in-command of the 58th Squadron.

“Morning Commander!” Elsie cheerfully exclaimed, “So I understand that we have an extended babysitting duty for her royal-highness-pain-in-the-ass?” Jon frowned, glad that the Princess was back in the VIP quarters and not in the cockpit to hear that less than flattering description.

Elsie had always been one of the most vocal members of the squadron in terms of disparaging remarks against Sofia and Jon knew for a fact that she was not Sofia’s favourite either. He had long been varying the Praetorian’s schedule to ensure that the two of them were not alone together, after having to separate the pair after their last fight. Shaking his head in despair that he would never understand the inner workings of the female mind he focused his thoughts back on the task at hand.

“A simple escort mission, nothing more Lieutenant,” Jon clarified. “We escort Princess Aurelius to Eden Prime, hand her over to Senate security to take over her security detail then high-tail it back to the fleet; a cake-walk,” Jon exclaimed confidently.

“Will you be returning with the squadron or remaining on Eden Prime with the Princess?” Elsie inquired uncomfortably, refusing to meet his gaze.

“My place is at the head of the Praetorian’s, at the side of the Emperor,” Jon announced firmly. “I’ll be leading the 58th back from Eden Prime,” Jon insisted, wondering at the strange question. Jon was not sure if he imagined it or not but he thought he detected a slight blush on his second-in-command as she nodded in understanding.

“Understood Commander,” she acknowledged “The Praetorian’s will hold escort position until we reach safe FTL distance. ETA twenty minutes.”

Jon acknowledged the response and cut the communications link. Leaning back in his chair, as the ship was now under computer guidance he thought back to the unusual conversation with Elsie. Jon had known for some time that Elsie was developing a crush on him, however being her direct superior he refused to acknowledge it. Thinking back over the past few months Jon came to realise that Elsie’s bad-attitude to Sofia coincided with the increasing amount of time that he had been forced into spending with her. Eyes narrowing in sudden suspicion, Jon came to the conclusion that Elsie was jealous of Sofia! What with the increasing rumours that had been spreading through the fleet about the Princess and himself Jon came to realise that it would be good to have some separation from Sofia. Jon had been, for a while, unfairly holding Elsie back from promotion for his own selfish reasons. Elsie was long overdue her own squadron and at that point chain of command would no longer be an issue… Perhaps Elsie would help him overcome this emptiness that Jon had discovered within himself when he was around Sofia. Decision made, Jon leant back to relax waiting for them to reach minimum FTL safe distance from the star that the fleet had been orbiting.

*****

Jon was roused from his thoughts by an alert from the communication system. The fleet had suddenly started to broadcast on the emergency channel, before going dead. Mystified Jon checked the ship’s sensors, which confirmed that all was fine. The fleet, now many hundreds of kilometres astern was continuing to orbit the distant star, with no other ships or objects detected on the scanner. So why the sudden broadcast on the emergency channel? Assuming it was just an accident, Jon opened communications to the flagship, the Imperial Star… to which there was no response. Even more confused now, the Commander instructed the ship to run a self-diagnostic of the communication systems. All of which was working fine.

Another communication channel opened up from Elsie. “Commander, we have lost contact with the fleet,” she reported in an equally bewildered tone.

“Hold position here until we can re-establish communication,” Jon ordered as the door to the flight deck slid-open to reveal Sofia. Jon noticed Elsie’s gaze flicker to Sofia, for an instant, before darting back to Jon’s.

“Acknowledged sir, squadron will hold formation at this position until we re-establish fleet communication.” Turning away from the communication channel Jon noticed Sofia’s gaze fixed stonily on the now blank communication monitor.

For God’s sake, get over it you two! Jon thought to himself before inquiring of Sofia. “Something I can do for you, Princess?”

“I’ve lost our data-link with the Imperial Star,” she explained, “I was reviewing the current makeup of the Senate when the data-link dropped out and I cannot re-establish it…” Jon checked the communication system again which still reported that all data-links with the fleet were still down. Bringing Sofia up-to-speed on the current situation he explained that if they could not re-establish communication they would return to the fleet to determine the cause of the communication failure. However, the explanation was suddenly cut short by a communication from the Imperial Star.

“Finally!” Jon exclaimed stabbing the control to open the channel, ready to demand an explanation for the inexplicable loss of communications. However, Jon’s demand for an explanation died in his throat when the face of Commodore Harkov appeared, unsuccessfully trying to suppress a smirk on his face.

“Commander,” he started without any preamble “we have a situation here, there has been an unsuccessful coup attempt on the Imperial Star, we have now regained control of the ship but there have been…casualties.” Shifting his focus to Sofia he continued. “Princess Aurelius, I have to regrettably inform you that your father, Emperor Marcus Aurelius was killed by the traitors during the attempted coup.”

Jon’s blood ran cold upon hearing this news. He had failed his master in the most grievous way possible. The sudden short gasp next to him reminded Jon that Sofia was far more affected, a daughter who had just lost her father. Glancing up at Sofia he noticed that her face had turned an ashen pale and she wavered on her feet for an instant. Grabbing her arm in a firm grip he helped lower her towards the empty copilot seat next to him. Jon’s thoughts meanwhile were in a whirl… When? What? How? However, his thoughts were interrupted by the Commodore’s next instruction, which made the hair on the nape of his neck rise in alarm. “Commander, I am ordering you and your squadron to escort Princess Aurelius back to the Imperial Star until we have a better handle on the situation.”

You cannot be serious!

To return Sofia to the ship where her father had just been murdered? The security around Sofia’s father, Emperor Aurelius was impenetrable. Jon should know, having spent most of the past few years as head of the Praetorians personally overseeing his personal security. Multiple layers of security ringed the Emperor; it would take somebody with extremely high rank to be able to have penetrated all of them. Suddenly Jon’s heart froze, as if somebody had clamped a fist around it. Staring into the face of the Commodore, who was unsuccessfully trying to suppress his smirk, the face of somebody extremely self-satisfied. Jon knew with absolute certainty the Commodore was behind this plot. Jon had always known that the man was a liar and cheat who hungered for power, but to move against the Emperor himself? Treason! Jon gripped the hilt of the sword at his side until his hand turned white… He should have cut off this serpent’s head when he had the opportunity… glancing at the glazed face of Sofia, he knew that he was too late and she now had to live with the consequences of his mistake.

Knowing that he would never give-up Sofia into the hands of this lunatic, Jon replied firmly. “The Emperor’s final command to me was that Princess Aurelius was to be escorted safely to Eden Prime; as nobody has the authority to override that command, I will continue to carry out my duty.”

The smirk on the face of Harkov’s face slipped slightly into a snarl as he once again ordered. “Commander, I now have ultimate authority for this fleet and I am ordering you to turn your squadron around and proceed at best possible speed to the Imperial Star and handover Princess Aurelius into my personal protection.”

Jon almost had to laugh at the order, hand over Sofia into the arms of this traitor… he would sooner fall on his own sword. Instead he simply replied, “The Emperor’s final order stands, Princess Aurelius will be escorted to Eden Prime where she will be placed under the protection of the Imperial Senate.” Jon was expecting the Commodore to bluster and threaten as usual but instead he just sneered.

“So noted Commander, I’ll enter it into the fleet log that at this time you refused a direct command from the Fleet Commander to return your squadron to the flagship.” With that the communication was once again cut-off.

Jon simply slammed his fist against the console in frustration. However, his attention was quickly diverted by a quiet sob coming from the seat opposite. With one final curse at the Commodore under his breath, Jon turned to face the grieving Princess. Jon had never been confident around women; especially tear-filled ones. What to say? “Princess,” he uttered softly, desperately trying to think of something to say. When she did not respond, he uttered a soft, “Sofia.”

Surprised at hearing her name uttered, as she had never heard Jon refer to her by her first name before, she looked up at him with tear filled eyes. His gaze was filled with such sympathy and understanding that she launched herself desperately into his embrace. Having even less idea what to say, Jon just made little reassuring sounds and gently rubbed her back in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. Of course as Jon ran his fingertips across warm, silky soft skin he was abruptly reminded about her indecent dress, a gentle sigh of breath against his chest caused such thoughts to flee from his mind as he just held her in his arms until her tremors began to subside.

The tender moment was abruptly interrupted by a bleep from the communication system. Glancing towards the view screen Jon observed Elsie closely observing the scene in the cockpit. For once her expression was not disdainful, but sympathetic for the younger woman. Like many of the Praetorians she had lost loved ones close to her before…

“Commander, we monitored the communication from Harkov and we are waiting for your orders.” Jon experienced a brief rush of affection, realising that they all risked court-martial together for disobeying the direct order. He quickly described his suspicions regarding the Commodore, Elsie’s expression cooling then hardening during the retelling. By the time Jon had summarised his concerns Elsie’s face was wearing a similar snarl to that of the Commodore.

Turning her attention to Princess Aurelius she swore, “Princess, I swear to you that while a single Praetorian still draws breath, your father’s death will be avenged.”

Sofia, who had been embracing Jon ever more tightly during the retelling simply offered a tear-filled smile and nodded her head in thanks.

Confirming his original intent, Jon insisted, “Lieutenant, our original orders still stand. We are to escort Princess Aurelius to Eden Prime and ensure she is under the protection of the Senate. At that point we will confirm the chain-of-command with the Imperial Fleet.”

“Understood Commander,” Elsie confirmed, “we will continue to hold position until you are ready to resume course.” With a salute the communication channel closed.

Jon was momentarily puzzled, as he did not stick with strict fleet discipline within the squadron. It was only when he noticed Sofia glancing at the view-screen that he understood that the salute had not been directed at him but Princess…no Empress Aurelius now. Realising that their situation had now changed, Jon gently eased himself from her embrace and tilting her head-up so he could look her in the eyes asked in a gentle voice.

“You ok?” Sofia just nodded her head slightly in answer to the question, before she asked what Jon had been dreading.

“What…what is going to happen to me? What do I do now?” While Jon had a fairly good idea, he did not think it wise to worry Sofia yet, anyway they had more immediate problems at hand, like making it to Eden Prime alive.

Instead Jon just replied, “For the moment let’s just concentrate on getting you to Eden Prime safely. We can worry about what happens next after we arrive,” Jon answered truthfully.

“You won’t leave me?” Sofia asked in a small voice.

“Not unless you wish me to,” once again Jon answered truthfully but inside a little piece of his heart died. Upon her arrival Sofia would be crowned Empresses. Jon would continue to serve her, just as he had her father, but never again would he hold her in his arms. Tearing his gaze from her tear filled eyes, he shifted his sight to the flight controls and after ensuring that Sofia was seated comfortably in the copilot seat, confirmed that the correct course was laid in and prepared to resume their journey…

…But as his fingers hovered over the controls to resume their journey something stopped him. Ever-since the communication from the Commodore something had been nagging at the back of his subconscious. Initially he had just thought it the shock of the Emperors’ death, or the anger at the Commodore’s betrayal, but over time the feeling had just become stronger and stronger until he could no longer ignore it. His fingers continued to hover over the engine restart key…

As the squadron continued to hang, motionless in space, between the stars it finally occurred to Radec what had been bothering him for so long… It was quiet, too quiet… Stabbing the control on his pilot’s seat to broadcast on the Praetorian’s private tactical frequency he demanded.

“Squadron, find me the fleet CAP!” At a confused look from Sofia, Jon explained. “The CAP stands for Combat Air Patrol. It’s a fleet term from Old Earth, when they first introduced fleet aircraft carriers. When in unknown territory they would always have at least a few planes in the air continuously, able to quickly respond to any threat – the Combat Air Patrol or CAP. This tradition has continued, and when the fleet is deployed there will always be a CAP present…” However, in this instance it seemed not, as the calls from the squadron replied, nobody could detect the CAP. “That does not make sense,” Jon uttered aloud. No fleet would ever be deployed to the outer-rim without a CAP, not if the fleet commander wished to keep his rank, or his head if the Emperor had ever discovered the transgression.

“Well maybe they were needed elsewhere,” Sofia innocently suggested. Jon immediately dismissed the suggestion, after all what could be more important than protecting the fleet. Then slowly, ever so slowly, a terrifying thought began to creep across Jon’s consciousness. What if Sofia was correct, a mission the success of which was paramount, where every single available fighter was to be utilised to maximise the chances of a successful outcome? The Praetorians were fanatically loyal to the Emperor and his family, no person or group was going to succeed in replacing him until both were gone. The entire squadron was assembled here, protecting the last of the Aurelius bloodline with no witnesses present.

But how? Jon thought desperately.

Checking the scanners carefully there were no threats within sensor range, only a few hundred kilometres would take them to the FTL jump and safety. Nothing could stop them in time… but still he could not come to restart the engines, gazing helplessly out of the cockpit windows, with the stars twinkling innocently, Jon desperately searched for an answer.

With a brief flickering of light a star illuminated directly ahead before vanished just as quickly; but there were no stars ahead. The squadron was following a parabolic course away from the nearest gas giant to escape the gravity field and jump into FTL. Ahead was just the asteroid field where dust had accumulated over the millennia, accumulating in places due to gravitational instability into asteroids…certainly no stars. Then all at once everything made perfect sense. How do you ambush a squadron in deep space? You wait for them to come to you. The navigational computer confirmed that at current heading the squadron would pass within ten kilometres of the asteroid belt – in astronomical terms barely a hairs width. Jon knew with absolute certainty that would be where the ambush was waiting. The Praetorian’s were trapped, with a fighter-ambush ahead and a hostile fleet behind. They had run out of options.

Chapter Two

Five Years Previously

The “Imperial Star” – Flagship of the Imperial Navy, Epsilon Indi System

On the bridge of the Imperial Star Commodore Harkov tapped his fingers impatiently against the armrest of the captain’s chair. The owner of such chair was hovering impatiently just behind, but for much different reasons….

“What is taking them so long?” Harkov demanded aloud impatiently.

“I assume you informing them of Emperor Aurelius death has thrown them into a certain level of confusion,” Captain Pendleton responded with more than a hint of his irritation showing. The Commodore had appeared only moments before and summarily demanded his seat. The nerve of the man! Pendleton thought to himself. Obviously the Commodore had no concept of bridge etiquette; or he just did not care!

“Sirs!” The ships tactical officer called out, “they are moving again!”

“Finally!” Harkov exclaimed.

Finally! Pendleton thought. I can have my seat back!

*****

Faced with such poor options either to continue forward – into an ambush or to reverse course back towards a now hostile fleet, Jon elected for the latter, on the assumption that if nothing else it would take the fleet by surprise.

The element of surprise is a formidable advantage in combat!

The voice of Jon’s flight instructor came to mind as he rolled the shuttle back around on a reverse course – back towards the fleet - and accelerated rapidly! The remaining ships of the 58th Squadron, caught by surprise by the abrupt manoeuvre took a few moments to reorientate themselves before accelerating once again into escort formation around the shuttle.

“Combat Formation! Arm Weapons!” Jon ordered over the squadron’s encrypted tactical channel as he continued to accelerate, far beyond the possible speed of a standard shuttle, still pointing directly towards the now oncoming fleet.

“What’s going on, Commander?” Elsie demanded to know. “Why are we returning to the fleet?”

“It’s an ambush, Elsie!” Jon explained. “The fighter complement from the fleet is waiting for us at the edge of the asteroid belt!”

Elsie’s expression just tightened on hearing the news, it was a testament to their faith in their Commanding Officer that none questioned his explanation. Their CO had saved their lives more than once with his insight and none were going to question him now. “But how to get through the fleet?” Elsie queried. “We will be cut to pieces by their guns.”

Jon glanced at the navigation computer, which indeed confirmed that the route to the next nearest FTL point would take them directly through the fleet. Jon dared not risk a more indirect route, as he knew that at any moment they would lose the element of surprise and the fighters behind would be recalled.

“Arm your missiles!” he ordered.

*****

“Sirs!” The ships tactical officer called out once again, “They have changed course!”

“What?” Harkov demanded, darting to his feet and moving towards the tactical officer. “How, why? What is their new course?” he demanded spitting out the questions in rapid fire.

The officer checked the ships sensors once again before replying in a confused tone. “They have reversed course…they are on an intercept course with the fleet.”

The Commodore was confused for a moment before relaxing. “So…Radec decided to follow orders for once in his life, they are returning to the fleet.” Harkov allowed himself a moment to envisage having Radec within chains, kneeling at his feet once and for all…

What fun that we will have together Harkov thought, already picturing Jon’s face contorted with pain and his screams, begging him to stop.

“Sir,” the tactical officer interrupted his imaginings. “The squadron is continuing to accelerate towards the fleet, they are not slowing down. Time to intercept five minutes and decreasing. They have just armed their weapon systems! They are going to attack!” The officer exclaimed in alarm, throwing a worried look at the senior officers.

“What?” Harkov roared, whirling to face Captain Pendleton. “Launch fighters to intercept them!”

Suddenly all thoughts of his chair flew from Pendleton’s mind as with a cold sweat he replied. “We don’t have any fighters to launch Commodore. You ordered all available fighters for the ambush. Hail the fighter-group in the asteroid belt and order their immediate re-call! They are to make best speed and intercept the Praetorian squadron.” He ordered, but even as he said the words he knew that their fighter cover would arrive too late, far too late. However, their fleet was not defenceless… “Order missile batteries one through to three to target the incoming squadron and fire as soon as they have a lock!” Pendleton ordered, at last feeling that he was starting to get a handle on the situation that had started to spiral out of control.

“Sir!” The tactical officer cried out, “all missile batteries report negative missile lock. Sir, the missiles will not lock onto our own fighters!” Shocked, Pendleton fell back into his chair in disbelief. The missile targeting computers had specific blocks to avoid hitting a friendly ship by accident. Each missile would take hours to reprogram; they did not even have minutes before the fighters would be on top of them. Closing his eyes in despair he wondered else could possibly go wrong?

“Missile launch!” The tactical officer yelled out in fear. “Incoming fighters have just launched missiles!”

Spoke to soon, Captain Pendleton thought to himself despairingly…

*****

As Jon nervously watched the minutes count down on the navigation computer before they intersected with the fleet he began to plan their next steps. Right about now the fleet would discover that their missiles would be useless against the incoming fighters. The missiles would just refuse to lock-on to what they considered friendly ships; however the ships’ gun batteries were a different matter. They would but cut to shreds as they navigated through the fleet unless…

“Arm your missiles,” he ordered. “Let’s give the fleet something else to aim at…” While Jon knew perfectly well he could not shoot at the fleet, nothing was stopping him shooting at where the fleet would be! The navigational computer plotted the intercept co-ordinates based on the fleet’s current speed and heading uploading the target co-ordinates to the rest of the squadron. Jon waited until they were less than 50 kilometres from the fleet before ordering… “Fire!”

The squadron was momentarily blinded as one after another, wave after wave; the squadron released their missiles in the direction of the oncoming fleet. Upon launch the missiles accelerated away from the squadron until no missiles remained. Within the space of a few moments 120 high explosive missiles were racing towards their target.

Then suddenly the strangest thing started to happen. Almost as if the missiles started to run out of energy they began to slow, first one, then another, until all the missiles velocity had dramatically decreased. Inch by inch, meter by meter the squadron started to catch-up with the missiles!

Reviewing the ships sensors carefully Jon confirmed that all the missiles were following the correct flight profile, the squadron began to disperse, to avoid bunching up and giving the fleet an easy target, soon they would be within range of the fleets guns.

*****

“God damn it!” Harkov raged, pacing up and down the command deck like a caged tiger. Turning on the tactical officer he demanded. “So we cannot launch missiles at them, but they can at us? Would you like to explain this?”

The tactical officer just shrugged helplessly and uttered, “They’re Praetorians…” Having only recently graduated from the fleet naval academy, the young officer had been surrounded by the rumours of the enigmatic and mysterious Praetorians.

Praetorians swords could slice through anything…

Praetorians could tell when you were lying…

Praetorians were invincible…

Pretty much everybody in his graduation class was in awe of the Praetorians and he could not believe his luck when he was assigned to the Imperial Star, the flagship of the Imperial Fleet, home to the Praetorians. However, reality has a bad habit of setting you down with a bump. The first Praetorian he encountered was cold and arrogant! The second, worse! Within the span of a week his dreams of meeting and becoming one of these mythical warriors was dashed on the rocks of reality.

The Commodore made a lot of sense when he explained how the Empire had become rotten at the core. The Emperor surrounded by his Praetorians had become decadent and corrupt, leading the Imperium to ruin! They had to be replaced, so that the Empire could still be saved.

However, Commodore Harkov’s speech seemed a world away now, and the stories of the legendary Praetorians suddenly became far more frightening when facing them. Having just watched them miraculously avoid the ambush cleverly devised for them, how they were immune to the fleet’s weapons but could use their own. For a moment he wondered what the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach was, before finally recognising - that it was fear. Fear of these invulnerable warriors that had never been beaten, fear that he had made a dreadful mistake siding with Harkov…

“Guns!” The word filtered through the young officers thought process, interrupting his contemplation of the Praetorians.

“Excuse me, sir?” The young tactical officer stammered, glancing in the direction of Pendleton who was still collapsed in his chair and where the exclamation had originated.

“The ships guns are tied into our own targeting system, is that not correct?” Pendleton insisted.

“Yes, sir,” the tactical officer confirmed, “All the ship’s guns are tied into the ship’s central targeting system…” his voice trailed off as he finally got what his commanding officer was thinking. “…And we can reprogram our system to mark the fighters as hostile,” he confirmed excitedly.

So much easier to reprogram one system, than hundreds of smaller ones spread throughout the missiles in the fleet

“We would have to rely upon the smaller, point defence weapons; they have less range but would be able to better target the incoming fighters,” he exclaimed aloud confidently.

Pendleton just nodded in agreement, before snapping his fingers. “Quickly, reprogram the targeting computer and bring the guns on-line, before the fighters get within range.” With a quick flourish of his fingers the tactical officer made the changes and held his breath…

“Guns are on-line and tracking the incoming targets, sir,” he exclaimed in relief. It was only when he double-checked the tracking sensors however, that the realised that the guns were tracking all the incoming targets – both missiles and fighters.

Uh Oh.

*****

As the squadron came within range of the fleet’s guns they continued to disperse and started jinking, up, down, left, right all in random patterns to help confound the aim of the fleet’s guns. However, as they got closer and closer to the fleet the gunfire became more and more accurate until…first one missile then another started to explode in a huge pyrotechnic display!

The missiles launched from the squadron minutes earlier were weapons designed to target fighters. These targets were small, agile and quick to escape. Hence these weapons were designed to fragment prior to exploding, scattering dozens of deadly bomblets throughout the area. Of the original squadron of twelve fighters, this had grown to over 130 targets for the fleet computers to track following the launch of the missiles, as each missile began to explode showering the area with bomblets the number of targets that the ships gun began to track increased exponentially, first 200 targets, then 400, then 800. As the Praetorians blasted through the fleet, sensors were tracking over a thousand individual targets. Unable to track so many, finally the guns just fell silent, their targeting computers stuck in an infinite loop – and then the squadron was through the fleet and escaping towards the FTL entry point.

Jon breathed a sigh of relief as the squadron finally escaped from the far side of the fleet. However, checking the sensors their squadron had not come out unscathed. They had lost two fighters to gunfire from the fleet before their guns had fallen silent. Jon allowed himself a momentary pang of grief; he knew all the Praetorians personally. Both of them had loved ones and family back at home. Knowing that it was his actions, his decisions that had resulted in their loss made it no easier. He pushed the guilt and blame aside for a short while to focus on the problem at hand. Meanwhile Jon noticed that the speed of the Eternal Light had suddenly started to fall dramatically.

Quickly he ran a full diagnostic of the shuttle and cursed vehemently upon seeing the results. Slower and bigger than the surrounding fighters the shuttle had taken a beating passing through the fleet. Jon had hoped that the heavier armour surround the shuttle would protect them, but it had not. The flight computer reported catastrophic damage to the port engine, which the computer had shut down, the shuttle was continuing to limp forward on the remaining engine but their velocity had fallen by half. Jon had no need to check the aft sensors to know that the fleet’s fighters were now gaining rapidly on the Praetorians.

*****

Commodore Harkov subconsciously ducked as the Praetorian fighters scattered around the Imperial Star, at times seeming to pass mere feet from the command deck – and then in a blink they were gone.

“Report!” Harkov roared across the command deck.

“Two targets destroyed, Commodore!” The tactical officer reported, who felt, unfairly, to be on the receiving end of most of the Commodore’s short temper. “Remaining squadron is setting a straight course for the FTL jump point,” he said in a calmer voice. At least the Praetorians were no longer heading in their direction! Suddenly the tactical computer updated with the latest squadron heading and velocity and the young tactical officer had to blink a couple of times to ensure that he was not imagining things. “Sir,” the officer replied cautiously, “the shuttle is losing speed. I think we managed to damage it. The squadron is now also reducing velocity to keep in escort formation.

In a flash the Commodore was at his side. “How close are our fighters?” he asked directly. Running both trajectories through the computer, it seemed an eternity before the computer spat out the numbers. The fleet’s recalled fighters would intercept the Praetorians in a little over two minutes at present velocity; five minutes before the Praetorians could escape into FTL.

“I’ve got you now, you bastard!” Harkov gloated in glee.

*****

At almost the same instant as the computer on the Imperial Star, the flight computer on the Eternal Light was reporting exactly the same result. They were all going to die. Three minutes and a little less than 170 kilometres from escape.

The communication from Elsie was not unexpected but for the first time in his life Jon felt the weight of command bearing down on him.

“Lieutenant… Elsie,” he acknowledged his second-in-command reluctantly.

“What is your situation?” she inquired brusquely avoiding his gaze.

“Damage-control computer reports that the port engine is damaged beyond repair and it has been shut down.”

“Tactical computer reports that the fleet’s fighters will intercept us in a little under two minutes,” Elsie reported matter-of-factly.

Jon had no response. The squadron continued to fly onwards in tandem, in silence for a few moments more until Elsie shifted her gaze to Sofia and uttered the words that Jon had been expecting, but dreading to hear.

“We all swore an oath.”

Jon closed his eyes in despair; they had all sworn the same oath. To protect the Emperor and his family, at all costs, at any cost. Jon was not a man to take such an oath lightly, and neither were his squadron, his friends… his family. Refusing to open his eyes and stare into the face of his second-in-command, refusing to order their deaths he just whispered. “I cannot order you to do this.” Finally opening his eyes he stared at Elsie who offered him a soft smile.

“I would never ask you to make such an order, Jon.” Finally looking across at Sofia, who seemed frozen in shock. She added, “Princess, it’s been… fun.” Sofia looked up, surprised at the kind words from the Praetorian.

“Sofia, you can call me Sofia… anytime,” she replied.

“Sofia,” Elsie replied seeming to try out the name before she nodded in thanks. For a moment it seemed to Jon that an unspoken communication passed between the two women, then after a small nod from Sofia, Elsie once again turned her gaze towards Jon.

“Good luck, Commander! I think it’s time that the Praetorians taught this bunch of idiots how to fly. I’m amazed that they haven’t collided with each other by now…” She laughed as the communication ended and Jon watched on the sensors as one by one the Praetorians flipped their fighters and accelerated back towards the incoming fighters; leaving the Eternal Light to finish her journey… alone.

*****

As a young boy, the tactical officer on the Imperial Star remembered sitting on his grandfather’s knee being recounted endless stories of acts of great heroism and bravery. Of soldiers refusing to surrender, to fight to the last man and woman because they knew that their cause was just and right. Of parents standing between their children and those that would harm then, of many selfless acts of heroism and courage. Never in his life did he think he would observe such an act until he watched on the sensors as one-by-one the Praetorian fighters reversed course to engage the oncoming fighters. Sacrificing their lives to allow the lone shuttle to escape.

“The 58th squadron is reversing course to intercept the approaching fighters. The Eternal Light is remaining on a direct course for the FTL jump point,” the officer reported humbly. If the Praetorians were prepared to sacrifice their lives for the occupants of the shuttle, the tactical officer was going to damn well show them some respect for their decision. The announcement stunned everybody on the command deck, which fell silent for a moment, as if also in respect for their sacrifice.

“That’s suicide,” Pendleton uttered in disbelief. “They are outnumbered at least 9-1.”

“They lost two fighters passing through the fleet,” the tactical officer reminded the Captain. “The odds are closer to 12-1. They are going to sacrifice themselves to buy enough time to allow the shuttle to reach the FTL jump point.”

Nobody on the command deck had a response to that statement.

*****

Most fleet engagements of the past few hundred years had been determined in the first minutes of battle with the opposing forces still many hundreds of kilometres apart. Modern engagements were usually determine by who had the initiative, the most missiles and the best positioning. However, for the first time in most of the pilot’s memories this engagement was going to be determined ship-to-ship, pilot-vs-pilot. The Praetorians had long since expended all their missiles and the missiles carried by the fleet fighters were useless as they would not lock onto what the missiles considered friendly fighters. Hence this engagement was going to be determined by pilot skill. The Praetorian pilots were the pinnacle of pilot skill, each one considered an ace on his or her own merit, a veteran of dozens of combat engagements, never been beaten. Therefore as the Praetorian squadron dived into the flank of the approaching fighters it was like a hot knife slicing through butter and within an instant the fleet’s formation descended into complete chaos and a free-for-all ensued.

*****

The atmosphere on the command deck of the Imperial Star, flagship of the Imperial Navy was thick enough with tension to cut with a knife as the two groups of fighters, one much smaller than the other, collided in a melee of ships and gunfire.

“One down,” called out the tactical officer.

“Two.”

“Three.”

“Four.”

“Five.” It was only when he realised that all eyes on the command deck were focused on him that he added deflatedly. “Those are our losses…” Indeed the Praetorian fighters were cutting a swathe through the Imperial fighters, outmanoeuvring them, outshooting them, simply out-flying them. However, ultimately the numbers were on the side of the Imperial fleet when first one of the Praetorian’s fell, followed rapidly by another and another.

Suddenly another voice, almost forgotten, cut across the room, “They’re letting him get away, the idiots!” Commodore Harkov yelled across the room, gesturing at the lone shuttle that was continuing on its heading towards the FTL jump point. “Get me the Commander of the fighter-group on communications, right now!” He practically screamed.

The communications officer pressed a few keys then nodded towards the Commodore that the channel was open.

“CAG here,” came the terse response, it was obvious from his voice that he was under significant strain.

“Break-off your engagement with the fighters, I want you to intercept and engage the escaping shuttle,” the Commodore ordered matter-of-factly.

The channel went silent for a moment as the commander of the air-group watched in disbelief as the Praetorian fighter in front of him executed a roll that the Commander did not think physically possible for that craft and promptly reduced one of his wingmen into dust. Fortunately the CAG managed to get off a lucky shot that pulverised one of the rear control surfaces of the fighter. He watched speechlessly as the fighter dipped, seemed to lose control for a moment before recovering and diving straight into his remaining wingman, both of whom disappeared into a raging fireball.

“Commander!” The impatient Commodore insisted. “I gave you a direct order!”

“Yeah, well you grab a fighter and come up and fly against these guys,” the Commander complained. “Anybody flying in a straight line for more than an instant is going to be flotsam!” With that he cut the channel and got back to trying to stay alive, shaking his head at the stupidity of fleet officers.

Pounding his fists against the console and the complete incompetence of those surrounding him, Harkov once again ordered the communications officer to open a channel, this time to the fleeing shuttle…

*****

The flight computer reported that they were only moments away from the FTL jump point. Jon gave one final glance at the aft sensors, which reported that only a few of his squadron remained alive. However, they had done what duty demanded of them and bought the Eternal Light the few minutes that it needed to escape. Just as he was about to bring the FTL engines on-line, the Commander recognised an incoming communication from the Imperial Star. Tempted to just ignore it, he instead activated the channel.

The Commodore was no longer smiling and the smirk had long since left his expression. Instead the Commodore was complete enraged, obviously his careful planning and preparation had come to nothing.

“There is nowhere for you to run to Radec, nobody to help you! Give-up and I promise to kill you quickly. I’ll even promise not to harm Marcus’s daughter, as you seem to have a soft spot for her,” the Commodore shrugged. “I had plans for her, she was to become the first Empress in five generations, a symbol of a new Empire, a better Empire.”

“Your Empire?” Jon added scornfully, “I think not!”

“You run Radec and I will hunt you down, I’ll hunt you both down like dogs and I’ll collect your head, Radec!” Harkov bellowed.

Radec just observed the contemptible officer for a moment, before making a vow to himself. Remembering the promise that Elsie made before her death he vowed to find this disgusting animal; he would hunt for him for the rest of his days if necessary, and he would kill him.

With a final glance towards the view-screen, Jon simply replied. “I’ll be waiting for you.” As he engaged the FTL engines Jon gave one final long glance at the aft scanner it reported that the 58th was no more. Jon was all that remained of the squadron, The Last Praetorian.

*****

As the Eternal Light disappeared into FTL a hush fell across the command deck of the Imperial Star. Every eye was on the Commodore to see what his reaction would be, but all he did was to swivel around and walk towards the exit of the command deck. Half way across the deck he stopped and turned back towards Captain Pendleton.

“Captain,” he ordered crisply. “I want them found. I’m not interested in how many resources it takes or the cost, I want them found and I want them dead.” Pausing for a moment as if something suddenly occurred to him he added, “and I want Radec’s head. He once threatened me that he would behead me personally, so I will re-pay the favour. Bring me his head!” With that the Commodore left the command deck, leaving only silence in his wake.

Chapter Three

Present Day (Five Years later)

Terra Nova, Zeta Aquilae System

The stars shined brightly, with a pure cleansing white light that seemed to banish the dark and cold of the vastness of space. Sometimes Jon could close his eyes and almost feel the stars reaching out to him. Bidding him to join them, with just one small step his worries would vanish, forever. He felt that if he could only reach out, if only for a brief moment and be able to grasp that light in the palm of his hands, to bring it into his body to let the light cleanse him maybe he could escape this reality.

Should a person be forgiven for mistakes made in the past? Jon mused to himself. Do I even deserve forgiveness?

A polite cough interrupted his reverie, reminding him that he had a guest and that guest was still waiting for his answer. Jon sighed to himself, once again wishing that the light could reach out to him and take him back, back to when he had a purpose and a family….

Wrenching his thoughts back to the here and now, Jon turned his back to the stars that he spent so much time lost in and viewed his guest. The Magistratus sitting across his desk had not moved in the intervening time; long past his middling years – his grey hair was showing just a hint of white and he was leaning heavily on his cane. An ugly scar marred the right side of his cheek and the pronounced limp in his right leg was noticeable, as he had shuffled into the room.

I wonder what happened to you? I doubt that you got those falling out of bed one morning Jon had thought to himself when the Magistratus from the ‘Chamber of Commerce, Business and Shipping’ had made his entrance a short while ago.

Observing the scarred man sitting across his desk it occurred to Jon that he embodied everything that was wrong since the collapse of the Empire. A figurehead for an organisation that profited from human misery. With the death of the Emperor the Empire soon disintegrated, the once mighty Imperial Fleet disbanded, until it reached the point that this far out on the rim the fleet had mostly abandoned this sector. As was often the case, when there was no strong rule of law it attracted a certain stain of humanity, ones with few moral scruples.

Trying to keep the distaste from reaching his expression and only succeeding slightly, he answered the question that had been put to him. “I am sorry but I must decline the offer, although I do agree that it sounds extremely generous.” It was obvious from the surprised expression that flashed across his guest’s face – that it was not the answer that he had been expecting.

“Could I inquire why you have decided to reject the chamber’s extremely generous offer?” Mallart asked in his silky-smooth tone of voice. The tone had been irritating Jon ever since the meeting had commenced. He had continually fought the urge to look over his shoulder to check that the representative wasn’t trying to stick a knife in his back.

“Well,” Jon replied, “we could discuss the various growth potentials for the business, my loyal customer base, etc. but what it really comes down to is a cultural clash I am afraid.”

“A cultural clash?” the representative replied in a bewildered tone. “What sort of cultural clash?”

“It mostly has to do with the differing ways we conduct business really,” Jon explained. “For example we believe in fair business negotiations, honest contracts and punctual delivery. We do not threaten to kill, enslave or otherwise kidnap our customers if they do not agree to our terms of business. We most certainly do not transport slaves, smuggle weaponry or any other contraband goods and we most definitely don’t steal the aforementioned goods if there is a greater potential for profit and then murder the client. As I mentioned, a culture clash I am afraid,” Jon explained concisely, with a straight face, not letting any of the malice he felt show. “Furthermore,” he went on to explain. “I question how long I would actually live to be able to spend that very generous offer, seeing that I hear of the three previous companies that you have acquired two of the owners are now dead; with the third missing.” Jon finally let a hint of malice into his statement. “Let’s be honest,” he continued. “The Chamber comprises the worst scum sucking, murderous, thieving, raping bastards in this entire sector. You can take their offer back to them and shove it up their ass… and if one more of my ships are attacked, one more member of my crew hurt there will be nowhere in this system or the next to hide from me. I will hunt you down one-by-one, turn your ships into a pile of radioactive dust and cut you into so many pieces that it would require a micro-singularity scanner to find a trace of you. Now get off my station!” Jon yelled. “Before I stick you in an airlock and blow you out of it myself.”

The Magistratus from the chamber blinked once in surprise then with a resigned expression replied. “Well as you have decided to turn down the chamber’s generous offer it would seem that there is nothing else that I can say. I doubt that they will be coming back with another offer. Good day Mr Radec.” With that he shuffled to the door, which slid open smoothly to permit his exit.

Jon confirmed that the door was fully closed before turning back to the stars once again. He would not have put it past the crafty old bastard to shoot him in the back to save his employers the effort of hiring somebody else to do it.

Jon pounded on his desk in frustration, hard enough to dislodge the mountain of paperwork, sending it spilling across the floor. Jon was not bothered in the slightest at the thought of somebody else trying to kill him - they would have to get in line - but instead the knowledge that his ships and people would be at additional risk and why? Because he was a stubborn fool who had always refused to back down in the face of threats. He had seen the Syndicate grow more and more powerful in this system. Threatening, blackmailing or just eliminating all rivals until only he remained.

Jon recognised that a reckoning was fast approaching with the Syndicate, as it seemed that they had delivered their final warning. Shrugging to himself Jon was satisfied that he had given them fair warning of his own. If the Syndicate moved against Vanguard, they would quickly discover that they had woken a slumbering dragon. One that would destroy them, utterly.

Jon tensed as he heard the door quietly slide open but relaxed again when he felt the presence of Paul Harrington – his chief of operations. When they had first met, years previously, while both had been serving in the Imperial Navy, the blond hair and bright blue cerulean eyes had taken Jon aback. While the man was ten years his senior, he looked like he belonged on the front cover of some surfing magazine, instead of leading an Imperial Special Forces task group. However, time and time again Paul had surprised him, as behind the good looks and bright blue eyes was a tactical mind that was second to none. Between the two of them they had achieved victories for the Empire that seemed so fantastic, many of them had just been dismissed as fanciful rumours. When Paul had offered him the position of Chief Executive of Vanguard he had not hesitated in accepting…

“Well, the Magistratus from the Chamber just shuffled past me on the way out. He did not look happy. I take it you turned down his offer?” he asked with a hint of a smirk.

“Damn right I did!” Jon said. “Hell will freeze over before I turn Vanguard over to that bunch of thieves,” he replied with venom. “Anyway what the hell is it with the name? Who came up with the name ‘Chamber of Commerce, Business and Shipping’ anyway?“

Paul just shrugged. “I hear that the Syndicate got together and declared a cease-fire between themselves. It seems that they realised they could make more money by stopping killing each other and focus on stealing, murdering and extorting their way through the rest of the system. I guess they felt that the new name gave them a veneer for respectability; after all The Syndicate has such negative connotations”. Meanwhile Paul approached the large viewing port in the office and was gently running his fingers across the surface – causing energy ripples in their wake.

“You know,” he mused, “everybody else on the station is perfectly happy with Tri-Aluminium Silica windows, but not you. What is it with you and empty space…?”

Unlike the other windows on the station, an energy field, much like the one on the flight deck, which could be easily raised and lowered to allow ships to dock, protected one full length of his office.

Jon turned back to his desk, picking up the paperwork that now littered the floor. The paperwork that running a sizable company entailed. “As I have told you before I prefer the view; anyway I would get claustrophobic shackled to this desk without it,” Jon explained.

Paul had known Jon a long time and had inkling to some of the ghosts in his past and hence let the matter drop, almost.

“Hey! It’s no problem with me,” Paul responded with a grin. “I just want to know who is going to be signing my pay-check if we ever have a power failure in this section of the station.”

“And here I thought you were gunning for the Chief Executive position.”

“No way!” said Paul holding up his hands in defence, “The paperwork would kill me.”

“Anyway,” Jon continued, “I like not having a window in my office, as I find that it helps keep the meetings shorter.” He had noticed the representative from the Syndicate frequently glancing at the missing window in irritation. While the energy barrier retained atmosphere and deflected the harmful rays from the system’s star just as well as a window, the gaping emptiness did cause a subconscious chill in most visitors, and they had no inclination to hang around to see just how reliable the stations energy distribution grid was.

Meanwhile Paul had been scanning Jon’s remaining schedule for the day – when an item caught his eye and he frowned in consternation. “You are actually planning on going ahead and attending this meeting?” He said, spinning the data-pad around and pointing at one of the few remaining items on his schedule for the day. Jon glanced at the item confirming that his old friend was indeed referring to the meeting on Transcendence Station a couple of astronomical units (AUs) from the station.

“Why not?” Jon replied, “It looks like a good prospect. They insisted on a face-to-face meeting to agree on some final details before they signed the contract.”

“A prospect that we have never heard of before, that is offering us a huge sum of money and insists that the contract can only go ahead after a face-to-face meeting with you personally? This, straight after you have told the Syndicate that they can go to hell?” Paul replied with increasing tones of disbelief.

“Well I will agree it is a little unusual,” Jon replied with an easy smile. “However, you cannot expect me to remain in my office, hiding under the desk waiting for the Syndicate to send somebody to kill me,” Jon said, tossing the data-pad back to Paul with a grin. “Anyway,” Jon went on pointing his thumb in the direction of the missing wall, “we could have a power failure in this section.”

“Funny,” Paul replied with a resigned sigh.

“Oh you worry too much,” Jon replied as he strode towards the exit. “Anyway I’ll be in the ‘Light, so I’ll be perfectly fine… Paul?” Jon inquired just before Paul reached the door.

“Yes?”

“Do you think a person should be forgiven for the mistakes they made in the past?”

“I guess that depends on the mistake, doesn’t it?”

Jon nodded as he watched the door slide open, then close behind his chief of operations. It didn’t matter what others thought, he decided. He was never going to forgive himself anyway.

*****

Miranda’s gaze was drawn away from the sparkling white ship by the sounds of the shuffling footsteps and crack of the cane as Magistratus Mallart made his way down the corridor to their waiting ship. As he approached he dropped into a seat next to the window with an audible sigh of relief.

“By the Creator, will I be glad to get off this hellish place. I can only hope that this dilapidated rust bucket has a power failure in Radec’s office and hurries him on to meet his maker!” he cursed while trying to get his breath back.

Miranda remained silent, correctly assuming that the meeting had not gone well. Not that she was particularly surprised as she doubted that she and her ship would have been sent with the Magistratus if the Syndicate had thought that Jon Radec would have accepted their offer. She had already read the limited file that the Syndicate had on the CEO of Vanguard and privately she would have been disappointed if he had capitulated so easily. It would seem that for once their intelligence on the man had been correct, identifying him as overconfident, arrogant and a risk-taker. He did seem to have an excellent taste in ships however, as Miranda turned her gaze back towards the ship floating in space only a couple of meters from the viewing port…

“What is that…?” Miranda breathed, unable to keep the full sense of awe from her voice, even though she knew Mallart would disapprove. Glancing out the window Mallart squinted at the ship then looked away with distaste, obviously not sharing Miranda’s opinion of the aesthetic beauty of the ship floating outside.

“Old long range Imperial courier shuttle,” her superior groused, “not many of them still functional since the disintegration of the Imperium – too expensive. Not much demand for a hyperspace capable shuttle these days that can also enter atmosphere,” he pointed at a number of points on the bow and body of the shuttle where the additional shielding was obviously designed to cope with the extreme heats of atmospheric re-entry. “All a waste of money if you ask me, carrying around all the extra shielding. Why not just dock at one of the orbiting stations and get the damn shuttle down like everybody else?” he stated with distaste.

“You mean the ship can land, like on a planet?” Miranda asked incredulously. While she had observed a number of planets that existed within the system, she had always done so from one of the docking stations in orbit. Having been born in space she had never actually set foot on a planet. Too dangerous, her superiors had always warned her; having been born in the lower gravity of the various ships and stations of the system. It was considered dangerous, as the additional gravity could put too much strain on her heart. Some people had literally dropped dead on stepping out of a shuttle onto a planet’s surface for the first time.

“Where did he acquire such a ship?”

A hint of a frown crossed Mallart’s face when he replied. “We are not too sure. Intelligence could not find much on his past beyond a couple of years ago. He seemed to have suddenly appeared in the system, with the ship and enough money to acquire this relic left over from the war and to establish his company. We did manage to find out from docking manifests the name of the ship… He calls it the Eternal Light”.

Privately Miranda thought that it was a fitting name for this beautiful ship, as the ship seemed to glow a silvery-white as it was bathed in light from the stars and the small amount of light produced by this system’s distant star. The sharp pointed bow of the ship, smoothly elongated body, which flared out into a pair of tapered wings that were obviously required for atmospheric flight before ending in a pair of elevated aft tails. The entire ship reminded Miranda of a picture from Old Earth of a hawk in flight. A flight that it was Miranda’s job to end, permanently. It seemed sad to her that it was her responsibility to destroy such a thing of beauty, the pilot she did not give a second thought to. If he was stupid and arrogant enough to turn down her employer’s offer then he would get what he deserved. Miranda did spare a brief thought to what it would be like to fly such a magnificent ship but quickly turned back to her job at hand…

“Is she armed?” She inquired focusing her thoughts once again on her job at hand after being briefly distracted by the beauty of the ship.

“Armed?” Mallart replied with a short bark of laughter. “It’s an old and very expensive courier ship. Its job was to transfer VIPs comfortably and quickly from one system to another, nothing more. It’s not a warship, my dear,” he concluded putting a heavy emphasis on the last word.

Miranda glanced at him with obvious distaste. He had spent the whole journey making unwanted advances towards her, frequently suggesting that her advancement would be far more rapid if she was ‘accommodating’ to him. Miranda found the whole idea repulsive, the idea that he would use his position to try and urge her to sleep with him. Not the least that he was old enough to be her father! She was rather looking forward to the solitary journey home in her own ship away from the lecherous old bastard.

In her late twenties, with a slim, willowy body, long flowing dark hair and exotic features, her face was definitely oriental - high cheekbones, full lips and straight nose. Combined with her almond-shaped brown eyes Miranda had long garnered a lot of attention from the opposite sex. She had been in a number of relationships, but they had all lasted only a short time and most had ended acrimoniously, including one who was still nursing a broken arm. She had long since given up on the hope that she would ever meet somebody who would view her for who she was, who would treat her as an equal and not some plaything to be used and then later discarded.

“Fine!“ Miranda snapped angrily. “Then it will just make this job quicker and easier for me.” With that she turned her back on the Eternal Light and stalked off towards their waiting freighter and her much smaller but deadlier ship secreted in the aft cargo hold…

A few hours later the freighter carrying the Magistratus from the Chamber of Commerce, Business and Shipping slowly pulled away from the station. Unnoticed by the station’s sensors, a small patch of darkness quietly separated from the departing ship and slipped under the shadow cast by the station to await its prey…

*****

Having finally concluded the remaining business for the day, Jon slipped into the comfortable and familiar cockpit of the Eternal Light or ‘Light as he had long since referred to her. He smiled briefly as the thought crossed his mind of why ships were always female as he tried to envisage the ‘Light as male. The ‘Light had sheltered, protected and offered him a home since his own had been lost years before. Anyway the ‘Light was the most beautiful ship in this system or any other. No the ‘Light was definitely a lady. With that final thought he eased the power to the engines and slowly pulled away from the station. As the station slowly receded in the aft scanner he gave some thought to the first time that he had laid eyes on the station…

He had still been a lowly Lieutenant back in the Imperial Navy only recently having gained his commission when his squadron had been dispatched to the outer rim to investigate a growing spate of pirate attacks on the commercial shipping in this sector.

Even back then the Syndicate was busy in this system, Jon mused to himself. The squadron had been based out of this station for several months, back then it was just a remote repair and resupply station designated, Terra Nova. Even then the station had seemed ancient. During that posting Jon remembered detesting it, viewing this assignment as a fool’s errand in the middle of nowhere, with no opportunity for recognition or promotion. It seemed a different life back then, being that young eager Lieutenant always looking for the next opportunity to demonstrate his flying prowess and eager for promotion to newer and better things. Thinking back he would have given that brash youth some advice, be careful what you wish for… otherwise you might just get it.

Far enough from the station Jon punched in the co-ordinates to Transcendence Station into the autopilot and pushed the sub-light engines up to full thrust. Reclining back comfortably into his pilot seat, he settled down for the three-hour journey to his destination.

As the Eternal Light moved away from the station, rapidly picking up speed as it departed, a shadow that had attached itself to the station detached and oriented itself in the same direction as the departing ship, following slowly, at a distance, so as to ensure that it was not picked up on any of the watching sensors…

*****

Barely halfway into the journey the aft scanner once again pinged as it picked up a faint contact that once again, faded from the scanner. Jon glanced at the aft scanner with a faint frown. That was the third time during this flight that the aft scanner had detected something before it disappeared, the contact too weak for the scanner to identify before it disappeared from the scanner completely.

The ‘Light was travelling at 0.1C, almost a tenth the speed of light, rapidly heading away from the main sequence dwarf star that made up one of the three stars in the Zeta Aquilae system.

Their home station Terra Nova meant “new land” or “new earth” in Latin, a long dead language from Old Earth. Zeta Aquilae was unique as it was the only tripe star system within the Confederation. Zeta Aquilae had already been recognised as a place of immense interest back on Old Earth where it had been given the Mandarin names Woo and Yuë, representing the state Wu, an old state in China that was located at the mouth of the Yangtze River, and Yue an old state in Zhejiang province.

The main system star, a dwarf star, was mostly composed of electron-generating matter. The star was incredibly dense, the mass of the star was comparable with that of the Sun in the Sol system but the volume only comparable to that of Old Earth itself. The huge amount of electrons and other particles being given off from the star generated the “Solar Wind” that was particularly dense in this system. It was this soup of high-energy particles that was giving the rear sensors so much trouble.

Adjusting the aft sensors to reduce their sensitivity and avoid any more ‘phantom’ contacts Jon reviewed the remaining time and course to Transcendence. Studying the display carefully for a few minutes he made some minor course corrections that would take the ‘Light on a slightly more elliptical course, this would add another twenty minutes to the journey time but would also pass within a few hundred kilometres of an asteroid belt that existed at the edge of the Heliopause; the technical edge of the system before the depths of interstellar space. While the phantom sensor contact was more than likely caused by the particles given off by the system’s main sequence star, Jon had not managed to stay alive this long without taking some precautions. The asteroid belt would make excellent cover if it became necessary.

*****

Miranda was roused from her internal contemplation by the alert of the targeting scanner to notify her that the target had altered course slightly. Bringing up the navigational computer, she input the new heading and speed and reviewed their projected course. Their destination was still Transcendence Station but the new course would take them on a longer orbital insertion adding another twenty minutes to the journey time. For the twelfth time during this mission she silently asked herself if the ship that she was covertly following had detected her. However, as usual, the sensors could detect no change in energy emissions, speed or any communications that might indicate that her target had detected her and was trying to evade or call for assistance.

Perhaps he is just early for his meeting and wanted to take a more scenic route? Miranda mused to herself with a smirk. Anyway it was going to be the last decision that he ever made. Double-checking the navigational computer and ship’s sensors, she confirmed that they were far enough away from Terra Nova not to be detected and that there were no other ships in the vicinity to observe this execution; and that is what this was going to be. Miranda was under no illusion. Flying a heavily armed Hawk fighter equipped with multiple (and highly illegal) weapon systems and missiles, the unarmed shuttle a few hundred kilometres ahead was a sitting duck. Her employers had insisted however, that this was to be done immediately and with no witnesses. They did not want any evidence left behind. Cursing one final time that she would have to destroy such a beautiful ship, she tightened the straps securing her in the cockpit and triggered the engines to full thrust so that it would bring her weapon systems quickly into range.

*****

The wail from the aft sensors was the only split second warning that Jon had about the imminent threat before the weapons from the enemy craft cut across his view. The split second was more than enough time for Jon, and with quick reflex’s he sharply banked the ‘Light to starboard and kicked full power to the engines. In an instant he was pushed back hard into his seat from the sudden acceleration of the ship.

Miranda blinked her eyes in disbelief, as the attack run that she had done dozens of times previously that had always resulted in the destruction or at least heavy damage to the target ship passed cleanly through the area of space that the shuttle should have been in. However, instead the shuttle was banking hard and diving away from her ship with an incredible level of acceleration that should not have been possible for a ship of that size. She had never seen such manoeuvrability and acceleration outside of a dedicated fighter craft, yet here was an old shuttle that was easily matching her acceleration.

“An old and expensive courier ship, nothing more! My ass!” exclaimed Miranda, cursing Mallart as she pushed her engines to maximum and beyond, simply to try and gain on the shuttle that had quickly accelerated to what Miranda hoped was its maximum speed. She cursed again when she glanced at her navigational computer and saw that they were both now rapidly approaching the asteroid field. If she managed to let her target get among the asteroids this simple assignment was going to get a lot more complicated… While still at the maximum range of her guns she sighted on the shuttle ahead and let loose another volley of weaponry…

*****

While continuing to manoeuvre the ‘Light in what he hoped was a pattern that was going to upset his attackers aim, Jon was still somewhat constrained by the need to keep the ‘Light on a course to get among the asteroids as quick as possible. Hence, while he was able to avoid most of the incoming fire he still winced as a number of bolts hit the thick external armour. Luckily the weapons fire was at its maximum range, therefore most of the energy from the bolts had dissipated before they had impacted on the ‘Light, still the damage was still significant enough that a few more well-placed shots were going to cause severe damage. Jon glanced down to check the distance to the asteroid field, still thirty seconds away at this velocity…

Too long! Jon thought, swinging the ‘Light back around to put the ship on a collision course with the enemy fighter…

Due to the tremendous velocities that the two ships were travelling at Miranda only had an instant to realise that the shuttle had now changed course and was coming directly at her! Wrenching the flight controls sharply her fighter managed to dodge out of the way of the incoming shuttle with only an instant to spare! However, she only had an instant to catch her breath before the aft sensors reported that the shuttle was dropping into a pursuit course behind her!

“This is nuts!” Miranda exclaimed, “I am dogfighting with a shuttle!” She quickly executed a hard bank to the right and pushed the fighter into a steep dive. Sparing a quick glance behind, she noticed that the shuttle adjusted course to match the manoeuvre a few seconds later, but the shuttle went slightly wide of her turn before adjusting to compensate. The manoeuvre demonstrated two things to Miranda. First that her initial impression of Jon Radec based on his file was incorrect, he was indeed an arrogant, overconfident bastard, but damn was he a superb pilot! Second that while the shuttle had amazing, indeed unbelievable acceleration, its manoeuvrability could not match her smaller more agile fighter.

Armed with this knowledge Miranda put her small fighter into a number of gut wrenching turns that she knew the shuttle behind would be unable to match. With a confident smile she checked her aft sensors and indeed confirmed that the shuttle was no longer on her tail, she had managed to shake him loose! Her confident smile however quickly turned to snarl of anger when her sensors finally picked up the shuttle. Her ‘prey’ had not even attempted to match her dramatic manoeuvres but instead had used the time to dash for the cover of the asteroid field.

“Shit!” Miranda cursed when her navigational and targeting display confirmed her fears that she would be unable to get within range of her guns before the shuttle made it to the cover of the asteroid field. Sighing, as her superiors would be extremely angry at what they viewed as the unnecessary additional expense she flicked her weapons systems from guns to missiles; within a fraction of a second the solid tone from her weapons systems reported that the missiles had a firm lock on the shuttle. With two quick depresses on her firing stud she launched two missiles at the retreating shuttle!

*****

“Fuck!” Jon swore as his threat display system lit up like the sky at night, detecting the launch of the two missiles, and the targeting scanner highlighted the two incoming projectiles, bracketing them in red and flashing warnings against the incoming threats as if Jon was not already aware of the extreme danger that they posed to the Eternal Light.

Leaning forward Jon switched the ship’s ECM system from ‘Passive’ to ‘Active’; the ship’s Electronic Counter Measures in passive mode listened for all electronic systems, communications or sensors in surrounding space and displayed them, however in active mode the system broadcast a huge deluge of electronic ‘noise’ on all bandwidths into surrounding space. This was designed to interfere and disrupt any electronics in ships…or missiles near to the Eternal Light.

With space surrounding the Eternal Light now blanketed by ‘noise’ on the entire electromagnetic spectrum, the two missiles that had been closely targeting the ship suddenly found it far harder to ‘see’ the ship though all the interference. The missile that was furthest away from the ship lost its target completely and went harmlessly spinning off into space on completely the wrong trajectory. However, the second missile that was closer had a stronger lock on the target, and managed to continue on-target aiming for the rapidly closing shuttle.

Meanwhile on the Eternal Light Jon was monitoring the progress of the two rapidly closing missiles, relieved to see that one lost its track but the other was still closing fast! Quickly calculating the distance to the asteroid field and the estimated impact time of the missile, he was disappointed to determine that the missile was going to impact the Eternal Light several seconds before he reached the cover of the asteroid field… With a hiss of frustration and a quick prayer to whichever God might be listening he brought the ships limited point defence systems on-line.

Point defence systems or PDS as they are commonly referred to had not changed significantly over the past 600 years since they had been first invented. They all worked on the simple principle of targeting the incoming object – be it missile, torpedo, ship and keeping shooting at it as quickly and as long as possible. One of two things would happen next, either the PDS would destroy the incoming object or it would get blown to hell along with the rest of the ship when the target hit the ship. The PDS system on the Eternal Light was much smaller and less capable than those found on larger warships but worked on exactly the same principle. Two small hatches near the aft of the ship, one on the dorsal, the other on the ventral, to give a 360-degree field of fire, slid smoothly open to reveal the concealed guns. Both guns slid forward on their mounts into their armed positions and spun around to target the incoming missile. Having achieved a lock they simultaneously opened fire.

Scientists and engineers had been working on the concept of space-based weaponry since the early days of spaceflight. Human initiative works on the principle of ‘How do I travel through space?’ Closely followed by the thought of ‘How do I shoot somebody else who is trying to travel through my part of space?’ Guns would not work in space as the propellant would require oxygen to combust and hence push the shell down the barrel. Hence the earliest space base weaponry was based on the concept of a Rail Gun. This simple weapon, invented late in the 20th century used electromagnets to accelerate and propel a projectile out of the barrel. The two point defence guns on the Eternal Light worked in much the same way as these early weapons but approximately a hundred times quicker. While the first space based Rail Guns could fire one round, usually solid depleted uranium, per second. The guns on the Eternal Light could fire almost one hundred rounds per second. As these were propelled by electromagnets and fired from space: where heat dissipation was really, really good it could keep firing until it ran out of ammunition. Which the guns promptly did 4.8 seconds later…

*****

Miranda watched in open mouth disbelief as the shuttle sent the first missile spinning uselessly out into the void followed a few seconds later by the complete destruction of her second missile. “No way!” She cursed, “No fucking way!” As she watched the shuttle slip into the quickly approaching asteroid field ahead. With a roar of anger she kicked the fighter into full thrust and followed the shuttle into the asteroid field, at far too high a speed for any sort of safe navigation of the field.

*****

What followed for the next ten minutes was a dangerous game of cat and mouse among the asteroid belt, the Eternal Light used them for cover to the best of its ability; while Miranda constantly cursed that she was unable to get a good shot or a target long enough for her remaining missiles to get a target lock.

Meanwhile Jon had long since come to the conclusion that he had a problem, a serious problem. The pilot in the pursuit craft was good, very good. Not as good as him… but almost. His slight advantage in piloting skills however, was completely offset by their respective ships. While the Eternal Light had been heavily upgraded and no shuttle could match her, not even the old navy heavy assault craft, she was still a shuttle, while behind was a heavily armed fighter designed for speed and manoeuvrability. The only reason that he and the Eternal Light were still in one piece was the cover given by the asteroids. While he had to be lucky every single time, it was only going to take one lucky shot or a missile. His point defence guns were now out of ammunition, and he was going to be smeared across one of these asteroids. He needed a plan and he needed one quickly!

Deciding that he only had one shot at this, Jon started slowly to reduce velocity to close the gap between himself and the fighter already close on his tail. He then activated his own weapon systems on the Eternal Light. A small part of him had hoped that his opponent would just decide to call it a day and retreat. However, as time went by and the shots got closer and the armour more and more damaged, he came to the conclusion that the other ship was not going to withdraw and it was going to be his life or the other’s. Therefore it was with no regret that Jon armed the concealed missile and waited for confirmation from the targeting computer of a lock. Once the computer confirmed a solid lock Jon reduced velocity even further praying that the armour would hold up just a few seconds longer. Finally when the enemy ship was almost on top of the ‘Light, Jon hit the launch control to release the missile and put the ship in a steep dive.

*****

Miranda froze when she heard the scream of the threat-warning panel announce the launch of a missile from the shuttle…

Impossible, she thought. Why would he have waited so long if his ship were armed?

Even more strange was that her targeting computer was reporting the missile racing away from her ship on the same heading as the shuttle and her fighter, in close pursuit. Glancing back up at her target she was just in time to notice the shuttle drop into a deep dive when the explosion of the missile temporarily blinded her. Trying to blink away the stars that had appeared in her sight from the explosion she desperately tried to determine what he had hit. It was only a few seconds later when her sight finally cleared enough that she realised the horrifying truth and made a desperate grab for the emergency ejector.

*****

Pulling up from the steep dive and ensuring that the engines were at full thrust, Jon watched the ensuing spectacle on the aft scanners with a degree of regret; although he recognised that, in the end, he had no choice…

The missile had hit exactly on target, one of the larger asteroids in the field and caused the asteroid to disintegrate into thousands of fist sized chunks spreading out in all directions at hundreds of kilometres per hour. The effect was similar to a dozen shotgun blasts in multiple directions. With the Eternal Light and her heavy armour travelling away from the explosion the effects were minimal, with a few of the smaller, faster fragments impacting on the hull. For the much smaller, lightly armoured fighter, still travelling into the explosion the effect was much the same as being hit by multiple shotgun blasts at point blank range. Catastrophic.

Jon watched quietly as the aft sensor reported the fighter disintegrating in the hail of rocks before disappearing completely from the sensors. With a deep sigh, and after determining that the ‘Light was at a safe enough distance from the destroyed asteroid, Jon brought the ship to a halt to catch his breath and wait for the field to stabilise before he could safely leave the belt.

Jon had no desire to cause additional deaths. He had seen enough killing and death to last a person a lifetime during the war. His issue had not been with that ship or its pilot but those who had sent them to kill him. He was sure that the fighter and pilot had been sent by the Syndicate to kill him so they could take over the last independent company in the system without a fight. It made him even more determined to put an end to this group and their killing spree before it cost any more lives.

Finally deciding that the field was stable enough to attempt to exit, he was preparing to power up the engines when the sensors reported that it had detected a faint energy signature within the field. Deciding to check out the signal first, Jon tentatively navigated the ‘Light among the still unstable asteroids until he came to the source of the signal - the escape pod of the enemy fighter seemed to have survived the explosion. The ship’s sensors were designed to detect energy signatures not life signs, so he had no idea if the pilot was still alive or, if so, how badly injured he might be. Based on the weak energy signature it was obviously not going to be detected by any other ships passing this remote portion of the system. Jon was no murderer and had already regretted the necessary destruction of the other ship, hence, opening the starboard cargo hold, he gently navigated the Eternal Light to capture the escape pod before setting a course back to Transcendence; he was late for his appointment. The pod could wait until he got back to Terra Nova where the medics could open the pod in case the pilot required medical attention. Engaging the main engines, the battered but proud Eternal Light pulled away from the asteroid belt, bow pointing once again towards Transcendence.

Let’s hope that this trip goes better than the one last time, Jon thought to himself recollecting those memories he had buried years before…

Chapter Four

Five Years Previously

Transcendence Station, Zeta Aquilae System

With the jump into FTL the silence in the cockpit of the Eternal Light was deafening, both occupants lost among their own thoughts. The insistent beeping from the flight computer roused Jon from his contemplation of their fate. The ships self-diagnostic system was reporting a minor power fluctuation in the ship’s port energy distribution grid. While the fluctuation was still within the ship’s tolerances it was continuing to grow and would soon overload the power-grid, dumping them out of FTL in the middle of nowhere… It was obvious that they were not going to be travelling directly to Eden Prime.

Bringing up the star-charts of the adjoining star systems, Jon reviewed their options. Frowning he reviewed the short list for a second time. While there was a number of Imperial bases, outposts and repair and resupply stations dotted across the near star systems, how many were safe? How many had joined Harkov in his insurrection? They could have escaped one trap, only to fly directly into another! No. Jon eliminated all the Imperial military facilities and instead focused on the purely civilian operations. This far out on the rim, their options were severely limited, most were of dubious origin where an Imperial ship was more likely to encounter a hail of weapons fire than open arms. Finally Jon was forced to settle for one of the larger civilian stations. According to the flight computer, it was a large port with hundreds of docking births, a major trade hub in this sector; it was called Transcendence. Hoping that he was not taking them out of the frying pan and into the fire Jon uploaded the new destination into the navigation computer.

*****

The abrupt change from FTL, an empty endless grey void, back into “real” space awoke Sofia from her stupor. “Have we arrived?” she asked disorientated.

“No, we took some damage to our power-systems during the escape; we need to stop here to make repairs.”

“Where is… here?” Sofia inquired curiously, looking at the fast approaching station.

“According to the navigational computer, a civilian station called Transcendence, a regional hub for the Zeta Aquilae System.”

“Have you been here before?”

“No,” Jon replied. “I was posted to an Imperial outpost in this system when I was a young Lieutenant, but never visited this station.”

Sofia tried to imagine a younger Jon Radec, only having recently joined the fleet, having just received his wings. Eventually she gave up. She was only able to picture Jon with his stormy grey eyes, in his white navy uniform with his sword at his side. “Why here and not one of my father’s military facilities.” As soon as she uttered the words she fell still, having for a brief moment forgotten about her father.

“It’s too risky,” Jon insisted. “I have no idea how far ranging this plot of Harkov’s is. Better to disappear here among the crowd.” Letting his eyes linger on Sofia he briefly wondered how they would disappear in the crowd with her at his side, she stood out like a beacon of light in a thunderstorm. Her complexion was still too pale, but that was understandable, considering what she had just been through. He also recognised the signs of shock slowly starting to wear off. He needed to find somewhere to let her rest while he saw to the repairs of the ‘Light.

After what seemed an inordinate amount of time, but in reality was probably only a few minutes they got authorisation from docking control to go-ahead and dock at one of the outer-docking rings. Having ensured that all the docking clamps were securely attached, Jon powered down the ‘Light before glancing once again with a concerned expression at Sofia who had once again ‘spaced-out’

“Sofia,” Jon said softly giving her a gentle shake on the arm. He realised that he was getting far too comfortable using her name, but what was the alternative? He could hardly walk around the station continually referring to her as ‘Princess.’ Once he noticed that her eyes had focused on him again, he suggested “Lets find somewhere for you to rest while I oversee the repairs to the ‘Light.” Noticing that she still seemed a little unsteady on her feet, he gently slipped his arm under hers and the two of them exited the ship.

Having requested a remote docking bay Jon was relieved to see few people during their journey through the station, and those that they did cross, paid the couple little attention, obviously used to seeing fleet officers with opulently dressed escorts hanging off their arms. Jon had thought it probably best not to inform Sofia how most of the stations occupants viewed her. Lust showing from the male admirers, jealously from their female companions. Arriving at one of the guest quarters that he had chosen at random from the station computer he faced their first challenge as the clerk looked up at their arrival, his eyes lingering on Sofia for a few moments longer than necessary.

An abrupt cough from Jon brought his eyes away from Sofia and he focused on Jon. “You have a reservation for Captain Smyth… and companion,” Jon put just the right amount of arrogance and leer into his voice to distract the clerk from asking any more questions. Jon knew for a fact that there was no reservation, seeing that he had just invented the name and only chosen this location a few minutes earlier. Hence as the minutes dragged on and the clerk’s tapping on his computer became more frantic, Jon started an insistent tapping on the desk, to which he quickly added a sharp tapping with his foot.

Trying to time the exact moment, Jon finally interjected. “Blast it man! Find the damn booking in your own time, I have more important things… to be getting on with.” He directed a lascivious look at Sofia, who in turn was giving Jon an inquiring look back, which he just knew was going to demand an explanation at a later date.

“Yes sir, sorry sir,” the poor clerk mumbled frantically tapping on his computer.

Deciding to give the man a final push, Jon responded in his best command voice. “Captain. You address a fleet officer by his rank. The key. Now,” he demanded. The clerk gave the Commander an excellent impression of a fish out of water, when he nodded and quickly handed over an entry-card. Jon simply shot the man a disgusted glare and spun around in the direction of the rooms with Sofia still on his arm.

Finally entering their assigned room, Jon slumped into the nearest chair in relief. While it had been less than a day from their departure from the Imperial Star; Jon felt like it had been a lifetime. Recognising the inquisitive look from Sofia regarding his strange actions in front of the clerk and having no energy to come-up with a telling lie, he interjected before she could ask. “Why don’t you go and freshen up? You can then stay here and rest while I oversee the repairs to the ‘Light.”

Sofia seemed disappointed at the clear dismissal but nodded her head and disappeared into the adjoining washroom.

Jon was dead-tired and wanted to just let his eyes close and rest, right up until he heard the sound of running water for the shower. At which point his imagination went into overdrive with vivid impressions of a naked Princess in the shower, separated from him only by a thin wall. With a groan of anguish he let his head fall back against the chair.

Some time later, after the shower had shut-off, the door to the washroom re-opened and Sofia glided out. Jon noticed that the colour had returned slightly to her cheeks; it looked like the shower had gone some way to restoring her natural beauty. Giving the large bed a quick glance she moved across the room and sat next to Jon in the large, well, let’s be honest, ‘love-seat’. Letting her head rest lightly against Jon’s shoulder, she let out a gentle yawn, before she buried herself in his arm to make herself more comfortable.

Jon inhaled a whiff of what he assumed was her shampoo or soap, some fruity citrus favour that seemed to set-off all his synapses firing at the same time.

“So what was all that about in-front of the clerk?” she asked sleepily.

”Hmmm…” Jon responded, distracted by her fruity scent.

“Me strong warrior… you weak female,” Sofia replied with a giggle.

“Oh that,” Jon replied desperately trying to engage his brain to come-up with a suitable response. Suddenly in inspiration he replied, “I wanted to distract him from who you were, so I implied that you were my consort.”

Sofia seemed to mull that one over for a few moments before replying. “You mean in the same way that Senator Rione’s son asked me to accompany him for lunch last week.”

This was the first that Jon had heard about the incident and suddenly just breaking the boy’s nose did not seem good enough. He knew he should have followed his first instinct and run the boy through with his sword.

However, instead he simply replied, “Something like that.”

“Thank God,” Sofia replied, almost asleep. “For a moment there I thought you were trying to prostitute the daughter of the Emperor.”

Jon just shook his head slightly in amusement. He knew that he needed to move and get repairs started on the Eternal Light.

A few more minutes will not hurt, he thought to himself letting his eyes drift closed.

*****

When Sofia opened her eyes sometime later, it was dark. Blinking repeatedly she tried to focus, but could only make out some vague, indistinct shapes.

“Lights!” she called out, but the light did not appear, instead she could only hear her voice echoing into the distance. She wrapped her arms around herself to ward off a sudden chill. Looking around desperately she tried to recognise something, anything, but the darkness seemed to consume everything.

“Commander,” she called out frantically. “Jon,” she called more softly, fear starting to encroach upon her. Where was she? Why could she not see anything? Wrapping her arms more tightly around herself, she started to stamp on the floor to generate some heat to ward off the increasing cold. The she heard the sound. At first she thought she had imagined it, half way between a sigh and a breath of wind. Then she heard it again, closer this time. A sound. A flap of wings, or a low growl, she was not sure which. Suddenly something brushed against her ankle and she jerked her foot away in fright, then another, brushing against her cheek.

Sofia let-out a cry of fright and quickly started to back away. But the sounds were getting closer now. More of them! Still Sofia could not make anything out, maybe a quick flash of a dark shadow darting across her vision, or a flash of light from the corner of her eye.

Trembling in fear, Sofia continued to back away, but where were they? For all she knew she was walking closer towards them! The sudden thought froze her like a statue on the spot. Still the shapes started to brush against her – her arm, cheek, and stomach.

“Jon, Jon, where are you? I need you…” Sofia cried out in terror. So weak at first, that she thought she was imagining it; a light appeared, dimly in the distance. Sofia tried to move towards the light, but she was frozen. She willed her muscles to respond, but they were frozen in terror. Slowly the light seemed to drift in her direction, getting stronger, brighter, but still pitifully weak.

“Please,” Sofia begged in terror. “Help me.” Suddenly as if a match had been struck and dropped into a pool of gasoline a bright blue spark flared. Small at first it quickly spread in length, forming the edge of a blade. From the light of the flame Sofia could now make out the sight of the sword, glowing brightly. Sofia almost cried in relief recognising the Praetorian sword.

The blade suddenly swung to the right, then to the left, in great arcs, dripping blue fire. The sounds around her began to change, becoming squeals and then shrill screams of pain and fear. Still the blade grew brighter and brighter, pushing back the darkness until all that filled her vision was the bright blue light from the sword.

With a sudden gasp of breath Sofia opened her eyes.

She noticed that she was back in the small apartment, where she had fallen asleep on the seat lying against Jon. She noticed that she was now lying on the bed; obviously Jon had moved her while she slept. The next thing she noticed was the pair of eyes glinting at her, barely inches from her face, blocking the rest of her sight. Still shaken from the nightmare that awoke her and the sleep that dulled her mind she could not focus on what was wrong with the scene. Suddenly her mind cleared and she stared into the dark brown eyes of a face that she did not recognise. Not the misty grey eyes of the person that filled her thoughts and dreams. She opened her mouth to utter a scream.

A rough, coarse hand clamped over her mouth, suffocating her.

*****

Jon was tired. The bone weary tiredness seeped into his bones, with barely enough energy to put one-step in front of the other. Jon finally arrived at his destination. Trying to suppress a yawn, Jon hit the announcer on the door. The last thing he wanted to do was to walk in on Sofia at an inopportune time.

Then again… Jon thought to himself with a grin. The door slid open, and just as Jon was about to open his mouth with a greeting he noticed that it was not the Princess who stood inside the door. His brain too sluggish from the lack of sleep to respond, the last thing he saw was a fist descending in his direction. Pain exploded from his jaw and all he could see was stars, before darkness engulfed him.

*****

The first thing that assailed Jon upon waking was the never-ending pain streaming from his face. Whoever had hit him had sure done a number on him! Trying to reach up and rub his jaw Jon quickly discovered that he could not move has hands. Trying to focus, the first thing that he noticed was that his hands were tied together by some sort of rigid metallic bar. Flexing his hands he found that he still had movement with his fingers but his two hands were tightly bound. Realising that he was lying on the floor, Jon next tried to get to his feet, but soon found that both his feet were bound in a similar fashion. Finally managing to balance on his knees, with his hands in front of his chest Jon reviewed his surroundings. His eyes were first drawn to the bed, which was empty. Obviously they had moved Sofia, either before his arrival or while he was unconscious. However, on a closer inspection the sheets were pristine and glancing around the room other items were subtly out of place. So a different room, Jon determined. Same style as their apartment so obviously it was close by, but not the same room.

Noticing a pair of legs in front of him, Jon craned his neck back to look into the eyes of the person facing him. Short, stocky, with powerful muscles bulging underneath the tan tunic that he was wearing Jon observed the shoulder length, greasy brown hair with dull brown eyes. However, it was none of these things that drew his attention, instead his attention was drawn to the blade that was resting in his hands, a sword that glistened with a blue fire along the edges – his Valerian sword!

Turning the blade in one direction, then another, the stocky man observed the light playing along the blade. Noticing that his captive was now conscious at his feet he whistled. “This is a real nice piece of work. Bet I could get more than a few credits for this down below.” Jon remained silent, but inside seethed at anybody touching his blade. Nobody, absolutely nobody else held that weapon but himself.

“I have heard stories about these,” the man continued on. “They are meant to be able to cut through anything; convenient that I have you so I can give it a try…” with this he gave Jon a meaningful look before continuing on. “Then I can see how much coin I can get for this beauty.”

Deciding that now would be a good time to intervene before the final act, Jon demanded. “Where is the Princess?”

“She is being entertained,” with this he gave a disgusting leer. “Or should I say that she is entertaining the rest of the crew. You both have a large amount of money on your heads… dead. But shame to waste such an, opportunity. The men and I have never had a real Princess before; we plan on rectifying that, repeatedly, before handing you both back. They only want your head though, so looks like I get to try out this sword to see just how well it cuts,” the mercenary said running his hands along the length of the blade.

Jon had never known absolute heart stopping fear in his life before. Sure, he had faced certain death before, many times, but he had never feared death. Everybody died, sooner or later, and the life expectancy of a fleet Commander was poor, a Praetorian – far shorter. Therefore Jon had long ago resigned himself to a short life and a violent demise. However now he could feel terror racing along his nerve endings, before clamping down around his heart. He forced himself to breathe deeply so to be able to continue to focus, he had to keep calm to get to Sofia and for the first time in his life he prayed, prayed to any God that would listen that he could get to her in time. Thinking desperately of something to anger his captor he finally threw his own words back at him.

“So that’s why you are here? Instead of entertaining the Princess with the rest?” Jon spat back in anger. “The rest of the men worried you were not enough of a man to entertain her? Might embarrass the rest of them? So they sent just you to do the dirty work while they took their turns.” Jon could see that his words were getting to the mercenary as his hand had stilled on the blade and his gaze had turned angry. Deciding that he needed to push harder Jon continued. “What are they worried? That your dick was too small and would not satisfy a real Princess?”

With a roar of rage the mercenary swung the blade that he had been holding back in the air in preparation to strike, he spat out. “I’ll show you that I can satisfy any woman, she’ll be screaming my name, begging me to stop before I have finished with her. As for you, I was going to make this quick and painless but I’ve changed my mind.” With that explanation the mercenary slashed the blade in a downward arc towards the Commander’s unprotected head!

As if time had slowed down, Jon watched the blade descend towards him…but he felt no fear, not of this weapon. The Emperor, Marcus Aurelius had presented the sword to him personally a few years before on his promotion to Commander of the Praetorian Guards. The minute that he felt the blade touch him for the first time, it felt as if a bolt of energy had been transferred from the blade into him. Something seemed to have clicked inside of him, as if part of his soul had been missing his entire life was re-joined. From that day onwards the deadly weapon had never left his side, as if they were now one, a right hand to his left. For a moment Jon considered doing nothing, wondering if the blade would simply bounce off him or even just pass through him. Instead Jon did the only action that he could. He lifted his hands that had been resting on the floor in front of him, still bound, high into the air blocking the incoming blow.

The action was automatic, instinctive, to try and ward off the blow. To be honest Jon had no idea what the result would be. It was therefore hard to tell who was more stunned, when in a shower of sparks the blade cut cleanly through the thick metallic bar that immobilised his hands. Fortunately the blow also mostly cancelled the momentum behind the swing and the blade harmlessly struck the floor in front of Jon’s knees. The mercenary just stared in disbelief, flabbergasted that the blade had cleanly cut through almost three inches of solid metallic restraint.

Jon meanwhile had no time to contemplate the truly miraculous event and instead he struck out at the nearest vulnerable spot on the mercenary. Slamming his clenched fist into the groin of the man, he collapsed to the floor with barely a whimper, stunned senseless at the pain. Quickly, before he lost the initiative, and still bound at the feet, Jon wrapped himself around the fallen mercenary like a python ensnaring its prey. Gripping the mercenary around the throat, Jon squeezed tighter and tighter. The mercenary, suddenly realising the danger, reached up to try and pull the arm from his throat, but Jon’s grip was like a vice. After a minute of frantic struggling the mercenary stopped and fell still, but Jon continued applying pressure to his throat for a few minutes longer until he was completely certain that he was dead.

Praying that he would strike lucky, Jon quickly started to search the body for the keys to the restraints. For once it seemed that luck was on his side as he found the keys in one of the mercenary’s pockets. Quickly releasing himself from the restraints, Jon reached down and picked up the sword from the floor where it had fallen from the mercenaries grip. Examining the blade carefully Jon could see not a sign of the slightest bit of damage, nothing to indicate that only a few minutes before the blade had effortlessly sliced through inches of metal. Taking a few moments to prepare himself for what he was likely to find, Jon took a deep breath, ensuring that he had a firm grip on his weapon he steeled himself for what was about to come next.

*****

With a loud crack, the back of one of the mercenary’s hands cracked again Sofia’s cheek. The blow stunning her and propelling her back onto the bed. With her head spinning from the blow, and only able to see stars she felt the filthy, slimy hand starting to claw painfully at one of her breasts. Part of her mind that could still process rational thought felt detached, as if it was separate from her body, watching events from a distance. Sofia had heard of this happening to others; under extreme stress the mind detached itself from its surroundings to help protect her consciousness. However Sofia had never thought that it would happen to her.

From what seemed like a great distance away she could hear the chime of the door and heard one of the men growl. “It must be Marcel finished with Radec; somebody get the door. I’m busy!” Something inside Sofia died. All that she had been hoping, praying, for during the last half hour was for Jon to appear and save her. She remembered her nightmare. When everything had seemed lost, his sword had appeared in the darkness and had driven away all that could harm her, pushing back the dark to let in the light. However, that was only a dream, reality was far harsher and this time Sofia knew that no sword was going to appear and save her. Wishing for escape from reality into blissful unconsciousness, Sofia managed to open one good eye, the other-one swollen shut, and she tried to focus on the door and possible escape.

However, her exit was blocked by the bulk of one of her captors and she was too far away to hear what words were spoken. A small part of her wondered if there was a life after death, and if she would get the chance to see Jon one last time…

As if a ghost, recently resurrected from the dead, summoned by her final thought; she saw Jon slip past the man blocking the door into the room. A small part of her wondered why the person at the door did not react? Perhaps Jon was a ghost, or a figment of her imagination? A wraith brought back from the dead to avenge her, even in death sworn to protect her… It was so hard to focus, her thoughts continually slipping away…

The captor at the door suddenly collapsed, like a deflated balloon - without any air, he just folded to the floor. Sofia could see a pool of blood start to congregate on the floor, from a red line that intersected his throat.

The room erupted into complete pandemonium, her captors suddenly shouting in alarm, reaching for weapons, knives, anything within reach that they could use to defend themselves… but all to no avail. Jon flew through them like an apparition. Like a wraith - slashing and thrusting. One mercenary, quicker than the rest managed to draw his pistol and fire… but Jon had long since twisted out of his line of fire and like the others, this man fell to the floor, lifeless. The whole sequence of events seemed to be over within a heartbeat. Where initially had stood her captors, her abusers, ready to inflict the ultimate horror upon her, now stood Jon, back from the dead. One side of his face covered in splatters of blood. His or one of her captors’, Sofia had no way to know. Sofia could not utter a word, terrified that if she said anything, that if she even blinked, it would shatter the illusion and her guardian angel would disappear - forever.

Exhausted beyond imagination, but fear and adrenaline fuelling him, Jon stared at the scene before him dispassionately. Jon had no sympathy for those lying at his feet dead. They would not have spared any sympathy for him, or Sofia.

Sofia!

His thoughts, so focused on the battle had not spared an instant to consider her, or her condition. Reluctantly he let his gaze fall upon her, on her back, spread-eagle over the bed. His sight took in her torn dress, exposed breasts, but he did not let his eyes linger, instead focusing his entire being on her face…and eyes. Keeping his sword firmly in the grasp of his hand he swiftly crossed the room, to the side of her bed. Never breaking her gaze he continued to stare into her terrified eyes.

Gently sitting on the edge of the bed, careful not to touch her, he continued to hold her gaze, never once glancing at her exposed body. As he gently touched her pale cheek with his fingertips he asked in a soft, gentle voice. “Sofia, it’s me Jon. I won’t hurt you. I won’t let anybody else hurt you.”

“Jon. Are you real or a ghost?” Sofia asked in a dazed, confused voice.

Jon was confused by the question, guessing that she was in shock. He tried to remove his fingers from her cold flesh, but one of her hands shot out to grasp his hand, keeping it resting on her cheek. “I’m real and I won’t let anybody, or anything hurt you again,” he tried to reassure her. Sofia’s head tried to turn to focus on the bodies, dead on the floor but Jon would not allow it, tightening his grip he instead forced her to focus on him. “They cannot hurt you ever again,” he repeated.

Suddenly reaching out to embrace him tightly, afraid that if she left him go he would disappear, Sofia broke down in tears. In great heaving breaths she tried to explain. “They, they were going to…Oh God.” Jon just continued to hold her tightly. Once her tears had subsided slightly, Jon leaned back to look her in the eye before asking the question that he had been dreading, but desperate to know the answer.

“Sofia, did they, did…” Jon was desperately trying to utter the word rape, but he could just not bring himself to ask the question, so instead he simply inquired, “did they hurt you in any way?”

Sofia just shook her head in response to the question, unable to reply verbally. Jon just held her tighter, wishing that he could protect her from all the ills in the universe, forever.

*****

However, eventually they did have to move. Who else knew that they were there, their captors could have called in reinforcements. Wrapping Sofia in his flight jacket, he quickly bundled her out of the room and through the station. When arriving at the station, Jon had received many envious looks from the men and Sofia jealous looks from their partners. However, this time the stares came for very different reasons. Jon’s spotless white navy uniform was covered in blood and his face splattered with it. He had Sofia in one tight embrace, his other hand tightly clutching his prized sword. Meanwhile Sofia was wrapped in his flight jacket, also smeared in blood, bleeding from a number of scratches to her face, with one eye still swollen shut. The two made a visible impression, stumbling their way back to the shuttle.

Jon had never been so overjoyed upon reaching the ‘Light. Helping Sofia up the entry ramp, Jon ensured that the entrance was firmly sealed once they were back on-board. Lowering Sofia into the copilot seat in the cockpit, as he had no intention of ever letting her out of his sight again, he half collapsed, half fell into the pilot seat. Activating the emergency start-up sequence for the engines, as soon as they reached sufficient power he reoriented the nose of the ‘Light out of the docking bay into deep space before throwing full power into the engines.

It was only when outside the station, pulling away at best possible speed that Jon noticed the communication system light up like a Christmas tree. In his exhaustion and haste he had completely forgotten to request clearance from docking control to depart. Not really caring, as even if they had denied him permission to depart he would have left anyway. Once they were at a safe distance from the station Jon engaged the FTL engines, not really caring what destination was programmed in. Anywhere else was better than their current location. Jon did not allow himself to relax until the ship was safely cocooned in the grey shapeless void of FTL.

Only then did he allow himself to breath easily once again. Turning to face Sofia, he observed her with concerned eyes. She had said nothing since departing the station, and wrapped up within his much larger jacket, staring aimlessly out into space, reminded him of how small and delicate that she was. Touching her gently on the shoulder to try and rouse her, he suggested. “Why don’t you go and get cleaned up?” It seemed to take an age for her eyes to slowly focus on him, but eventually she nodded her head resignedly in agreement. Jon followed behind her, keeping a close eye on her until she finally disappeared into the small washing facilities on the ‘Light. Sighing worriedly, Jon used the time to strip his own blood soaked uniform off, making sure to throw it into the trash disposal system. The last thing he wanted was Sofia to see the blood soaked clothes as another reminder of her terrifyingly close encounter. Changing into a clean flight-suit and using some cloth to wipe clean the blood from his face and sword, he sat back in one of the large cushioned seats to contemplate their next steps.

It seemed like a lifetime later, and Jon was starting to seriously contemplate entering the washroom to check on Sofia, when the door slid open and she stood before him. Like him she had changed into a simple flight-suit, but the black suit did nothing to hide her pale skin, scratches and bruises that dotted her face and neck. Sofia had seemingly aged ten years in the span of a few days. Her lustrous red hair seemed to have lost its shine and was now a rusty colour and her once sparking green eyes now seemed dull and lifeless. Taking a seat next to Jon, for a moment, they remained as if frozen in space and time, neither moving, neither speaking until the silence was broken when Sofia asked quietly.

“What are we going to do now?”

Jon was silent for a few moments; he had been giving the problem serious contemplation while waiting for Sofia and had come up with…nothing. All the Imperial facilities were still out of the question and as their experience on Transcendence demonstrated, civilian facilities were just as dangerous. Tired, exhausted with no idea or plan, Jon just wished to go home and leave all these problems behind him…

“Home!” Jon said aloud, sitting up straighter.

Sofia viewed him with alarm. “We cannot go back to the Imperial Star,” she said, “they have already tried to kill us once…” She let the statement tail off, not wishing to finish it.

“Not your home, my home.”

“You have a home?” Sofia exclaimed, then blushed slightly, realising how that question sounded.

Jon simply smiled at her, glad to see a bit of colour returning to her face. “Where do you think I came from? Manufactured at the nearest Imperial Praetorian cloning facility?” Jon replied indignantly.

“So where do you come from?” Sofia inquired curiously, as she had never given any thought to Jon’s history or family. A clump of something cold and unpleasant landed in the pit of her stomach when it suddenly occurred to her that maybe Jon had somebody waiting for him at home.

“You are going to find out very shortly,” Jon replied with a grin striding towards the cockpit to change their destination.

Chapter Five

Present Day

Transcendence Station, Zeta Aquilae System

Looking out of the cockpit window it seemed that Transcendence Station had not changed much since their last desperate flight here, almost five years before. The port was still a bustling hub of activity with hundreds of ships of all sizes arriving and departing, some from within the system but also many others from other systems that made up the constellation of Aquila. The station acted as the main trade hub for this entire sector and hence anything could be bought… or sold.

Powering down the ships engines, Jon took his time to make sure everything was secure, including drawing a powerful pistol and other items he felt he might need from the ship’s well-stocked armoury. Jon was never going to forget the last disastrous trip to this station. Before disembarking, Jon went to check on the ships newest addition, in the starboard cargo hold. While Jon was no technician, the pod seemed to be intact and had come out of the collision relatively unscathed with ample power remaining. Trying to peer inside the pod to catch a glimpse of the occupant, turned out to be a futile gesture, caused by the heavy condensation from being in space. Jon once again deciding to leave the pod sealed, better-trained personnel back at Terra Nova could open it.

Disembarking from the ship, Jon found the dock master at the bottom of the boarding ramp. He stopped briefly to confirm the docking fee and requested that they refuel the ship for the return journey, stating that he did not plan to stay long. It was also obviously a sign of how far security had degenerated in the system that the dock master did not even blink when asked for replacement ammunition for the guns, instead confirming that the ammunition would be loaded and the cost added to the bill by the time he returned. With that accomplished, Jon strode out of the hanger, hopefully in the direction of the club where he was supposed to be meeting the customer.

*****

Finally arriving at the club, “Ecstasy” a pun on the station name, that Jon was sure was completely missed by 99% of the clientele. Jon was already twenty minutes late for the meeting, having become completely lost in the labyrinth of the station. Jon hated asking directions! You would think, being able to plot a pinpoint course across the Galaxy, he would be able to find one club on the station!

Jon could feel the bass from the speakers when he was still fifty meters from the club; by the time that he reached it the noise had become a living creature. Rattling his teeth and sending vibrations up his spine, by the time it reached his ears it felt like he was being whacked over the head by a mallet. Stepping inside the club, Jon was nearly thrown back out by the wall of sound crashing over him. The customer had chosen this place for a meeting? They would have to negotiate contract details by passing notes backwards and forwards, as it was impossible to hear anything.

Casting his eyes around Jon peered through the dark, smoke filled room; strobe laser lights piercing the gloom, moving in erratic directions. Jon was surprised to note that the club seemed to be separated into two distinct areas, on one side a dance floor with a raised stage, the other half - well-spaced tables with a small scattering of customers, mostly engrossed by the current occupant of the stage. Jon shuddered to a halt as he observed the blond haired beauty, with short-cropped hair and baby blue eyes, gyrating to the music around a pole on the centre of the stage. However, Jon only spared a glance at her eyes, instead raking his eyes along her sleek athletic body, with the short cut-off jeans and white bikini top. Jon had observed women dressed only in underwear that revealed less flesh. As their eyes met across the room, the dancer flashed Jon a sexy grin before turning her back to him, offering Jon a stunning view of her rear.

Biting back a flush, Jon cursed himself. He had been far too long without female companionship. To distract himself he scanned the room for his customer. Jon was finally able to locate his client via his white hair. The profile that he had been supplied with put him at a little under forty years of age, so Jon assumed it was caused by a genetic condition and not simply by number of years. Unless of course he had a similar lifestyle to Jon! Having spent most of his life, avoiding people trying to violently kill him, he certainly felt that his hair was becoming white prematurely!

Sliding into the table opposite his client Jon eyed the man carefully and his dismay grew. Beneath the mop of white hair was a pale face with dark eyes that showed too many sleepless nights and stress. The worn and torn jumpsuit that he wore seemed to hang from his emaciated frame; all seemed to indicate a person going through a low ebb in his life. Jon was also drawn to the weapon that was hanging from a belt at his waist. While there was nothing illegal about carrying personal weaponry it was unusual enough on a civilian station like Transcendence to draw more than one raised eyebrow. At least it was still attached to his belt and not in his hand, a good sign to start a meeting…

“You know, you do not look like one of our usual clients,” Jon yelled to be heard above the noise, voicing his suspicion as he slid into the seat opposite. Keeping one hand close to his pistol.

“Oh? What does your usual client look like?” The stranger replied leaning forward so as to be heard, his voice much lighter and his eyes twinkling with hidden laughter. It was obvious that he was much younger than his worn craggy features seemed to indicate.

“Oh I don’t know,” Jon replied. “Rich? Our usual clientele don’t look starved, haven’t slept in a couple of days and just escaped from a gunfight.” He motioned to the customer’s weapon, now mostly hidden under the table. “In addition,” Jon continued. “Our clients usually have…money. Which is something I am going to hazard a guess that you do not have much of?”

“I must apologise for the subterfuge,” he said reaching across the table to offer his hand; Jon assumed the other was still resting on his weapon. “My name is…Snow.” He made a faint wave of his hand towards his hair.

“Your mother gave you that name… or did you grow into it?” Jon asked suspiciously. Snow was taken aback for a moment before he let out a roar of laughter. “That’s very good!” He replied. “I have never heard that one before and no, Snow is not my original name but it’s one that is… convenient at the moment”.

“So what can I do for you Mr Snow?” Jon got back down to business. “I assume you are not interested in the logistics side of my business?” He asked resignedly. It was obviously not going to be one of his better days, what with the threats from the Syndicate, the attempt on his life and now this…

He looking around furtively to make sure that nobody could overhear their conversation, although Jon was fairly sure that was guaranteed, as he was sitting only a few feet away, with the two of them shouting at the top of their voices simply to be heard over the music. Snow leaned forward and in a quiet whisper, Jon straining to hear, stated. “I bring a warning to you, a warning that you need to pass on to the very highest echelon of the Confederation. A warning of a dire threat to the future of the entire Confederation!”

Glancing around to ensure that nobody could overhear his response, Jon leant closer and in an even quieter voice replied. “I think you have the wrong table. Are you sure you don’t want the one in the corner? He definitely looks like the conspiracy type to me!” With a laugh Jon pushed back his seat and prepared to depart from this wasted trip.

With surprising speed Snow caught his wrist in a firm grip and hissed, “I know who you really are Commander Radec. I know how you took command of the 37th during the retreat at Lalande. How the Emperor promoted you, personally, to command the 58th Squadron, the youngest Commander in the history of the fleet.” Jon froze in shock at hearing this; the events he described seemed like another life. A younger more ambitious man before his entire world had come crushing down leaving almost nothing.

“I am sorry,” Jon replied continuing to push away. “I don’t know whom you are talking about.”

Snow however, would not be quietened and continued. “I know your past and more importantly I know that you are respected in the Confederation. You can take this warning to the Senate and they must listen, more importantly she will listen…”

However, whatever he was going to say next was lost in the sound of weapons fire. A bolt from a pulse rifle went flying past with a crackle, missing Jon by inches. Snow however, was not so fortunate, as the bolt of energy hit Snow on the shoulder spinning him around and against the table. Fortunately, the fall probably saved his life, as three more beams of energy intersected where he had been sitting, moments earlier.

Having been on a knife-edge ever since the ambush at the asteroid belt, Jon did not pause for an instant as he used his momentum to shove the table over and dive behind it, pulling Snow behind him. This was helped by the fact that Snow was already on the floor cradling his shoulder. Once he was sure that both were behind cover Jon reached for his pistol, flipping the safety off and peering around the edge of the table to try and locate their attackers.

However, in the smoke filled gloom Jon could see little. It would seem that their attackers had a much better idea of their location; as Jon had to duck back behind the table quickly as half a dozen more shots impacted the table only inches from his head!

Looking over at Snow, he noticed that the other man had managed to get his weapon free with his left hand; obviously the damage to his shoulder had incapacitated his right arm. Meanwhile Jon observed the other occupants of the club hurriedly diving for cover; trying to take shelter from the energy bolts filling the air… all except one.

Biting back a curse, Jon observed the blond dancer that he had locked gazes with earlier, frozen motionless on the stage a couple of feet away. Cursing, Jon rolled out from behind the cover offered by the upturned table until he was lying next to the raised stage. Moving quickly he caught the young woman’s wrist in a firm grip. With a sharp tug, and a startled cry from her, he pulled her off the stage into his arms. Three quick strides would have brought them back behind the table. Unfortunately they were still one stride short when two lucky shots caught Jon in the side, sending both Jon and the woman spinning to the floor, fortunately momentum continued to propel them back behind the temporary safety of the upturned table. A quick glance in her direction confirmed that she was unhurt. Jon meanwhile inspected the two holes in his flight jacket with disbelief! That had been his favourite jacket!

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you to duck and cover, when the shooting starts?” Jon growled at the woman. However, the confused expression on her face and cupping her ear demonstrated that she could not hear what he had said over the music and gunfire.

Growling in frustration Jon released the heavy pistol that he had been carrying and quickly sighting down the long barrel, squeezed the trigger twice, in quick succession. Two men that had been carrying pulse rifles, obviously trying to outflank, them, flew backwards. Twisting the pistol in the direction of the source of the endless music Jon squeezed the trigger once again, this time sending a volley of gunfire in the direction of the speakers, which mercifully fell silent a moment later.

“Thank the Maker,” Jon exclaimed. “I can finally hear myself think. Friends of yours?” He shouted at Snow above the sounds of weapons fire.

“Could be,” Snow replied. “Unless it is anybody that you recognise?” In response Jon stuck his pistol around the edge of the table and fired off half a dozen shots, in what he could only hope was the direction of their attackers.

“Could be,” Jon responded, throwing Snow’s own words back at him. Jon would not put it past the Syndicate to have another team on the station in case their first attempt at the asteroid belt failed. Peering around the table Jon noticed movement towards their position, from the other side of the room. Quickly pulling the trigger on his heavy pistol, it thundered twice and a shadow dropped to the floor - motionless.

“Friend of yours?” Snow inquired, gesturing with his pistol at the young, scantly clad, woman lying half underneath Jon, who he had been trying to shield with the bulk of his body.

“We’ve only just met,” Jon replied drolly. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you to duck and cover, when the shooting starts?” he repeated the question that he asked earlier, which she could not hear due to the music and shooting.

Looking up at Jon with wide, innocent, doe-eyes she cooed, “No, but my mother always told me to look out for tall, dark, handsome, heroes. I’m Felicity, what’s your name stranger?” she asked, running her hand suggestively down Jon’s chest.

“Duck,” Jon insisted.

“Duck?”

“Yes, duck!” Jon pushed her back down, his pistol blasting away at the indistinct shape trying to manoeuvre for a better shot.

Snow glanced at the bulky pistol before checking for any further motion on the other side of the room. “You often carry an antique around for protection?” he asked conversationally motioning towards the much more sleek and compact energy pistol in his own hand.

“I have a particular fondness for this one,” Jon replied in an equal tone, switching the firing selector on the pistol from single shot to automatic. Reaching over their barricade and sighting in the direction of the source of the incoming fire he depressed the trigger. The rolling thunder of gunfire was loud enough to deafen the attackers by itself – without the additional carnage of the heavy calibre bullets shredding tables, chairs and bodies. After the clip ran dry, for a brief moment, there was complete silence in the bar, aside from the sound of the empty shell cases hitting the floor. The gunfire soon resumed however, but much less intensely.

“Impressive,” Snow commented glancing once again at the pistol.

“Indeed,” Jon agreed. “The disadvantage being that this is my last clip. I think that it is time for us to leave,” Jon explained, ejecting the empty clip and inserting a fresh magazine. Snow raised an eyebrow at this comment and pointed to the other side of the barricade.

“I could not agree with you more, however after your last impressive volley I do not think they are in the mood for a by-your-leave…” A particularly heavy volley of laser fire hitting their rapidly diminishing barricade punctuated that last point.

“Agreed,” Jon said pulling out a flat grenade from his coat pocket. “I thought we would give them a departing present”.

Snow eyed the grenade carefully before replying. “We are not that far from the outer hull, if that causes a hull breach we are all going to end up floating in space.”

“That’s why this is not an explosive,” Jon explained. “A friend designed these babies based on an old concept called a “Flash Bang”, it makes a bright light and incapacitating noise but no explosion. Perfect for use on ships and stations.”

“Eyes closed,” Jon directed this instruction at Felicity, prizing one of her hands away from him that had been drifting lower. “Cover your ears,” he instructed.

“I don’t think I have thanked you properly for saving my life earlier,” she instead replied, and before Jon could assure her that it was no problem she aggressively leaned forward to press her lips firmly against his. Taken aback by the brazen move, Jon was stunned into immobility as he felt her soft lips pressed against his. His arms unconsciously went around her, enjoying the feel of her warm, endless flesh. Forgetting about their current precarious situation for a moment, Jon was brought back to reality with a bump by the cough from Snow next to him.

“Sorry, am I interrupting, a moment?” Snow asked sardonically.

Prising his lips from hers, gently, but firmly, he disentangled himself from Felicity’s grasp. “Stay here, you’ll be safe, and by the Maker keep your head down this time,” Jon whispered to her. He allowed himself a moment longer to gaze into her eyes, once again reminding himself how long he had been alone. However, it was not Felicity that he so desperately desired. He wondered what it was about being human that you always desired the one thing most that you could never have….

Pulling the pin on the grenade Jon rolled it in the direction of the remaining attackers before ducking back behind their makeshift barricade. A few seconds later a blinding light and deafening roar signalled the detonation of the device. Grabbing Snow by his good shoulder he pulled him towards the exit, trying to keep low to avoid the now seemingly random weapons fire.

Managing to make it out of the club relatively unscathed, Jon directed them down a side corridor, quickly shoving their weapons inside the deep pockets of his coat. Snow seemed to be in a bad way. A quick glance at his shoulder, Jon could tell it was a severe wound. The pale face and glazed look in his eyes and the slowly increasing weight was a clear indication that Snow was starting to lose consciousness.

Lying Snow down, as gently as possible, Jon leaned him against the bulkhead of the corridor and checked for a pulse. It was intermittent and weak. Slowly reaching into his pocket Snow took out a small data chip and dropped it into Jon’s hand.

“Get this to the Confederation,” Snow wheezed weakly. “They must be warned of the threat; you must tell the…” however before he could finish the sentence his eyes closed for the last time and Jon was unable to find a pulse.

Looking from the data chip in his hand to the body of Snow lying against the corridor, Jon shook his head in disbelief at how badly this day had gone. Carefully slipping the data chip into his pocket Jon set off quickly for the hanger containing the ‘Light.

*****

In double quick time Jon arrived back at the ‘Light. The dock master was already approaching as Jon stepped carefully into the hanger. Eyes darting around looking for anything or anyone out of place.

“I hope that sir had a profitable stay at Transcendence?” The dock master inquired, with the sort of artificially upbeat tone of voice that was just begging for a significant sized tip.

Not noticing anything out of the ordinary, Jon replied distractedly. “Could have gone better. By the way, has anybody been asking around for me?”

“I don’t believe so sir,” handing Jon the electronic pad detailing the docking fee and any repair and resupply costs. “If I could also recommend our premium VIP membership plan that includes a free service…” he was abruptly cut off as Jon shoved the pad back into his hands with his authorisation for payment and a ridiculously astronomical tip, the dock master’s eyes widened in shock when he saw the size of the tip.

“Why don’t you go and have a chat with departure control?” Jon suggested. “While I start the pre-flight checks. Explain to them how I urgently need to be about my business and absolutely need to have a departure slot immediately.” The dock master nodded his head in understanding and quickly scurried out of the hanger before Jon changed his mind.

Heading straight to the cockpit of the ‘Light Jon sealed the ship and immediately triggered the hanger decompression cycle. He then carried out a rapidly reduced pre-flight checklist which mostly involved getting the engines started as quickly as possible and the hell off of this station. It would seem that his second ever visit to Transcendence was going to fare little better than the first.

With a new record for departure clearance authorised, Jon pushed the engines to full power and quickly exited the station much to the shouts of anger across the communications from departure control reminding him that he should only engage main engines when at least three kilometres from the station. However, by then the station was a rapidly dwindling dot on the aft sensors and the way his last two visits had been concluded, Jon was in no rush to return for a third.

After at least half a dozen random course corrections to throw off any possible pursuit, Jon finally set-in a course for Terra Nova, at maximum possible speed. He spent the majority of the trip considering the possible contents of the data chip in his pocket.

*****

With a slight hiss of gas the pressure equalised between the ‘Light and Terra Nova and the airlock slid open to reveal the concerned face of Paul.

“You’re long overdue. Were there any problems with the client?” Paul asked anxiously, giving Jon a careful once over to ensure that he was uninjured.

“Nothing that I couldn’t handle,” Jon replied noncommittally. “Can you get a team down to the starboard cargo bay? There is a pod there that I brought on-board. Check it out to make sure that it’s secure before transporting it to medical before defrosting the occupant.” Jon continued on, while making his way to his quarters. He was in desperate need of a shower!

“A pod?” Paul asked in confusion “Where did you find that?”

“Out near the outer asteroid belt, midway to Transcendence.”

“What was it doing all the way out there? How long had it been out-there?” Paul asked, confused.

“Not long… I would say only about ten minutes after I blew up the owner’s fighter,” Jon concluded, stepping into his apartment as the door slid shut on Paul’s astonished face. A moment later the door re-opened, only for Jon to stick his head out. “Oh, almost forgot,” he said tossing the data-chip from his pocket to his startled operations chief. “Ask one of our computer geeks from engineering to have a look at that can you?”

Paul looked at the data chip carefully. “What is on it?” he inquired.

“No idea,” Jon replied with a smirk. “The guy that gave it to me was shot before he had a chance to explain. Said something about a conspiracy to overthrow the Confederation, end of civilisation as we know it… you know, the usual.” With that the door slid shut on his now completely aghast operations chief.

“So all around a productive trip,” Paul commented aloud, to the now empty corridor, heading off to the command centre to find somebody to defrost the stations newest occupant and to find somebody else to decode the data on the chip.

*****

With a sudden gasp Miranda came to full consciousness, blinking away the bright, white light. The last thing that she remembered was the asteroid exploding into a million fragments and reaching for the ejection handle, beyond that was nothing… but darkness.

Slowly her eyes adjusted to the bright light and she noticed a face peering down at her with an impish smile.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, miss. I am sure you must be somewhat disoriented but I will be happy to answer any questions that you might have. Excuse my manners, I am Doctor Richardson, chief flight surgeon, but you can just call me Neil,” at this he seemed to chuckle at his own joke. “You are currently on Terra Nova. You were brought here after ejecting from your ship in the outer asteroid belt of the system,” Richardson concluded his brief, congratulations-on-still-being-alive speech.

Slowly awareness started to come back to Miranda along with her short-term memory of the incident in the belt. Abruptly sitting up, she glanced around, observing the medical bay. She seemed to be the only patient at the moment, as the rest of the beds were empty. The Doctor and a few medical technicians were bustling about around her. She noticed in the corner of the room, her now empty escape pod and winced internally. Mallart was not going to react well at the destruction of her incredibly expensive ship!

Now that she was back where she started, Miranda realised that she had better make good her escape! Now that she was conscious and before any more guards arrived! As she was preparing to make a flying leap towards the exit, Miranda suddenly stopped. Quickly checking beneath the sheet that covered her, she was naked! She looked at the doctor with an outraged expression.

Noticing her expression the doctor explained. “We had to cut you out of the flight-suit before we could resuscitate you. Not to mention fixing the numerous stress fractures in your wrist and shoulder,” the Doctor punctuated each area with a jab of his finger. She was feeling slightly sheepish at her response. Of course they would have had to undress her to revive her.

Meanwhile the doctor continued softly. “I’ll go and see if I can find you some clothes that fit, my daughter is about your size”. It was only then that Miranda noticed the greying hair with white at the edges and wrinkles on his hand and face. While the Doctor seemed very fit and energetic he was far older than her. With an embarrassed blush Miranda could only nod her head in thanks and wrap the white sheet closer around herself.

Her internal musings were suddenly interrupted by the sound of the door sliding open and two gentlemen entered, both engaged in a heated conversation, which abruptly stopped when the younger of the two swung his gaze around to focus on Miranda. His mouth dropped open in shock!

Having been woken from a light sleep by the intercom informing him that the pilot had regained consciousness, Jon and Paul were discussing how best to interrogate the pilot to find out the latest intelligence on the activities of the Syndicate in the system! While not advocating torture, Jon had been actively proposing making the pilots life incredibly uncomfortable during his stay on the station - after all he had been doing his very best to cut Jon’s life abruptly short only hours before!

Having the preconceived notion of a dangerous cutthroat pirate that would happily kill for money, Jon was completely speechless on seeing the young, beautiful, raven-haired woman, wrapped in nothing but a white sheet. After all Jon could see a fair amount of flesh protruding from the sheet! Meanwhile the young pilot was blushing slightly, obviously from something the doctor had said. Jon was very curious to observe the blush spreading from her cheek, along the length of her neck, down underneath the thin sheet.

He gave a disbelieving look at Paul, who was trying hard, but failing miserably to suppress his laughter. He knew! While Jon had been plotting days of sleep deprivation, minimal rations and hard labour his operations chief had known all along who the pilot was!

Bastard! Jon thought peeved, making a note to find some highly demeaning chore for his friend in the near future, before turning back to the raven-haired beauty sitting draped in a sheet, eying the two of them inquisitively.

Putting on what he hoped was a sincere smile Jon introduced himself. “Hi, my name is Jonathan Radec, but my friends just call me Jon, this is my chief of operations, Paul Harrington. Welcome to Terra Nova. How are you feeling?”

Having recognised the face from the intelligence file supplied by the Syndicate, Miranda took a moment to study the person in the flesh in more detail; she had never expected to meet him in person! He was just a mission, another threat to the Syndicate that had to be removed. However, the first thing that she noticed when observing him in person is that he seemed younger than he looked, remembering that according to his file, he was in his mid-thirties. He obviously stayed active, and his athletic frame, dark hair and grey eyes made him appear much younger.

Realising that she had been staring for too long, she motioned towards the doctor commenting, “The Doctor was just telling me that aside from a few bumps and bruises I am perfectly fine and was free to leave.”

Jon glanced at the doctor to confirm what she was saying.

“Indeed,” the Doctor confirmed. “She should make a full recovery. However, any dizziness or any other symptoms and I want you to report straight back to medical! Your body has been through an incredible strain and it needs time to fully recover. No physical exertion, hear me? Take it easy for the next few days.” With that firm warning the Doctor departed to find her a spare pair of clothes.

Turning back to the two men Miranda inquired, “When will I be able to leave?” Jon glanced towards Paul inquiringly, however he just replied with a noncommittal shrug.

“Well…” Jon replied. “We have been trying to get in contact with the Magistratus from the Chamber of Commerce, Business and shipping, but so far they have not acknowledged any missing pilots but they did agree to make further inquiries and get back to us when they can.”

Miranda groaned under her breath, it was obviously too much to hope for that the Syndicate were just going to send somebody to pick her up. “So you are just going to keep me here, as a prisoner?” Miranda demanded angrily.

Jon tried hard to suppress a smile. It seemed that this girl had some fire in her. “Well there is the small matter of you trying to destroy my ship, kill me…” Jon continued with a twinkle in his eye, knowing that this was likely to inflame the young woman further.

“Destroy your ship!” Miranda retorted angrier still. “You destroyed my ship with that crazy asteroid stunt of yours,” she shouted. Almost losing her grip on the sheet, much to Jon’s delight.

“Anyway,” Jon continued. “You are free to leave the station anytime you wish, however I believe that the next scheduled freighter to Transcendence, where you could find ongoing passage is…” Jon glanced at Paul inquiringly.

“About six weeks,” Paul responded with a completely straight face.

Miranda just cursed with rage.

“I’ll leave you to get dressed then, see you around,” Jon concluded the conversation with a huge smile. With that he left with Paul following close behind.

Miranda was left cursing the day she had ever heard his name.

*****

The moment that the door to medical slid shut, Paul leaned against the corridor, laughing his ass off. “Oh, to see the look on your face when you walked in,” Paul crooned. “If only I had a camera so I could store that look for future posterity… and blackmail,” Paul laughed.

Jon only shot Paul a dirty look before replying, “I’m fairly sure that it says somewhere that I am in charge…doesn’t that mean I can fire your ass?”

Paul only laughed louder. “So I assume we are going to forgo the rack and thumbscrews?” Paul inquired. “Perhaps a dozen red roses and a box of chocolates instead?” Paul asked with another laugh.

Jon just scowled and marched off in a huff with the parting order. “When she is ready send her to my office.”

“Is that before or after we find her some clothes?” Paul called after his departing boss with a laugh.

Jon only scowled deeper and lengthened his stride, disappearing round the corner.

“Aghh… to be a fly on the wall during that meeting,” Paul commented aloud before turning back to the medical bay to check that the Doctor had managed to rustle up some clothes. Upon re-entering medical Paul was surprised to note that the young pilot had disappeared from the bed, sheet included. Glancing around frantically, worried that he had already lost her, he was about to call for security when he noticed the Doctor tilt his head towards one of the small offices branching off from the main sickbay area. He assumed that she was getting changed into something more appropriate and hopefully less revealing! Even Paul had not failed to notice the beautiful pilot. He approached the Doctor to inquire about her state, again trying to suppress a laugh at the expression on Jon’s face.

The Doctor, upon noticing the smile, inquired. “Some joke that I am missing out on?”

“Oh,” Paul replied. “I was just remembering the expression on Jon’s face when he noticed our latest addition,” Paul waved a hand in the direction of the office where Miranda was getting dressed.

“Ah,” the Doctor replied with a smile of his own. “I assume that you did not inform our enigmatic leader in advance that my latest patient is of the young, female and very attractive persuasion?”

“Are you joking?” Paul exclaimed. “And miss that opportunity. No way! Anyway, Jon was discussing all the ways that he was planning on getting his revenge against the pilot who dared scratch his baby. He would not let me get a word in edgeways.”

“Yes, I heard from some of my staff about the Commander’s adventure on Transcendence. Honestly he seems to spend so much time in here that I am considering allocating him a bed on a permanent basis.”

With the Doctors reference to Jon’s continual close brush with death a lot of the good humour left Paul’s expression and he turned thoughtful. “You have known Jon longer than anybody… it seems sometimes that he carries the fate of the world on his shoulders.”

“I assume you are referring to our dear leader’s single handed mission to save the Galaxy from… itself?” the Doctor inquired in a cynical tone.

“It’s more than that,” Paul tried to explain. “He is an outstanding leader, probably the best pilot I have ever seen and I think the crew would follow him into the mouth of hell and back without question, but the responsibility of command seems to sit on his shoulders like the weight of the world. Every ship we lose to these pirates, every crewmember that does not come back, he takes as a personal loss, that he failed to do a good enough job… To be honest Doc, I was rather hoping that our latest additional to the station might help distract him…”

“I see,” the Doctor replied. “Well I must to confess to having quite a shock myself upon opening that pod. It reminded me of that Old Earth story that I used to read to my daughter, ‘Sleeping Beauty’, unconscious there in the pod. She looked like she was waiting for a prince to wake her up. Perhaps I should have waited for Jon to revive her,” the Doctor said with a laugh.

“Seriously Doc, how is she?” Paul asked in a more serious tone. The Doctor turned back to the data pad and brought up the results of her previous scan.

“Generally she is in pretty good health. She had a number of stress cracks, probably caused by the huge acceleration of the ejection, not unusual in cases like this. I have repaired this damage and her bone density should now be as good as new. In addition she had a few other factures, which had not healed well, which I also repaired. Along with being a little malnourished. I have given her an injection of trace vitamins and minerals. She could do with a few good meals.” Checking to ensure that the young woman was still getting changed he added with a grin. “Perhaps the Commander could assist with that… following that she should be back to perfect health. It would seem that she has not had an easy life,” the Doctor frowned. “A number of poorly healed fractures, cuts, scars and being malnourished seems to suggest wherever she has been has not been easy.”

“They should make a perfect couple then considering all the scrapes that Jon manages to get in,” Paul quipped, but was interrupted by the sound of the door sliding open and Miranda eyeing the two of then warily.

“What was that about the Commander?” Miranda asked suspiciously.

“I was just referring to Jon,” Paul replied easily. “As the chief executive of the company and the owner of Terra Nova everyone just refers to him as the Commander; it’s easier,” he explained. “Talking of which he asked me to escort you to his office when you had finished getting dressed.” Observing that she had now changed into a pair of dark form fitting slacks and matching shirt he motioned her towards the exit of sickbay. Following behind her as they departed sickbay Paul let his eyesight slowly drift lower.

What a great posterior, Paul thought to himself. If I was a couple of years young and not already married…

*****

On the way towards Jon’s office Miranda slowed down to be able to walk abreast of Paul in a clear indication that she wanted to discuss something with him. Realising that he still did not know her name Paul introduced himself.

“By the way I am Paul Harrington, operations chief for Vanguard and second in command of Terra Nova.” Glancing at Miranda who remained stubbornly silent Paul rolled his eyes and enquired, “and you are…?”

“Miranda,” she replied succinctly.

With a grin Paul replied, “Well nice to meet you Miss Miranda.” She gave him an angry glare, which made Paul grin even more. Grinding her teeth in frustration Miranda remained silent.

Having been married for over ten years Paul had a feeling that she wanted to ask something so he remained silent and started counting in his head.

One.

Two.

Three.

“So where did the Commander get his ship?”

Paul smirked and thought, works every time. “Which ship?” he inquired, deciding to try and keep the conversation going and see if he could get Miranda to open up a little. “Vanguard owns quite a number.”

“The one that he was flying when I… I mean the one that he picked me up in,” Miranda corrected her oversight quickly. Probably not a good idea going around admitting to everybody that she had been trying her hardest to kill their boss, Miranda considered.

“You mean the Eternal Light?” Paul replied. “That is a long story but I suppose you could say that he kind of stole it.”

Miranda looked up in shock, it was obviously not the sort of answer that she had been expecting. “He stole it!” she exclaimed.

“Well…” Paul backtracked a little. “You need to ask Jon for all the details but basically the ship belonged to the Imperial Navy, it was assigned to Jon so that he could transport some very important… cargo.” It was obvious that Paul was choosing his words carefully. “The Navy decided soon after that they wanted the cargo back to… dispose of. Anyway Jon had no intention of returning the cargo knowing full well what they had in mind for it. Hence he kept the ship… and the cargo. Well at least Jon managed to keep hold of the ship but not the cargo.” He laughed at his obviously personal joke.

“You have known the Commander long?” Miranda inquired, getting caught up in Paul’s retelling of the story. When she had first seen the ship she had detested its owner, Radec, assuming that unlike her, he had been born with money and given every privilege in life. She had assumed, wrongly obviously, that he had paid a small fortune to either have the ship built or to buy it from its previous owner. However, with Paul’s retelling of the story she realised that maybe they were not so different after all, both put in impossible situations with few options to choose from. Paul had also piqued her interest regarding the cargo, what could have been so important for Jon to refuse to return it? It was obvious that Paul was not going to elaborate, so she made a mental note to ask Jon about it later.

Shaking her head in disbelief Miranda realised that she was already subconsciously referring to the enigmatic Commander by his first name. She had been trying to kill him barely 24 hours before! However the more she found out about him the more of a mystery he seemed to become… how wrong the Syndicate intelligence had been! She was so caught up in her internal deliberations regarding the Commander that she almost walked into the back of Paul! He had stopped in front of a door that Miranda assumed was an office. Taking a deep breath she prepared for her next encounter with the enigmatic station Commander…

*****

A chime interrupted Jon’s concentration, notifying him of the arrival of Paul and the young pilot, as he was reviewing the latest company shipping manifests. It suddenly occurred to him that he did not even know the name of the young pilot. He made a note to ask, before calling out, “Enter!”

The door smoothly slid open to reveal Paul and the young pilot following closely behind.

Ushering her into Jon’s office, Paul stated with a smirk. “Miss. Miranda, as requested.”

Looking up in puzzlement Jon was about to inquire if that was her first, last, middle name or just a nickname when Miranda interjected in a frustrated tone.

“My name is Miranda, just Miranda.”

Paul responded with a quick grin, “Well nice talking with you, just Miranda,” he said before disappearing back through the door which slid shut behind him.

Glancing around the room curiously, Miranda’s sight was quickly drawn to the large expanse of endless space on the left side of the office. It was difficult to miss a gaping hole in the hull of a space station. Jon watched curiously to see how she would react; generally people reacted in two ways, either to note the expanse and then ignore it and try to put it out of their mind for the rest of the meeting, or to react violently and take a number of steps away. Jon was curious to see how she would react.

Taking a few steps closer to the void Miranda reached out her hand tentatively until she touched the surface of the energy barrier, and then much as Paul had the day before ran her fingers across the field watching the play of ripples in the energy field, fascinated. Jon suppressed a smile as if she had passed some secret test.

“You have an aversion to windows?” Miranda inquired continuing to run her fingers across the barrier, bewitched. “I hope you don’t have any fluctuations in your power grid,” she commented.

“Not recently,” Jon replied with a grin, before motioning her to take a seat across the desk from himself. Leaning back in his chair Jon took a moment to just stare at her unabashedly, she was certainly an enigma and the very last thing he was expecting when he had brought the pod aboard the ‘Light.

Meanwhile Miranda was becoming very uncomfortable with his steady gaze, and breaking eye contact asked, “Well now that you have me here, what are you going to do with me?”

Tapping his fingers on the desk for a few moments Jon replied. “It is less what I want with you and more what I should do with you. I need to know that you are not a risk to this station or any of my crew.”

Miranda noted that he did not include himself in the list.

“My head of security wants me to throw you in the brig and leave you there until somebody from the Syndicate decides to come and get you. It could be a long wait,” Jon pointed out.

Miranda held her breath not saying anything but internally she was in agreement. It was possible that the Syndicate would never acknowledge her, especially as she had failed and lost their ship in the process. The Syndicate did not regard failure lightly.

“However, to be frank, we do not have the personnel or the resources to confine anybody for an indefinite period of time. Hence the more extreme suggestion from my head of security…” Jon dipped his head in the direction of the gaping void and the infinity of space beyond… Jon let the last statement hang in the air for a moment before proceeding. “However, I am not a merciless killer so I come back to my original question of what I should do with you. My earlier offer still stands, you are welcome to leave the station at any time. Unfortunately it is several weeks before the next freighter leaves for Transcendence. Which still leaves me with the question…are you a risk to this station or any of its crew?” Staring at Miranda for a few moments longer Jon reached into a draw behind his desk and withdrew an energy pistol that he kept there for emergencies.

Miranda noticed the pistol immediately and tensed. Jon was too far away for her to make a grasp for the weapon, and the exit was several meters away. She would be killed outright, long before she reached the exit. Always knowing that it was possible that her life would end in such a manner Miranda sat waiting for the fatal shot.

She almost died anyway! The shock of the pistol being casually tossed onto her lap almost gave her a heart attack. She looked up in disbelief from the pistol to her antagonist still sitting casually behind his desk. Delicately, as if handling a venomous snake, Miranda carefully picked up the pistol, a quick glance confirmed that it seemed fully charged and ready to fire its deadly load with one quick squeeze of the trigger. Casting an inquiring look across the desk, she uttered the first word that came to mind, “Why?”

Leaning back slightly in his chair, Jon replied. “I need to know that I can trust you with the safety of my crew and my station, therefore I give you the opportunity to complete the task that I know you were sent to do. Better to put just one life, my life, in your hands than to risk the lives of my crew or station. So here is your opportunity to finish what you started.” Jon gestured to the weapon in her hands.

Miranda was speechless, for the first time having no idea what to do or say, instead she just stared at the deadly weapon in her hands uncomprehendingly. True, she had been tasked, only days before, with the destruction of him and his ship, a mission with a target and she had tried her very best to complete it, but that was one thing, impersonal, but to sit in front of that person, to kill him in cold blood, to murder him… Miranda had always considered herself a pilot first and foremost. Sure, she had destroyed other ships before, often with little or no warning; she had done what was ordered of her, but a murder? No, Miranda had never thought of herself as a murderer before.

Recognising her indecision Jon leaned forward and with an intense stare explained, “I have faced death many times, in many different situations. I have stared down the barrel of a gun on countless occasions and I have observed the people holding that weapon. Some were scared, terrified of having to pull the trigger. Others were seasoned killers, merciless, they would not give a second thought to pulling the trigger and when facing those I knew that my death was for certain. However, I look at you and I do not see the face of a merciless killer. I recognise that you have had to do some unpleasant things in the past; you had few choices, but a killer? A murderer? No. When I look at you I do not see that in your eyes, I don’t think you could pick up that weapon and shoot me in cold blood any more than I could have shot you.” Jon let his voice fade away quietly and remained still, waiting to see what her reaction was, if he had misjudged her…

With a last uncomprehending look at the weapon in her hand, Miranda delicately put it back on the table and pushed it a short distance away. A clear indication that she wanted nothing to do with it. Purposefully avoiding his gaze, she once again stared out of the window, recognising a faint object docked to the station, remembering her earlier question she asked. “Tell me about your ship.”

Recognising the change in topic for what it was, Jon relaxed slightly, leaning back in his chair he replied. “The Eternal Light? She is my life… or probably better to say that she is all that remains of my old life.”

“You were in the Imperial Navy?” Miranda inquired. “Paul told me that you stole the ship, was that true?” A part of her desperately wanted to believe that what Paul told her was the truth, to be able to relate to another person, to understand that somewhere else, someone who had achieved so much more than her, had once been in the same situation, with few choices, none good.

“Stole the Eternal Light?” Jon replied with a grin. Miranda’s heart sank. “I would describe it more as a loan, but they sure wanted her back, they sent seven squadrons, over eighty fighters, the full fighter complement of an Imperial Task Force to ensure that we returned, or at the very least, ensure that we could not escape.”

“How did you manage to escape?” Miranda asked in disbelief. While she had never seen an Imperial task force in actual life - such a fleet would never be dispatched to a fringe system in the Confederation - she had seen a holovideo of one as a child and had been in awe.

“My squadron managed to hold them off long enough for the Eternal Light and me to escape into FTL,” Jon replied lost deep in the past. “It was a suicide mission, as they were each out gunned many times over, but they managed to hold off the other fighters long enough for the Eternal Light to escape the planetary gravity well and make it into FTL,” Jon explained, pride in his voice. Clouded with the sadness of the loss of so many friends and colleagues. However, Jon knew that if the situation had been reversed, if he had been flying as he would normally have, as leader of the squadron, he would have done nothing different and died proud knowing that his death brought enough time for the Eternal Light to have escaped.

“I did not realise that you were a pilot in the Imperial Navy,” Miranda replied. Subdued at the story that Jon had recited, of so many pilots sacrificing their lives so the man across from her could be here today.

“I resigned my commission soon after…” Jon replied, still lost in the past. “The Imperial Navy was disbanded soon after the announcement of the supposed death of Emperor Aurelius and the establishment of the Confederation. I had few ties and little regard for the Confederation hence decided to go into business for myself,” Jon waved at the office around them. “This used to be an old Imperial Navy repair & resupply station; it was mothballed by the Confederation and was transferred to me upon my request, as thanks for service rendered.”

Miranda almost choked at that, what could this man possibly have done to be given an entire space station as thanks for ‘service rendered’? Miranda could not even contemplate the worth of such a facility, easily running into the hundreds of millions of credits. Suddenly something Jon said leapt out at her. “What do you mean the announcement of the supposed death of the Emperor?” Jon considered the young woman in front of him thoughtfully for a few minutes; he had never given voice to these thoughts before, not even to Paul who he considered almost family.

“Emperor Aurelius, Marcus…” it had been many years since he had referred to him by his first name and it felt foreign to his tongue. “He knew that something was coming, he confided in me only a short while before the announcement of his death and the start of the Separatist Civil War. I cannot believe that he did not have some plan or strategy already in place. He had secrets that even I was not privy to. There was never any body produced. I cannot believe he is dead until I see his body with my own eyes.”

Miranda meanwhile was spellbound, feeling like the character from her favourite children’s book ‘Alice in Wonderland’, she was beginning to understand how Alice must have felt after falling down the rabbit hole. She had managed to read some books and a few holovideos that had described the Imperium before the death of the Emperor along with his beautiful daughter. Miranda had thought the whole thing like some beautiful fairy-tale and as a young girl had run around the stations pretending that she was an Imperial Princess. Here was a man, however, sitting across the table from her, who was there! Describing events, which he had been part of.

“You knew the Emperor?” Miranda asked breathlessly.

Jon could only nod his head in confirmation, while Miranda was just rendered speechless. Wrenching his thoughts back to the present and trying to get the conversation back on track Jon stated, “Anyway, as I do not think you pose a threat to any of my crew or this station,” Jon motioned towards the gun that was still resting on his desk, “the problem still stands, what to do with you. As I do not have the resources to guard you in the brig or confine you to your quarters, I have decided to put you to work.”

Miranda tensed upon hearing this, with visions of hard labour or cleaning washrooms leaping to mind.

Jon, however, put her mind at rest as he explained, “As you seem to have some proficiency with ships I will assign you to our flight deck. Report to Reynolds tomorrow at 0900 ship-time sharp, where you will follow all tasks assigned to him, do you understand?”

Slightly taken back by the change of tone as Miranda felt that, only moments before, she was starting to finally understand the Commander, she nodded in agreement.

Jon failed to add that Reynolds had been a Gunnery Sergeant in the Marine Corps during his time in the Imperial Navy and ran the flight deck in a similar fashion. Jon had complete confidence that he could manage their newest recruit.

“Please see Paul in C&C and he will assign you some quarters,” Jon added in a clear dismissal. Again with a nod of her head she quickly departed his office. Staring out, once again, at the stars clearly shining though the space in the wall of the office, Jon did not fail to notice the pistol that was now missing from his desk.

Smart girl, Jon thought with a smile, once again turning back to the stars and memories of his past.

Chapter Six

Present Day

Terra Nova, Zeta Aquilae System

The alert arrived at C&C while Jon was reviewing the latest crew rotation with Paul. It was common for Paul and Jon to frequently rotate the crew roster so as to avoid some crew always being stuck on the unsociable shifts and hence not having the opportunity to spend time with their families. It was also an opportunity to give some of the new shift leaders command experience, always valuable in Jon’s opinion.

The duty officer caught the attention of Jon, explaining, “It seems that there is some sort of disturbance on the flight deck,” he reported.

“Disturbance?” Jon inquired surprised, before exchanging glances with Paul. Jon could not remember the last time there had been a ‘disturbance’ on the station. Possibly a few years back when the annual station party got a little out of hand.

“You don’t think it has anything to do with Miranda?” Paul proposed. “She has only been assigned to Gunny for a couple of days, how much trouble could she get into in that short amount of time?” Master Sergeant Patrick “Gunny” Reynolds was arguably one of the most capable crew chiefs on Terra Nova. At over six feet in height and weighing almost 200 pounds rumour had it that Gunny had once single-handedly led a marine boarding action against a pirate cutter, to have the pirates immediately abandon ship when faced by him.

Once again exchanging concerned glances with Paul, Jon stated. “Paul, you have the C&C. I’ll be down on the flight deck investigating the… disturbance.”

Paul nodded in agreement and added, “Let me know if you need a security detail down there?” Jon nodded his head in agreement before heading for the lift to take him to the flight deck.

*****

Arriving at the flight deck several minutes later Jon was surprised to find the deck deserted and instead followed the sound of the shouting and jeering to one end of the deck where he found a large crowd gathered. With some difficulty and a lot of pointed shoving and angry gazes Jon managed to push somewhat to the front and was disheartened, but not really surprised by the scene facing him.

Surrounded by a large crowd of flight crew and deck hands, Reynolds was facing off against Miranda. It was obvious that this argument had been going on for sometime, as Gunny was already red faced. Almost miniscule compared to the bulk of the Marine, Jon was surprised to see Miranda standing her ground and even repeatedly jabbing her finger into the chest of the Marine sergeant!

The crowd quickly quietened down upon catching sight of the Commander, with what could only be described as a thundercloud hanging over him. Meanwhile the antagonists had not seemed to notice the arrival of their Commander. With Miranda continuing to jab her fingers into Gunny’s chest, which was having much the same impact as trying to jab a pencil through a sheet of steel; however she continued determinedly.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass what you used to do in the Imperial Navy, no wonder the entire thing was disbanded…” upon which Jon observed Gunny go an interesting shade of purple. “I keep telling you; by running the loading process in parallel you will be able to increase productivity by at least 20%. Whoever heard of the absurd idea of loading ships one after the other?”

Jon had known Gunny for over fifteen years and knew him to be honourable, if not more than a little blunt spoken; however Jon could see for the first time Gunny contemplating murder, and decided that he had better intervene before events got out of control.

“Attention on deck!” snapped Jon. While none of the crew actually saluted he did observe a general stiffing in posture, more importantly he noticed that Reynolds and Miranda had backed off somewhat.

Guess it’s true that you cannot fully take the Navy out of the person… Jon mused to himself. Deciding to quickly get to the bottom of the situation, Jon rounded on his deck Chief and demanded. “Gunny! What the hell is going on here?”

Still red faced and obviously trying to control his temper he replied. “She!” Jabbing his finger in Miranda’s direction, obviously not even prepared to refer to her by name, “accused me of running an out-dated, inept, incompetent and poorly organised loading operation.” Jon winced internally, glad that he had arrived before things had gotten further out-of-hand.

Rounding on Miranda he glared at her and stated. “I assigned you here under the direct supervision of Gunny with explicit orders to follow his every instruction, not for you to insult him!” Jon snapped angrily.

“I don’t care what you think either!” Miranda snapped back. “I refuse to be a part of an operation that is so inefficiently run. Where I come from we haven’t loaded ships sequentially in years! You could increase productivity by at least 20% by implementing my recommendations!”

By this point even Jon felt his ire increasing and was just about to let rip when Miranda turned her back on him and stalked towards Gunny jabbing him in the chest once again and insisting.

“I’ll arm wrestle you over it! You win, I never set foot on this flight deck again. I win, you will at least try my recommendations!”

The flight deck suddenly went very still and every eyeball in the room swivelled towards Gunny to see how he would respond to such an absurd proposition. He towered over the much smaller woman, weighing at least 75 pounds more than her. Meanwhile the Chief’s jaw had dropped open in disbelief. He was obviously about to dismiss the challenge when he realised that every eye was upon him. He turned to face Jon with an inquisitive gaze.

“Don’t look at me chief,” Jon raised his hands in a defensive gesture. “This is your flight deck, it’s your call.”

Thinking for a few short moments the Chief hollered, “Clear a space! Clear a space!” motioning to one of the heavy workbenches not far from them. With a loud whoop and cheer the crowd made a space around the large workbench and the two antagonists moved to either side, facing off warily.

Slamming his powerful elbow onto the surface the chief offered with a leer. “You want to make it the best of three sweetheart?”

Meanwhile, Miranda delicately glided around to the other side of the table, completely serene as if she was taking a walk in the park before laying her arm down, offering her hand to the huge Chief. “No, just once is perfectly fine with me,” she replied delicately with a sweet smile directed towards Reynolds.

Her sudden shift in mood obviously threw the Chief off balance as he licked his lips glancing around at all of the intent observers, suddenly realising that emphatically beating a woman, who was barely half his weight, was not going to be a resounding victory that was going to echo down the ages. He relaxed his posture slightly and took her offered hand in his.

Again, offering the Chief a delicate smile she asked. “On three?” The Chief nodded his agreement and started the count.

“One” he began.

“Two…”

“Three!” he shouted.

His hand did not move so much as an inch. Although he could feel her increased pressure. Glancing up into her face he was distracted for an instant when instead of the look of strain he had been expecting she was still looking into his eyes serenely and wearing a slight smile. The Chief had a sudden premonition that this was going to be bad…really bad…when Miranda suddenly made her move…

Not in the direction of his hand, as everybody observing expected, but in the direction of his face! Suddenly leaning forward Miranda kissed the stunned deck Chief on the lips. Not a chaste kiss, such as between brother and sister perhaps, but a full on kiss with lips and tongue! The Chief’s eyes went as wide as saucers the instant he felt her tongue enter his mouth all thoughts of the competition and his hand fled his mind…As soon as Miranda felt his muscles relax she pushed with all her strength and the Chief’s arm hit the desk!

Leaning back Miranda gave the completely astonished Chief an impish smile followed by a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thanks Chief!” she smiled. “Looks like I won. Would you like any help implementing my recommendations?” Miranda’s voice could barely be heard above all of the cheers and whistles coming from the assembled crowd.

Taking pity on his deck Chief and trying to fight down his own surge of jealousy at the Chief for being the recipient of such a kiss. Jon called out, “Ok people! Back to work! The show is over!” With some good-humoured pat on the backs and congratulations to Miranda the crowd finally dispersed back to their jobs.

“Chief, I look forward to seeing your progress report regarding these new procedures,” Jon offered as a parting comment to Chief Reynolds, gently reminding him that he expected the deck Chief to uphold his part of the agreement.

Arriving back in C&C Paul looked up in some consternation inquiring. “How are things down on the flight deck?”

Biting back a laugh, Jon replied. “They are fine. Miranda has everything under control down there, although I will be looking forward to the next few reports from Gunny,” Jon laughed.

*****

It was several days later, after the incident on the flight deck, when Paul & Jon finally had a chance to put their feet up and relax. Paul and Jon usually alternated shift patterns so one of the experienced command staff was always on hand in case of an emergency. However, this evening there were no inbound or outbound ships scheduled, so one of the more junior members of the command staff was in-charge of the C&C with instructions to call if there were any problems. They had finally managed to put Paul’s kids to sleep, which had involved complex negotiations, followed by a round of ‘Good Cop, Bad Cop’ with Jon as the more senior having to threaten the kids that if they did not go to sleep he was going to space their teddy bear; they had quickly agreed and settled down to sleep.

“So where is Carol tonight?” Jon inquired leaning back in the Harrington’s living room with a beer. Carol was Paul’s long-suffering wife of over ten years and was usually in charge of putting the kids to sleep.

“She mentioned something about Miranda having been here over a week and nobody having shown her a good time,” Paul replied opening his own beer. “So she and a couple of the other women have taken her out for a ‘Girls Night Out’,” Paul added, putting particular emphasis on the last three words. The story of Miranda’s run-in with Reynolds had spread like wildfire throughout the station dispelling any resentment that might have been harboured by some crewmembers when the story had also got around of how she came to be aboard the station.

“Perhaps we should forewarn security now,” Jon murmured. “Sounds like a group that should be identified as ‘dangerous, handle with extreme caution’. Talking of which,” Jon inquired, “how are Reynolds and Miranda getting on?” he asked with some concern, worrying that Gunny might harbour some resentment about the way that Miranda had bested him.

“Last I heard, fantastically,” Paul replied without any concern. “Productivity seems to have increased by at least 40% following Miranda’s recommendations. I heard that, on seeing the results, Reynolds picked the girl up, straight off the ground and some of the crew had to rescue her before the Chief suffocated her by accident. Ever since then the Chief has been putty in her hands, I hear that they are discussing ways to improve productivity further,” Paul added.

“Glad that she is fitting in with the rest of the crew,” Jon replied. “I have moved her across to work with security during the next crew rotation,” Jon added reclining in his chair, relaxing after the busy day. “I didn’t want to assign her there initially as you know how McNeill felt when we first revived her. A clear threat to my personal safety and the station,” Jon parroted trying his best to imitate the British accent of their security chief.

Paul smiled at the poor impression before frowning and commenting, “You sure that is a good idea? She will have access to the station armoury,” Paul replied with some concern. With a laugh Jon recounted the face-to-face meeting in his office several days earlier. Paul just listened in growing disbelief and his face grew pale when Jon reached the point about tossing her the live weapon.

“What the hell were you playing at?” Paul demanded, keeping his voice down so as not to wake the kids. “She could have just as easily shot you and made for the nearest ship!” Paul exclaimed.

Jon acknowledged the point with a short nod of his head but insisted, “It was my judgement call. No way could we confine her to the brig or her quarters for that duration of time, we could not spare the people and I assume that you did not support McNeill’s less than subtle suggestion of just sticking her out the nearest airlock?” Jon inquired mildly.

“Of course not!”

“So instead, you would have some unknown loose cannon running around the station,” Jon continued. “Perhaps we catch her tampering with the magnetic shielding around the fusion reactor,” Jon suggested with a slight nod of his head towards the children’s bedroom. Paul went as white as a sheet, obviously not having thought through the damage that a person loose on the station with malicious intent could cause.

“Better that I just put one life at risk, than risk the lives of everybody on the station,” Jon insisted making it clear that the topic of conversation was closed.

Looking to change the topic, Paul inquired, “So when are you planning to put Miranda on rotation in the C&C?”

Relaxing in the comfortable chair with the beer, Jon replied without thinking, “I was planning on waiting a few more crew rotations before I put her on duty in the C&C. She needs some more experience with the various departments and to become familiar with the department heads before she is ready,” Jon explained. Suddenly realising what he had just admitted to he opened his eyes to focus on his second-in-command, who was wearing a smirk on his face.

“You knew!” Jon insisted, realising that he had just been set-up.

“Yep!” Paul replied with a grin. “It has been a long time, but I still recognise an Imperial Navy fast-tracked command training program when I see one!” Paul confirmed.

Anxious to reassure his old friend Jon explained, “I have no plans to replace you.”

“Glad to hear it. So when do you plan on informing Miranda of this?” Paul inquired curiously.

“Hell, not for a while yet!” Jon insisted, settling back down. “She would probably laugh in my face if I suggested the idea to her now… but she has so much potential!” Jon said. “Look at the way she has got Gunny wrapped around her finger and the rest of the command staff are already warming to her. She is smart, clever, and intuitive and has a natural leadership ability,” Jon insisted.

“As long as you have thought this through carefully,” Paul suggested.

“What do you mean?”

“Well…” choosing his words carefully, Paul explained. “We still don’t know much about her, beyond what you have already told me, that she is an outstanding pilot. Now you have started her on a fast track training program for command. We could be handing her right back to the Syndicate, not just as an ace pilot but with the sort of command skills that would help mould them into a far more effective threat to this system.” Having voiced his concerns Paul fell quiet. He decided not to also voice his concerns that Jon was becoming infatuated with her and was losing his perspective. Paul had been surprised that Jon viewed the talented young pilot much more as his protégée than potential romantic interest. Paul had observed the young woman catch the eye of more than one male member of the crew, however Jon had not seemed to make any advances.

“So what time does Carol get back tonight?” Jon asked, leaning back in his comfortable chair after deciding to give Paul’s concerns further thought… but not tonight.

“She warned me she could be back quite late. Seems that she and the other women are going to try and set Miranda up with that young communications officer from 3rd shift, according to the women he is eye-candy…” Paul watched with a smirk as Jon spat beer everywhere.

Yep maybe not totally disinterested… Paul thought with a grin.

*****

A few weeks later Jon was reviewing the latest company shipping reports, noting the worrying rise in the number and severity of the attacks on Vanguard ships, when a chime interrupted his reading, notifying him of somebody requesting permission to enter.

“Come!” Jon called out and the door slid open to reveal the not unexpected face of Jason Edgar, Vanguard’s ‘Company Man’ as Jason jokingly referred to himself. The rest of the crew simply thought of him as their Intelligence Officer or ‘Chief Spy’.

“Take a seat, I was expecting you, after reviewing your latest report,” Jon commented with another glance at the disturbing report sitting on his desk. “Do we have any more information explaining the increasing number of attacks on our ships?” Jon inquired.

Shaking his head Jason replied. “Nothing concrete at the moment, just conjecture. We assume that the failed attempt on your life some weeks ago has thrown a spanner in the Syndicate plans for Vanguard. Hence we assume the increasing number of attacks is an attempt to push you to reconsider their initial proposal.”

“When hell freezes over!” Jon replied grimly. “Any idea what they might attempt next?”

“Intelligence are guessing that they will continue to ramp up their attacks on our ships to increase the pressure on Vanguard and our customers. If that fails to work we assume either another attempt on your life or some sort of direct assault on Vanguard. As we have little presence off the station, we assume this will take the form of some sort of sabotage or assault on Terra Nova directly.”

Thinking for a moment Jon replied. “Ok, please let David know about the possible threat to station security and ask him to increase internal security. I will discuss the possible outside threat with Paul and come-up with a suitable response. Is there anything else?”

“Just one other thing, sir,” Jason continued. “You asked me to investigate the background of Miss Miranda.” So far nobody had managed to get her to divulge her last name. Hence the crew had simply become use to referring to her as Miranda or Miss Miranda.

“Has intelligence had any success determining her last name yet?” Jon replied in a rather ironic tone of voice.

Ignoring the perceived insult to his intelligence team, Jason continued. “Perhaps. With your permission we requested a sample of her DNA from the Doctor. It took us a long time but we finally found an exact match in some old records from one of the adjoining systems.” Jason handed a copy of the data to Jon who reviewed the results with interest.

“I notice that this is a very old record,” Jon commented checking the last update, which was dated almost 20 years earlier.

“That was why it took us so long to find the match,” Jason explained. “The record had long since been archived to long term storage, hence took a lot of time to access. I also draw your attention to the last update.” Jon flicked to the last update of the record, which detailed that the person had been legally declared dead for almost 20 years.

“I must confess that I find Miranda in remarkably good health for a person that was declared dead 20 years previously,” Jon commented sarcastically.

“According to the information from the records her parents were part of a crew of an inter-system deep space freighter. The freighter disappeared on a routine trip in the Aquila constellation. The ship was declared lost, with all hands a few years later. According to the records Miranda would have been approximately six years old when the ship was declared lost.”

“So…” Jon mused, “we have the mystery of a ship that has been missing for over 20 years, lost with all hands, or at least was so assumed, and now we find one of the crew, who would have only been six at the time, alive and well 20 years later working for the Syndicate. Would intelligence like to draw any conclusions from these facts?” Jon asked dryly.

“No sir,” Jason replied, realising that it would not be a good idea to speculate any further.

“Thank you for the information. It will be put to good use. Please pass on my thanks to the rest of your team.” Hearing the dismissal in Jon’s voice, Jason nodded his head in thanks and made quickly for the exit.

Meanwhile Jon turned back to the data pad that intelligence had supplied and started to review the information carefully.

*****

Sometime later Jon stepped into Security looking for Miranda. He had decided that it was time to have a face-to-face with their newest crewmember, to discuss - the past. Hence with data pad in hand, Jon decided to go hunting. Miranda had recently been assigned to Security during the last crew rotation and Jon had been carefully monitoring the security reports to try and guess whom Miranda was going to shoot… or kiss next. He noticed that security was almost empty except for McNeill, the station head of security reviewing a tactical map of the station with a frown.

“David! Any idea where I can find Miranda?” Jon inquired. David looked up obviously irritated by the interruption before he realised who the question originated from.

“No Sir!” David responded quickly straightening his posture as if he was preparing for a parade ground inspection. Jon was tempted to joke with the younger man that he could remain at ease, but guessed that this would make him even more uncomfortable. Some of the crew had made the transition from military life to civilian easily. Others, McNeill a case in point, had been less comfortable in civilian life and kept inadvertently reverting to a formal Navy mode of address. Privately Jon felt that he intimidated the younger officer, hence his nervousness kept causing him to leap to attention whenever he was around. For the twelfth time that day, and every day since the Imperial Navy had been disbanded by the newly formed Confederation, Jon cursed them for purging so many outstanding officers, people who had dedicated their lives to the service…

One of the motivations for establishing Vanguard had been to give these people a new purpose in life. Jon could give a first-hand account of the shock of going from a highly structured command environment with a clear mission, to a civilian life with no clear objective, mission or goal. Of course it did not hurt Vanguard in the slightest to be staffed almost entirely by highly trained, extremely motivated, ex-Imperial Navy who viewed every task as a military objective to be surmounted.

Meanwhile David realised that a slightly more informative answer might be helpful, hence added. “Her shift ended over an hour ago, possibly she might be in the mess hall having dinner…it is getting fairly late for second shift,” David added diplomatically politely reminding his boss, that it was getting fairly late in the evening, station time.

“Thanks David,” Jon replied distractedly before focusing on what his head of security was looking at. The large holoscreen in the office was currently displaying the tactical map of the station where a number of points had been highlighted.

“How is the security review going?” Jon inquired remembering that he had asked for this several days earlier, after being briefed on the escalating threat from the Syndicate Organisation.

“Not too badly,” David replied. “We have identified a number of weak spots within the station that could allow any boarding party to establish a bridgehead. The biggest issue we have is lack of tactical intelligence. Are we looking at a lone saboteur, limited boarding party or all-out invasion of the station by a heavily armed Syndicate division?”

Jon’s eyes widened in shock before he responded sarcastically, “Well let’s hope that your security team do not need to repel an entire division! Could be a struggle for your team to cope with a couple of thousand assailants,” Jon replied with a straight face. David could not tell if his boss was being sarcastic or not. He wisely decided not to reply to that comment.

“Well carry on,” Jon continued. “Let me have a copy of your report when you have identified all the weak-spots for the station and how you plan to deploy your security teams,” he said as he departed, continuing his search for Miranda in the mess hall.

*****

It was quite late for second shift; hence the mess hall was fairly empty by the time that Jon arrived. Just a few stragglers were finishing a late dinner before heading to their quarters for the ‘night’. However, there were a couple of small groups relaxing with drinks after dinner.

Terra Nova had originally been designed as a remote resupply & repair outpost where crews would have normally been rotated every six months. Therefore social areas were limited in number and size. With Jon’s permission, Paul had converted one of the smaller repair shops into a small cinema and some of the observation decks had been converted into lounges where couples could relax when off-shift; however the mess hall was still the place to congregate for food or to relax with some friends over a drink.

Upon entering the mess hall, Jon’s gaze darted around the room and quickly came to settle on Miranda. She was sharing a drink with a couple of the other young women on the station. Jon recognised a few from the flight deck and security, along with a couple from various other departments. Miranda was laughing at something that one of her companions had said, and was obviously enjoying herself. Jon was glad to see that she seemed to have integrated herself well into the crew and a small part of him was glad that the table seemed to consist of female crew only and that a certain young officer from communications was nowhere in sight.

Jon quickly suppressed that line of thought!

Reluctant to interrupt the group, Jon decided to have a drink and wait for them to disperse before approaching her. He had a delicate subject to bring up and would prefer to have the discussion without a crowd of onlookers. Collecting a coffee, Jon slipped into one of the comfortable seats next to the window and gazed out, taking the odd sip from his glass thoughtfully, trying to think how best to bring-up the difficult topic ahead.

*****

“Don’t look now!” Sarah from Operations whispered quietly to the group. “But eye-candy has just walked in!”

As was always the case, everybody ignored the edict and all eyes swivelled towards the entrance to the mess hall. Observing the Commander as he poured himself a drink and took a seat by the window, alone.

“I wonder what crisis took place to draw him out of his office? The guy practically lives there,” one of the girls from security, whose name Miranda had forgotten, commented.

“I’m not complaining,” another chimed in. “He can just sit there and I can admire the view. Hey Cassie, I thought you said that you were going to ask him out for dinner?” She left the question hanging in the air.

“I did, but he politely declined, said that he was too busy,” Cassie sighed deeply. “According to station scuttlebutt some girl broke his heart many years ago, and he still carries a torch for her…”

Miranda who had never had many female friends looked around the table in astonishment, at all the dreamy sighs that followed that statement.

“So the Commander is not married? Paul mentioned that he has a family so I just assumed…?”

“Have you ever seen him with anyone?” Sarah responded. “No that man is single, and such a waste, if I ever find the woman that broke his heart, I’ll, I’ll…”

“You’ll have to get in line…”

Miranda looked around, surprised at the fierce expressions that had appeared on the faces of the women around the table. “Isn’t it the Commanders choice?” she asked, confused.

“But it’s such a waste! He is so good-looking,” Cassie wailed.

“And good with kids… Don’t you remember how he took Castle’s daughter out for a ride in his shuttle on her last birthday?”

“I overheard the senior officers talking once. It seemed like the Imperial Princess broke his heart, or was it the other way around. I cannot remember.”

“You mean the Emperor’s daughter?” Miranda interjected.

“Yeah, it seems like she and the Commander were close before his death. You all know the story about how he helped her to escape the fleet and flee to Eden Prime.” Another chorus of sighs echoed around the table.

“Typical,” Cassie muttered. “It’s always the Princesses that get the good-looking guys. Hopefully she will grow old and die a spinster,” she added spitefully.

*****

It was sometime later that the sound of Miranda’s group breaking up for the night roused him from his thoughts. Glancing at the chronometer in the mess hall he was surprised at how late it was. Noticing that Miranda was almost at the exit to the mess hall Jon quickly lengthened his stride to catch-up with the young woman before he lost her.

Walking abreast of her, he caught her eye and politely inquired, “I know that it is late but can you spare a few minutes of your time to discuss something?”

Obviously surprised at the encounter and curious why she had not just been called to his office Miranda nodded her head in agreement.

Jon cast his gaze around the corridor, really not wanting to have this conversation in such a public place. Noticing the entrance to one of the observation lounges, which was sure to be unoccupied at such a late hour he motioned towards the entrance and with a polite wave of his hand, allowed her to enter first.

Upon entering the observation lounge Jon had a quick glance to make sure that they were alone for this conversation. Confirming that they were the only ones present, Jon approached Miranda who was staring at the stunning view. Being situated above the docking ring it gave a spectacular view of the station and the main docking ring and Jon could just make out the light from the drive engines of one or two arriving or departing ships.

“I imagine that you find this room quite claustrophobic?” Miranda broke the silence with a smile. Jon was confused as the lounge was fairly large and they were the only occupants, until Miranda tapped her hand against the window to clarify her meaning.

Quickly catching on that Miranda was referring to the energy field in his office he replied. “I’ll get over it. I have come to realise that not many people appreciate being separated from the cold vacuum of space by only a thin layer of photons.” Deciding upon a somewhat oblique angle to start this conversation Jon inquired. “I have been meaning to congratulate you on your skills as a pilot. They are truly exceptional.”

Miranda frowned for a moment before replying. “Obviously not good enough, seeing that you escaped without a scratch and I managed to collide with an asteroid, completely destroying my ship and only just managing to escape with my life. No thanks to you,” Miranda added bitterly.

Realising too late that this was probably not the best opening topic, but now being committed, Jon continued, “Well… I had the element of surprise on my side. The ‘Light is not your average ship,” Jon responded in a light tone hoping to erase some of the bitterness from the younger woman.

“The ‘Light?”

“My nick name for the Eternal Light.”

“The ‘Light,” Miranda replied, rolling the name on her tongue. “I like it, and it seems a good name for such an amazing ship.”

“Maybe I’ll let you fly her one day,” Jon replied, quickly biting his tongue, unsure where that last comment came from. He never let anyone else pilot his ship, going as far to pilot her himself when just changing docking ports at the station. Miranda however, did not seem to notice.

“So how did you learn to fly like that?” Jon pressed, continued trying to steer the conversation back in the direction of the real topic that he wanted to address.

Miranda just shrugged at the question. “I have been living on ships or stations of one kind or another ever since I can remember. I expect I was crawling around cockpits before I could walk!” She exclaimed with a laugh. “Anyway, I was always asking what this button did, or that button. I guess before I knew it I understood all the functions and procedures on the ship. Therefore sometimes they let me copilot the ships. After a few years of this I was piloting the ship part time, then full time. I guess I was just a natural…I love flying,” Miranda explained wistfully. “The only time I ever feel free is when I am flying.”

“Do you remember much of your childhood?” Jon asked softly trying to bring up the topic that he wanted to discuss.

“Not much,” Miranda admitted. “I was told that my parents died in a freighter accident when I was very little; luckily they managed to rescue me in time.”

“You do not remember anything about your parents? You never tried to find out if you had any other family?”

“No, I was told that I was an only child and that I had no other family. Why all these questions?” Miranda finally asked starting to get suspicious of Jon continuing to press her regarding her family and past.

“I just find it strange,” Jon chose his words carefully. “You seem to have no family… no past. You said that you were rescued from a freighter, but we can find no records of a freighter being found and especially no mention of a survivor. Space is a huge place Miranda, when ships are lost they are almost never found. A failure during FTL will at best drop you deep into interstellar space between systems. The area is so vast no ship would ever be found, any distress signal would take years to reach the nearest habited system. At worst, a ship would be crushed by the gravity of the collapsing wormhole leaving… nothing. The likelihood of a catastrophic accident that killed your family, while sparing you with rescuers close enough to save you is…improbable at best,” Jon explained gently. “The only way for such an event to have occurred is for your rescuers to have already been there, before the accident that killed your parents. It is just as unlikely that an accident would occur just as your rescuers happened to arrive… Your ship was attacked Miranda, your parents more than likely killed in the attack,” Jon concluded sorrowfully.

Miranda started to back away from Jon, her eyes wide with disbelief. “I don’t believe you,” she retorted. “You’re making this up. You are just trying to turn me against the only family I have. They rescued me, raised me and gave me everything that I have!”

“No,” Jon replied urgently, trying desperately to make her see the truth. “They have used you and now discarded you after you failed them. The same way they use everybody else to get what they want. All they care about is power, domination and wealth. You do not have to take my word for it. You have full access to the communications and computer resources of the station. You can conduct your own search. However, you will find the same that my team did. In the past 30 years the computer only found a few dozen cases of shipboard accidents where one or more crew survived. All these took place in close orbit or proximity to one of the populated systems or stations where rescue teams were quickly scrambled. All of those accidents were widely reported and none mention a young girl being rescued from the ship. Widening the search parameters to all reported missing ships for the past 30 years that had a young girl aboard only returned one result.” Jon offered Miranda the data pad that he had been holding that contained the information found by Jason, before summarising it. “The ship was a long range inter-system freighter called the Keplar reported missing 20 years ago, a crew complement of 29 with one beautiful six year old, with dark hair and brown eyes called Miranda. She was the daughter of the pilot and one of the flight engineers. We could only find one picture…”

Jon touched the symbol to access the photo library on the data pad and brought up a picture of a young couple holding a small girl in their hands. The girl had short dark hair and sparkling brown eyes with an impish grin.

“It’s you,” Jon insisted. “We compared the DNA linked to your record with the scan that the Doctor took when he revived you. It’s a perfect match.” Miranda just stared at the picture with tears running down her cheek.

“But why?” she finally asked. “Why spare me when nobody else survived?”

“We will probably never know,” Jon replied sadly. “Perhaps you were fortunate to have survived the attack when the rest of the crew did not. Traditionally, pirate attacks leave no survivors, they do not want to risk anybody identifying them later. A small part of me hopes that when they boarded the ship and found you alive, some grain of their humanity remained, which let them spare you and rescue you from the freighter.” Realising that Miranda probably felt very alone at the moment, having the only life that she knew suddenly pulled out from under her, Jon pulled her into an embrace. Miranda resisted for a moment before resting her head gently against his chest. Jon decided that he would just ignore his shirt getting damp from the tears still running down her face.

Jon was about to reassure her that things would get better, when the door to the observation lounge suddenly slid open and a giggling couple that were also entwined stumbled in. Quickly noticing the couple next to the observation window there was a moment of shocked silence, followed by a hasty apology before they ducked out the room and the door slid shut once again. Letting his chin rest on Miranda’s head for a brief moment with his arms still wrapped around her. Jon closed his eyes and cursed softly to himself at their inopportune timing. Living in such a small tightly knit environment, the crew did nothing better than gossip. Jon was certain that the entire station would think that they were a couple by the start of the next shift. Realising that Miranda had enough to deal with at the moment without this additional concern Jon decided to wisely keep quiet.

Perhaps he could issue a station wide bulletin at the start of next shift informing the crew that they were not romantically involved…

Chapter Seven

Present Day

Terra Nova, Zeta Aquilae System

A couple of days later the stations senior staff gathered in one of the large briefing rooms to discuss a recent breakthrough by Jason and his team in decoding the information contained on the data chip obtained by Jon on Transcendence. Jon meanwhile had been in a foul mood ever since the encounter with Miranda in the observation lounge. As Jon had expected, the next morning the entire crew was aware of the blossoming romance between the station commander and their newest addition to the crew. Jon had decided that he was going to shoot the next person to congratulate him! It did not help his mood that ever since their talk in the observation lounge, Miranda had obviously been avoiding him, troubled by the revelations regarding her past. He wanted to get this meeting concluded, not the least due to the late addition of Miranda to the meeting for her ‘independent insight’, as Paul referred to it.

As head of the team tasked with decoding the information on the chip, Jason kicked off the briefing. “As I am sure you are all aware over the past few years there have been a number of uprisings on various colonies throughout the Confederation. While this is not unusual - there will always be grievances and, or, local issues that incite the populace - this general level of discontent is notable in its increase.” With a tap on the display controls to the holoprojector a chart appeared, hovering just above the conference room table, showing a steady but noticeable increase in colonies in open revolt during the past 18 months.

“Again,” Jason continued, “there is nothing alarming regarding this. Historical precedents show that these uprisings tend to be cyclic, with an increased period of discontent, followed by a similar period of contentment when these uprisings die down, usually after the local issues have been addressed.” Again Jason clicked on the controls and the chart was replaced with another but on a much larger timescale, again you could see the peaks where the number of colonies in revolt peaked, but also troughs as these fizzled out and died. “However, the data recently obtained by the Commander sheds a worrying new light on the recent uprisings, as these seem to have been well planned and organised.”

Leaning forward in interest, his recent foul mood forgotten Jon inquired, “But surely this is normal? While I appreciate that occasional uprisings are fairly spontaneous, caused by some particular flash point, surely other rebellions are planned. General discontent causes a small group of individuals to band together and incite the general mass; again history seems to support this scenario.”

Jason nodded his head in agreement at the Commanders’ insight, but added. “The difference this time is that the data chip you obtained indicates that the planning and organisation for multiple uprisings comes from a single person, or more likely, organisation located outside the systems in revolt.”

The room went deathly silent following this startling announcement.

Once again leaning forward, Jon insisted. “You are referring to a conspiracy? A conspiracy by one or more people to insight revolt and uprising through the Confederation?”

Jason nodded his head in agreement at Jon’s conclusion before continuing. “Currently there are 18 systems in open revolt and are actively pushing to secede from the Confederation. There are a further 5 systems that are actively leaning in this direction. Of the approximate 166 systems that currently make up the Confederation my intelligence team predicate that it would only take a further dozen or so systems to declare that they want to break away from the Confederation to result in outright civil war. As you know the Confederation Charter stipulates that each individual system contribute to the Confederation Navy. The outcome of almost 20 per cent of the Confederation trying to break away would result in a complete disintegration of the Navy, resulting in a general civil war, especially if the remaining systems refuse to allow the breakaway colonies to secede and utilise the Navy to retain these systems.” The room was speechless after the dire predictions laid forth by Jason.

“Why does the Confederation not recognise this threat? Why is it not being actively debated and discussed by the Senate?” Paul inquired curiously.

“I can only assume that they do not have the same intel that we do,” Jason responded. “The current situation is no worse than it has been in the past.” He motioned towards the chart that displayed the historical data for the past 20 years. “We have the advantage from the data that we know that these uprisings have been incited, and we know that additional uprisings are being actively planned. Additionally, from reading the after action report from the Commander, it was obviously the intention of this informant that we pass this information onto the Confederation.”

Leaning back in his chair for a moment Jon added thoughtfully, “Thinking back about the encounter it was that aspect that most stood out for me. The informant ‘Snow’ was insistent that I pass on this information. However, I got the impression that he had a particular person in mind and not just the Confederation as a whole. He seemed to suggest that this person would pay particular attention to this information if it came from me directly, unlike if he approached the Senate or this person directly.”

Nodding his head in agreement Jason responded. “Intelligence noted the same thing from your report and we think we know whom this person was referring to. Has anybody been following recent developments in the Confederation Senate?” Jason inquired to the room as a whole.

With a general shaking of heads and Paul commenting, “I prefer the sports channel. The political broadcasts put me to sleep.”

Jason rolled his eyes and updated the senior staff on recent events. “Following political infighting and corruption charges levelled at the previous Senate President the Senate voted in a new President last month… Sofia Aurelius,” Jason announced, purposefully averting his eyes from Jon.

Jon, who had been leaning back in his chair, with his feet propped up on the table, fell to the floor in complete shock! Desperately grabbing an arm of his chair to drag himself off the floor Jon asked in a strangled voice, “Sofia…my, our Sofia is now President?”

“The President…of the Confederation Senate,” Jason replied succinctly, just in case there had been some misunderstanding with regards to which presidency she had recently been elevated to. There was a general clearing of throats and averted gazes as Jon hauled himself back into his seat and slumped in this chair.

“I cannot believe it,” Jon stated in disbelief. “She mentioned that she was thinking of going into politics the last time that I saw her…” he said, thinking aloud.

“Would that have been the time that she was clinging to you like a barnacle in tears?” Paul commented with a wide smirk. “Or the other time when she was throwing things at you and threatening bodily harm if you ever set foot within her sight again?” Paul was trying to suppress a laugh.

“I do not understand,” Miranda interjected obviously confused. “Who is this Sofia Aurelius?”

Taking pity on Jon who was still trying to get over the shock, Paul replied. “Sofia Aurelius was, is, the only daughter of the last Imperial Emperor - Marcus Aurelius,” Paul explained. “She and Jon had a ‘thing’ going on a while back,” Paul smirked.

“Old Flame,” Doctor Richardson added also grinning.

“Ex-Flame,” Jon interjected giving the occupants of the room an evil stare. “We had some history a while back, but we are both long over that.” Jon tried to dismiss the matter as unimportant.

“Sure was some history,” Paul quipped. “I remember walking into your quarters that morning when we could not find her, and found you in bed with…”

“Thanks Paul,” Jon interrupted before he could continue, starting to turn an interesting shade of red and noticing the poorly suppressed laughs coming from many of the occupants of the room. It seemed to be his week to be the centre of attention for the station regarding his love life, or lack thereof!

“Anyway, getting back to the topic at hand,” Jon insisted trying to deflect the attention away from Sofia and himself. “Jason, did your team manage to retrieve anything else from the data chip?”

“Only some ship registers, cargo manifests, intercepted communication fragments, nothing concrete, certainly nothing that we can use. However we did come across an interesting correlation. With the ongoing threat to our ships and crew we have been paying a lot more attention to Syndicate activity in this system, in particular their ships, routes, cargos etc. The computer found an extremely strong correlation between the Syndicate activity we have been tracking and the data contained on the chip.”

“Interesting,” Jon thought aloud. “How strong is the data correlation that you have found?”

“Approximately 88% so far,” Jason said. “We are still trying to track down the registration of the other ships detailed in the data chip, but so far almost everyone is either a Syndicate ship, or one that is registered to one of their innumerable shell companies.”

Jon raised an eyebrow at such a high correlation in the data and inquired. “What is the possibility this is just a coincidence?”

Jason tapped a couple of controls: the holoscreen was replaced with a shipping manifest for the “Eagle Star” an interstellar freighter. “This freighter is owned by Carnival Logistics, which, through various financial transactions and shell companies, we have confirmed is actually 100% owned and run by the Syndicate. This freighter was at the Lalande system approximately four weeks before the revolt started in that system. The cargo manifest lists it as carrying 120,000 kilograms of foodstuffs.”

“That’s a pile of crap,” Paul interjected. “I know the Lalande system, their primary export is agricultural foodstuff, the entire system is one big farm. It’s the biggest exporter of food in the entire sector.”

“Correct,” Jason agreed. “This is just one example out of dozens of others, coincidence? Perhaps, but it’s strange to have such a high data correlation of what we know for a fact are smugglers and systems that are soon after in open revolt, often with well-armed insurgents, with excellent intelligence who quickly overthrow local planetary authorities. The question is what are we going to do with this intelligence?” Jason asked the room.

Jon reviewed the shipping manifest still projected in the air and thought about the other intelligence that had been highlighted. “It’s not enough,” he concluded. “What we have so far is all conjecture, speculation and a lot of coincidences. We need hard facts and more importantly we need proof. I am not going to approach the Confederation Council… or Sofia,” Jon winced at the thought of how that conversation would pan out, “without some hard facts people.” Jon did not think it would be helpful to add that he had risked his life and cost the lives of a large number of close friends to rescue Sofia the last time. He had no intention of telling her anything that was going to put her life at risk – the Confederation be-damned.

“Suggestions? Proposals?” Jon addressed the question at his senior staff.

After a moment of silence Gunny offered. “I have discussed an idea with David, that he fully supports,” he said referring to their head of security. “However, as the original idea came from Miranda I think she should be the one to present it.” Patrick gestured to her to continue.

Surprised, as it was obvious that she was not expecting to be asked to contribute to the meeting, Miranda took a deep breath and explained. “If we need hard facts and information then we need to get our hands on a Syndicate computer core, high level personnel, or both. As we can safely assume that they will not venture this information I propose that we go ahead and take it.” The room became very still following this announcement.

Leaning forward and staring at Miranda intensely, Jon commented. “You are suggesting that we raid one of the Syndicate bases?” Jon scoffed. “Based on our intelligence,” Jon cast his gaze towards Jason before continuing, “such a raid would be a disaster as all the Syndicate outposts are too heavily defended with space-based energy, projectile and missile emplacements. Any assault team would get cut to pieces before we could get within ten kilometres of any of their stations.”

“Most of their base of operations in this system are significant in size and therefore heavily protected,” Miranda conceded. “However I often shuttled high ranking members of the organisation to a smaller outpost. They used this for more confidential high-level briefings and discussions. By its very nature this is smaller, highly concealed and lightly defended. Ideally, I could sneak a small shuttle onto the station with my access codes, assuming they have not been changed. Thereafter we should be able to neutralise any defences and send a boarding team to capture their computer core.”

“I assume that this is where you two come in,” Jon interjected dryly pointing his finger at Gunny and David.

“A number of my Marines have been training with Security for the past few weeks,” Patrick replied confidently. “While it will take a little longer to make Marines out of them, we can assemble an assault team consisting of a dozen Special Forces and Marines backed up by David and his security team. We can punch through whatever defences that they have, grab the computer core and be out of there in under ten minutes, long before any reinforcements could arrive.”

“And you agreed to this crazy scheme?” Jon directed this question to his head of security.

“The plan is tactically sound, sir,” David responded stiffly. “We have a fairly good idea of the internal layout of the station from Miranda. We will have the element of surprise on our side. Patrick and his team will assault the compute core while my team and I will secure the dock and cover the exit.”

Jon just shook his head in disbelief at the sheer audacity of the plan that his senior staff was proposing. Just to waltz onto a Syndicate station, no matter how lightly defended, poke around until they had located the computer core, steal it right under the noses of the Syndicate and waltz back out. Sighing, as there seemed to be little better idea, Jon concluded the meeting. “I want to see a full tactical plan on my desk in 48 hours… and it had better be damn good! Dismissed!”

As his senior command staff filed out of the conference room, Jon’s thoughts turned back to Sofia. It had been at least 32 hours since he had last thought about her, Jon idly wondered if he was going to spend the rest of his life thinking about her.

Lashing out in frustration, Jon threw the data pad that had been resting on the table in front of him, taking some satisfaction in the sharp crack as it shattered against the wall. He stalked across the room to stare out of the window at the stars, the only way he seemed to find any peace and solitude these days.

Jon had spent years criss-crossing the Confederation, hunting down Harkov after ensuring Sofia’s safe arrival on Eden Prime. In those years he had seen sights and sounds that most citizens could only dream of, but with his desperate quest for vengeance always driving him onwards. As each rumour, each possible sighting was meticulously followed up– always with no success - another piece of Jon’s soul seemed to shrivel and die.

In his quest for vengeance he had discarded everyone and everything that he held dear to him. Finally Jon came to the very edge of explored space, gazing upon the billions and billions of unexplored stars ahead, he finally surrendered to his despair. With loneliness as his only companion he turned his ship around. All the things he had seen, experienced…

But what’s the point of life, if you have nobody to share it with! Jon thought angrily.

On his return Jon had spent restless nights tossing and turning, his dreams plagued by Sofia, her smile, her scent and her gentle touch. Now he spent his days aimlessly wandering the station, alone, in this ivory tower, his own self imposed exile. Hiding from the mistakes that he had made in the past.

Jon had failed so many people in his life, first his younger sister, then when he had joined the Navy his colleagues, finally concluding with the Emperor, his fellow Praetorians and eventually even Sofia. Everything that he touched, he destroyed. Jon felt in his heart that this meaningless existence was the cost that he had to bear for a lifetime of mistakes.

Glancing down at the conference table, Jon observed the small data chip innocently resting in front of him. Jason had put it there prior to his departure from the room. Delicately picking up the chip he observed it thoughtfully, resting in the palm of his hand.

He held no regard for the Confederation. The Confederation had been Sofia’s dream not his. Everything he had done for the Confederation in the past was for her – not them. Jon had dragged Sofia through hell to get her to Eden Prime. By some miracle, bloodied and bruised they had finally made it – alive, just. Jon had no intention of dragging Sofia through such events again. She had seen too much death and destruction in those few short months…

Jon slammed the chip against the table’s surface, the chips delicate membrane shattering, leaving a thin coating of fragments littering the table’s surface.

Chapter Eight

Five Years Previously

Altair V, Altair System

Jon brought the ‘Light down in a gentle descent along the terminator of the planet Altair V. Following their disastrous visit to Transcendence Jon had made the conscious decision to avoid any populated areas and had decided to land the ‘Light some distance from Carrington city, the main settlement on Altair. The plan, discussed during the short FTL jump from Transcendence, was to put the shuttle down just beyond the city, to conceal it, and then make their way using ground-based transportation to his family’s home.

Jon had purposefully chosen this time to begin the descent, as hopefully the setting sun along the terminator would help shield the shuttle’s re-entry from any observant eyes. Jon knew for a fact that sensors from the ancient orbiting docking control would be unable to track the descending shuttle.

Outside of the core-worlds Altair had been one of the first worlds settled. Located 16.7 light-years from Old Earth, it was one of the most visible stars from the birthplace of humanity. Unfortunately it had also been one of the most disappointing. As a type-A main sequence star with approximately 1.8 times the mass of the Sol star, it was also 11 times its luminosity. Combined with an extremely rapid rate of rotation it resulted in an extremely narrow ‘Goldilocks zone’, the zone where water could exist in a liquid form on the planetary surface and a breathable atmosphere could develop. Unfortunately only one planet in the system fell into this zone… just. With a wide day-night temperature variation of between -30oC during the night and up to 50oC during the day, life was difficult for the early colonists. Crops often failed due to the temperature range and the infrequent rains, with little mineral resources discovered on the planet. Were it not for the close proximity to the core-systems it was entirely possible that the system could have been completely abandoned. Instead the system managed to eke out a meagre existence from the frequent trade ships travelling between the core and rim worlds combined with some heavy industry and weak agriculture. With high unemployment, rampant crime, and few prospects, the rest of the Imperium looked down upon the inhabitants of Altair.

Jon had not been born into a well-to-do family. The eldest of two, he had spent most of his youth scrabbling in the streets doing anything that he could to earn some credits to help his family. His father worked as a mechanic in the small spaceport and his mother had balanced two jobs along with bringing up two kids. The likely outcome for the young Radec would have been a short education followed by longer hours in the factories, were it not for his parents. Desperate for their son to aspire to greater things, they pooled all their hard-earned wages and sent Jon to the Imperial Military College, the select school on Altair, where Jon’s situation only grew worse…

The buffeting of atmospheric re-entry awoke Jon from his internal contemplation. It had been many years since he had last been to Altair. Reducing power to the shuttle’s main engines and bringing the shuttle’s nose up slightly to reduce the air turbulence, Jon observed that Sofia had gone an even whiter shade of pale. Not having said much since their frantic escape from Transcendence, Jon was hoping to have an opportunity to talk, in private, at his home. Jon had been in enough combat to recognise the symptoms of post-traumatic stress. Hopefully Sofia would confide in him and that he could help her, as Jon knew from personal experience that just keeping the feelings and emotions bottled up inside would only make the situation worse.

Turning back to the flight instruments Jon confirmed that the shuttle was in atmospheric flight mode, glancing out of the cockpit windows he could make out the lights of Carrington city ahead. Banking slightly to port, Jon angled the shuttle towards the southern tip of the city, as this was where his family lived. Activating the shuttle’s sensors he began to look for a good concealed landing spot. A dry riverbed 30 kilometres ahead seemed like the ideal location, and so Jon began the ships landing cycle.

*****

Being only a few hours after sunset, Altair time, Jon suggested to Sofia that they could walk the few kilometres to the city’s public transport system. From there they could obtain transport to his family’s modest residence on the outskirts of the city. After taking a few moments to conceal the shuttle, the young couple set off towards the bright lights of the city.

Initially the journey was easy going, as this close to the city the terrain was relatively flat, mostly consisting of well-marked hiking trails for the more adventurous inhabitants. Soon however, the sky started to cloud over, followed by a light rain, then a deluge! Jon had forgotten how changeable the weather could be on Altair and within moments both were completely soaked!

Cursing, Jon raised his eyes skywards, wondering what he could possibly have done in an earlier life to deserve such a continuous streak of bad luck. Allowing his gaze to wander, observing a gap in the cloud cover, he took in the magnificent star filled vista above them. With little heavy industry on the planet and still a distance from Carrington city the sky seemed to be alive with stars; Jon could easy pick-out the major constellations. He had forgotten what had drawn him to space in the first instance, sitting outside the city, on a path much like this one, staring into the night-sky, wishing on a star… wondering what adventures awaited, what Princesses he would meet… With a soft smile his gaze fell from the dark sky to focus on the soaked and weary woman walking at his side.

Noticing the way that her hair was plastered to the side of her face, rivulets of water running down her face, her drenched flight suit hugging her curves closely. Jon was mesmerised by the sight, wondering how he had spent so many years in her company but only recently recognising how astonishingly beautiful she was.

Looks like both of my wishes came true, Jon thought.

It was only a short distance further, trudging through the thick mud that the path had become, until they came to the edge of the city proper and Jon quickly found a public communication terminal to call for transport to his home. When the transport arrived it was only a brief journey to their destination and before they knew it, they were disembarking from the taxi in a small up-market suburb of the city. While the houses were built close together, it was obvious from the street that the owners took pride in their homes, with all being neat and well maintained.

Assuming that this was where Jon grew up, Sofia looked around curiously with a hint of nervousness, following him towards one of the well-maintained homes.

Recognising the nerves in her expression, Jon caught Sofia by the hand and in a reassuring tone whispered. “Don’t worry. I am sure my family will love you!” It was only after he had uttered the words that he noticed the Freudian slip; fortunately Sofia seemed not to notice as her attention was solely focused on the approaching door. Activating the announcer, Jon waited patiently for somebody to open the door. The thought suddenly crossed his mind.

I hope they’re at home!

Fortunately he needn’t have worried as only moments later the door was opened by his mother. Her puzzled expression rapidly changed to delight upon recognising her son. “Jon?” She asked confused for a moment as she had not been expecting him. “Jon!” She exclaimed again in delight, enfolding him in a rib crushing hug. “Ryan!” she called back into the house. “You get out here right this instant!” The sounds of doors opening and closing could be heard, along with some grumbling when Jon’s father rounded the corner and froze at the sight of his long absent son. His expression of shocked disbelief suddenly changed to delight and he enfolded both of them in a huge hug, not even giving his mother the chance to release her hold on him.

It was only while enfolded in their loving embrace that Jon truly allowed himself to relax. The last week had been a nightmare of battles, dramatic escapes and running for their lives. Continually looking over their shoulder to see who might be chasing them.

Suddenly, Jon remembered Sofia. Looking at her, he watched her observing the scene closely, with such yearning in her eyes. Remembering the recent loss of her father, and losing her mother when she was only a small child, Jon suddenly felt very awkward surrounded by the love of his family. Gently detaching himself from their embrace he reached behind him and slowly dragged Sofia into the light, both parents stilled at the sudden sight of Sofia and Jon awkwardly introduced her.

“Mum, Dad, I would like you to meet… Sofia,” Jon explained with difficulty, only at the last minute deciding not to mention her full title and family name. He knew that he would need to give a full explanation later, but thought it was better not to have that conversation on their front door step. “Sofia, my father Ryan,” Jon introduced, “and my mother…Irene.” Both pairs of eyes swivelled to focus on Sofia before turning back to him with inquiring expressions. Internally Jon sighed to himself, this was far too close to an introduce-the-girlfriend-to-the-parents-for-the-first-time conversation than he was entirely comfortable with and he knew that his parents were leaping to some wild assumptions, but now was not the time to have this discussion.

His mother was quick off the mark, and inviting Sofia into the house before he could get one more word in edgeways, leaving Jon on the doorstep facing a very bemused father.

Recognising the weary expression on Jon’s face and his soaked clothes, his father added sympathetically. “Why don’t we get a drink while the ladies get acquainted?” Jon could only nod in agreement before entering their home.

*****

Seated, Jon gratefully accepted a towel to dry himself and a glass of Scotch from his father, momentarily warmed by the smoky drink easily sliding down his throat. His father was momentarily taken off balance, when Jon motioned towards the bottle for a refill. Jon had never been a heavy drinker.

“You want to tell your old man what is going on?” His father asked perceptively, recognising that the weary expression on his son’s face was not just a result of the long journey.

Trying to think where to start, Jon simply stated. “The Emperor is dead.”

Recognising the bleak expression on his son’s face, his father inquired. “I assume that he did not pass away quietly in his sleep…” Jon simply shook his head and started to recount the story from the beginning.

It was sometime later when Jon concluded the narrative with their arrival at his parent’s home. His father just stood silently for a moment before peering down at his own empty glass.

“I think I’ll join you in another drink,” he stated, pouring himself a generous helping and refilling his son’s glass, which was also now empty. “So after almost 500 years, the rule of the Aurelius family has finally come to an end,” his father murmured aloud.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Jon replied peering thoughtfully into his glass, swirling the smoky drink around the glass.

“I forgot, Marcus has or had a daughter.”

Jon could never get this head around his father referring to the Emperor by his first name. “Has,” Jon corrected his father’s earlier statement.

“So where is she now?” His father inquired innocently, as Jon had only mentioned Sofia in passing while recounting their escape from the Imperial Star. Unfortunately his father noticed Jon’s eyes flicker towards the sound of his mother and Sofia in the adjoining room.

His father’s eyes went as wide as saucers. “You cannot be serious!” he exclaimed. “You brought her here? An Imperial Princess? Daughter of the Emperor?”

“What the hell was I meant to do?” Jon hissed in frustration, almost spilling his drink. “We have the entire Imperial Navy chasing us, half seem to be intent on killing us, and the other half, who knows? The Praetorians are no more, and on-top of that we seem to have a bounty on our head, so every bounty hunter and mercenary in the Imperium is out to get us. I didn’t know where else to go…” Jon exclaimed in a despairing tone.

Ryan peered down at his son, ashamed. He had just been taken by surprise and had not meant the harsh-words spoken. Patting him reassuringly on the shoulder he said. “You know that you always have a place here, and whomever else you want to invite. After all, you did buy the house for us, so it’s yours just as much as it is ours!” His father exclaimed with a warm chuckle.

With the reassuring touch and warm words, Jon looked up in thanks, before asking softly. “What do I do now?”

“Well the first thing we are not going to do is tell your mother about the Princess,” his father stated firmly. “Hell, your mother spends days cleaning the house whenever we have guests from the ‘old neighbourhood’, if she found out we had an Imperial Princess here she would be cleaning into the next decade,” Jon smiled at his father’s humour, deciding that urgent decisions about what to do next could wait until the morning.

“Do you have anything to eat?” Jon inquired desperately. “We have been living off emergency rations from the shuttle for the past week. I’m famished!”

With a hearty laugh his father clapped his hand on his shoulder and stated. “Let’s go and see what your mother has planned for dinner.”

*****

Sofia looked around curiously, not sure what to expect from Jon’s family. She was still embarrassed at not having given them a thought in the past. Sofia remembered, uncomfortably, more than once mocking Jon about having no life when she came across him while roaming the Imperial Star when lonely. Whenever she encountered him, he was always busy with reports, eating alone or checking on their security. She repeatedly urged him to get a hobby, or get a life she remembered was her favourite term. Now walking though his childhood home she wondered if he had also been very much alone, she could never remember seeing him with anyone, aside from fellow officers, issuing orders. Looking back on the time, Sofia remembered that he had always made time for her, while the other officers and Praetorians seemed to go out of their way to avoid her. She wondered if it was this, back so long ago, that had drawn her interest to the young Commander.

Picking up a photo that was resting on a shelf, she noticed the young boy, with the grey eyes and dark hair, wearing an instantly recognisable serious expression. It was another thing that she associated with the Commander, he almost never laughed or smiled, she wondered what happened to him to cause him to permanently wear such a grim expression. Her sight was instead drawn to a young girl at Jon’s side. She guessed that she was a few years younger than Jon, his sister, she assumed, as both children had almost identical features, except the girl had a wide smile, as if she had just trounced her older, more serious brother.

Remembering Jon’s mother, she turned to face her, the picture still in her hand. “Jon’s sister?” she asked motioning towards the picture. Sofia was taken aback when instead of the proud smile that she was expecting, Irene’s expression slipped and a sliver of sorrow crept into her expression.

Taking the picture gently from the younger woman she looked at it for an instant before explaining. “Yes, our younger child Catherine, she passed away when she was still young. This was the last photo that we have of the two children. They were always close and Jon was never quite the same after she passed away, we think he blamed himself.” Irene continued to look at the picture fondly before putting it back safely on the shelf.

“Jon was involved in her death?” Sofia asked shocked.

“Of course not!” Irene replied firmly. “Catherine died from a genetic disorder, Tay-Sachs disease. There was nothing that Jon could do.”

Surprised, by this news, Sofia replied confused, “I thought that we could cure all genetic defects now by gene regeneration therapy.”

“Yes dear,” Irene replied patiently. “But such a treatment is hugely expensive and is only available on the core words. The medical centre on Altair does not offer treatment and we…we could not afford to send Catherine for treatment.”

Sofia looked around at the neat and tidy house, with the plush furnishings, remembering the pretty neighbourhood asked, confused, “But how can you afford…?”

“We did not buy this house dear,” Jon’s mother explained. “Jon purchased this for us a few years ago. Our old home, was…” Irene paused for a moment, “let’s just say it was not such a safe neighbourhood and Jon worried about us.”

Sofia was astounded, looking at her surroundings in a new light. Jon had purchased this for them? But how? She remembered her earlier recollections of Jon on the Imperial Star, always alone, never leaving the fleet, never… spending anything. Suddenly Jon’s past began to make more sense, but still it did not explain everything. While this home was certainly no palace, it was still a substantial purchase and while Sofia had no idea what a Commander in the Imperial Fleet earned, she doubted that it was enough to buy this in just a few years. So where had Jon got the money for this? Borrowed it? Looking at the proud woman in front of her and having known Jon for a few years she doubted it. They would have been too proud to ask. Ashamed, Sofia realised that a few years ago she would have just laughed in Jon’s face if he had asked her for money, although the money to purchase such a house was a drop in the ocean for her.

So how had he done it? Sofia hated not knowing things and would not let the thought go. Stole it? Blackmail? Threats? Sofia rejected each one out of hand, unable to picture the scene of some darkened corridor with Jon shaking-down somebody for money. She knew Jon, knew that he would never lower himself to that, that his personal honour and integrity would not allow it. Her mind kept going back to phrase a few years ago. Why did that sentence keep sticking in her mind? Well that was an easy question to answer, for that was when she had first met Jon, at the award ceremony… and suddenly everything clicked into place and she knew with absolute certainty what Jon had used to purchase a new home for his family…

*****

Imperial Princess Sofia Aurelius, daughter of the Emperor, crown jewel of the Empire, stifled a yawn. As an Imperial Princess, tradition dictated that she had to be present, at her father’s side, at the fleet award ceremony. Held twice per year it was to recognise Imperial Navy personnel, the backbone of the Empire, for outstanding contributions and for heroism and bravery. Peering down the line of immaculate navel officers Sofia was quick to form the opinion that there certainly were a large number of Captains, Commodores and Admirals to be recognised.

Is nobody else in the fleet below Captain capable of bravery and heroism? Sofia wondered ironically. Perhaps the rest of the navy have more common sense.

Finally her eyes came to rest on one of the officers at the end of the parade line. Considering her earlier thought, she noticed that he was much younger than the rest, nearer her own age. He was also a lot junior, no Captain or Admiral but simply a young Lieutenant. By chance he was also standing directly opposite from her, while the other officers seemed to be staring into outer-space, probably trying to stay awake too, Sofia thought, this officer was staring straight ahead, at her! Subtly glancing to either side of herself she confirmed that nobody else was standing near her, noticing her puzzled expression, the young officers featureless expression shifted to a knowing grin for an instant, and then was gone! Sofia was incensed! But what was she going to do? Interrupt proceedings and berate the young officer, in front of all, for smiling at her! Everyone in the room would think her silly, hence with a firm shake of her head she intently focused on the Admiral currently being awarded the fleet cross for bravery. Yawn.

Quickly glancing back to the officer to check that he was not still staring at her - he was, she averted her sight again. Damn it! She could feel herself start to blush and it was only through extreme self-control and thinking about other topics, aside from young fleet officers, with deep grey eyes…

Finally, much relieved, the ceremony came to the young fleet officer, the last recipient for the day.

“Lieutenant Jonathan Radec,” a voice called out. The young officer stepped smartly forward. “In recognition for outstanding heroism and bravery, in the face of impossible odds and at significant risk to yourself, and your squadron, the Emperor awards you the Fleet Medal. The Aurelius Star Cluster.”

Sofia could not help it, her mouth dropped open in disbelief. This young man, this lowly Lieutenant, surrounded my Captains, Commodores and Admirals was to receive the Fleet Medal, the Aurelius Star Cluster. The highest military award in the fleet, in the Imperium? No way!

However, the young officer ignored the stunned silence in the room, ignored the fact that every eye in the room was on him, probably the fleet, as this ceremony was broadcast live. Instead he confidently marched forward to stand in front of the Emperor, her father to receive the award.

Falling to one knee in front of the Emperor, with a flourish, her father laid the medal around his neck and then in a complete break with tradition and to an audible gasp from the audience offered the young man his hand to stand. For a brief moment Sofia thought that he was going to refuse her fathers hand. After all, it was death for anybody daring to touch the Emperor, she wondered why her father offered his hand, perhaps some test? However, the young officer smoothly grasped his hand and rose, once again to his feet. Slowly, but with increasing volume, clapping began from the legion of assembled officers, which quickly grew in volume until it was deafening.

Sofia was expecting the young officer to return to his position in the parade line, when instead he turned the other direction to face her! Sofia watched speechlessly as the young officer took her hand with a gentle smile, and bringing her hand to his lips kissed her gently on the back of her hand.

With a small bow and his eyes sparkling, he simply uttered the word, “Princess,” half in greeting and half in farewell. He then departed to re-join his fellow officers. Sofia could not help herself and blushed furiously. Bastard!

*****

Several hours later, it was late in the evening on the Imperial Star, when Sofia found her father alone in his study.

“He must have been very brave, or very heroic,” or very crazy, Sofia added silently.

“Who dear?” her father inquired.

“That young officer that you awarded the fleet medal to today.”

“Oh, him,” her father replied with a grin. “I noticed that he made quite an impression on you at the ceremony. Although I did not like it how he touched you,” the Emperor continued. Sofia just waved away her father’s over-zealous, protective streak. “…And yes, he was very brave, and heroic,” her father added.

Sitting down across from her father, “So what did he do to receive such an award?” She asked curiously… and in no way personally interested.

Her father was silent for a moment and began to explain, choosing his words carefully. “Different people have different… beliefs,” his father explained to her. “Sometimes these different groups of people do not… get on. When this happens, sometimes, we relocate these people to other systems to avoid conflict. We were moving one such group of people. 25,000 of them in fact, many women and children, when slavers attacked.”

Sofia had studied enough political science to know that while slavery had been illegal for centuries, it was still a very profitable enterprise, especially on some of the rim worlds, with extreme climates but rich in minerals.

“The slavers attacked in a surprisingly large force and took the Imperial escorts by surprise, most were destroyed, and the Commander ordered the remaining task force to withdraw.” Her father made in patently clear what he felt regarding that, and Sofia could well understand his disappointment at the fleet abandoning 25,000 people to slavers. “What remained of the task force escaped,” her father explained, “except for the Lieutenant and his squadron of fighters. He refused the order to abandon the families to the slavers.”

“He ordered his squadron to stay and fight?” Sofia asked, amazed that his fellow pilots did not just ignore the order and escape.

“No, he asked them,” came the even more astonishing response. “According to the communication transcripts he told them that he would prefer to die with honour protecting women and children from slavery, than live for the rest of his life with the guilt of abandoning them. It seemed that his squadron agreed with him, as none of them left. They held off the slavers for almost an hour, until Imperial reinforcements could arrive, by which time he was the only one left alive.”

Sofia gasped in grief. “He was the only pilot in the squadron to survive?” she asked. Her father just nodded sadly. “So what is he going to do now?” she asked concerned.

“I have not thought of that yet, he will probably be re-assigned to another squadron,” her father replied distractedly.

“You should assign him here,” the young Sofia insisted brightly. “He must be an excellent pilot, and as you said, he is certainly very brave, and heroic,” Sofia added responding with her fathers own description. “And anyway I thought he was kind of cute,” Sofia added softly.

Her father looked up thoughtfully for a moment before replying, “I might just do that.”

*****

Looking at her surroundings in an entirely new light, Sofia was completely astonished. She knew with absolute certainty that Jon had sold the medal. The Aurelius Star Cluster, a medal that had been awarded exactly 16 times since the founding of the Empire, by her great, great, great grandfather Edward. She had checked! She could picture Jon, in his cramped quarters on-board the Imperial Star, gazing at the medal. Rewarded for leading his squadron to their deaths, only to be spared the same fate, by well… fate. Then picturing his family back on Altair, in some small decrepit apartment, in some horrific neighbourhood, and realising that the medal could have a purpose, could be put to good use to help somebody. The thought brought tears to her eyes!

The next minute she was engulfed in a familiar rib breaking hug, similar to that which had been inflicted upon Jon only a few minutes earlier!

“There is no need to be upset, dear,” Jon’s mother explained hurriedly. “Ryan and I are perfectly fine here now, we’ve got over the loss of our daughter, although we still both worry about Jon a lot.”

Sofia considered for a moment explaining that it was not that which had brought tears to her eyes, but instead what Jon had sacrificed for his family. However, it was obvious that he had not chosen to tell them how he managed to afford their new home and she did not feel that it was her place to explain. Anyway, Sofia could not remember the last time someone had embraced her in such an affectionate manner. Her father had been a loving, but not an affectionate man. Thoughts of her father brought back memories of her own recent loss and before she knew it, she was spilling the story of her own loss to Jon’s mother…

Coming to the point in the story about her attack on Transcendence, Sofia’s words ground to a halt, not knowing how to put into words the paralysing fear and loathing. However, a soft touch on her chin lifted her gaze to look into Irene’s eyes. Her eyes were so sympathetic and understanding that the words just came out in a tumble, of being forced down and their disgusting hands pawing all over her body…

“They cannot hurt you any more, dear,” Irene reassured her softly. “Jon and Ryan won’t let anything happen to you while you are here, nobody can hurt you.”

“I know they cannot hurt me anymore,” Sofia tried to explain, recounting Jon’s rescue and her captor’s violent deaths.

“Good,” Irene stated in a vehement tone that shocked the younger woman. “Then as well as you, they cannot hurt anybody else.” Sofia had never considered that before, still reeling from the attack and the violence that Jon had seemed to display so effortlessly.

However, any further discussion was abruptly interrupted by the sound of the door opening and Ryan and Jon stomping into the room. Both froze like statues at the sight of the two women standing in the middle of the room in a tight embrace with tears running down their cheeks.

Eyes darting between the two women Jon asked anxiously, “Mum, Sofia, is everything…ok?”

“Yes dear,” his mother hurriedly reassured him brushing away the tears from her cheeks. “Sofia and I were just catching up. Have you and Ryan finished your discussion?” She quickly deflected the question back.

“Yes, I don’t suppose you have anything to eat? Sofia and I have not had a proper meal in days and we are famished.”

“Of course dear, sorry I should have thought of that earlier. Ryan, while I am heating up some dinner for us could you prepare the guest bedroom for Sofia. Unless you are staying with Jon tonight?” She blissfully threw out the question to the room. Surprised by the sudden silence she looked up to find the three of them rooted to the spot, all with eye’s as wide as saucers!

“Ugh no, if you could make-up the spare bedroom…that would be… great,” Jon replied hesitantly. Refusing to make eye contact with anybody else in the room.

“Ok, sure dear,” Irene replied, confused by the reaction to the innocent question from the other occupants of the room. “Ryan, could you see to it while I go and start dinner?” She asked her husband.

“Sure, dear, I’ll get onto it right away. I expect after their long journey they will want to retire early tonight.”

“Sofia, would you like to give me a hand?” Irene asked casually. For the second time in the space of a minute you could hear a pin-drop.

Ryan Radec, you are going to have some serious explaining to do later, Irene thought to herself fuming. It seemed that everybody knew what was going on except her!

“I’m not very good at food preparation, Mrs. Radec,” Sofia explained softly. “But I would be happy to help you any way I can,” she added confidently, purposefully ignoring the two men who were staring at her open mouthed in disbelief.

Gently pulling her by the elbow in the direction of the kitchen, Irene exclaimed loudly before the door closed, “Please dear, call me Irene…”

Jon stared at his father intently. This was entirely his fault as he had planned to make detailed introductions before now!

“Not a word son, not a word!” His father exclaimed, wagging his finger at his son before heading towards the bedrooms to prepare the guest rooms.

“So what am I meant to do?” Jon asked the empty room rhetorically.

*****

Dinner consisted of a meat stew with some carbohydrate supplements, and fresh vegetables, recently picked from his mother’s garden. Having been living on fleet rations for the better part of a week both Jon and Sofia were famished and hence both asked for second helpings. The topic of conversation at dinner was purposely kept light with Ryan and Irene updating the young couple on the latest news on Altair. Jon asked a few casual questions about some of the old neighbours and the new, along with inquiring about what they thought of the new house. The only important topic discussed over the meal was regarding repairs to their ship. Ryan assured his son that while he had long since retired from working at the spaceport, he still knew a number of colleagues working there which would be happy to help.

Jon had not been away from Altair long enough to have forgotten how things worked. As nobody had much to spare, everything worked on an informal barter system, where you helped out your neighbour and colleagues, and they returned the favour when you need it.

By then it was already starting to get late, Jon was exhausted and looking forward to getting some rest. Sofia’s expression was also starting to sag, so she quickly agreed when Jon proposed that they both retire early for the night. Showing Sofia to the guest room and making sure that she had everything that she needed, Jon wearily made for his own room, only just having time to strip-off his flight-suit before falling dreamlessly asleep, draped across his bed.

*****

Jon’s eyes suddenly snapped open, a couple of hours later, all his senses suddenly flaring to life. His hand had instinctively reached for his sword by the side of his bed, before he realised that he was not in his quarters on the Imperial Star. Jon stayed silent for a moment, reaching out with all his senses trying to determine why he had woken so suddenly.

Suddenly he heard the noise again that had woken him moments earlier. A muffled cry coming from the next room – Sofia’s room! Grabbing the nearest pair of pants, which Jon ironically noticed were a pair of sweatpants emblazoned with the tag ‘Property of Imperial Military College, Altair,’ Jon hurried towards Sofia’s room. Not noticing anything out of the ordinary, Jon decided that discretion was the best approach, hence knocked softly on the door. As there was no response, but still the occasional muffled cry coming from inside the room, Jon slowly opened the door and entered the room.

As his eyes slowly adjusted to the dark he could make-out Sofia laying across the bed, she had obviously found one of his old sweatshirts to wear, as it was about five sizes too big and reached almost to her knees. Tossing and turning on the bed, face covered in sweat; it was obvious that she was having a terrible nightmare. Being able to guess the contents of the dream, Jon hurried to her side and taking care not to restrain her, gently touching her on the shoulder. “Sofia, wake up. It’s just a bad dream,” he whispered quietly trying to rouse her gently from the nightmare in which she seemed trapped.

Sofia however was caught up in the dream, muttering, “No, no, no… help me! Somebody help me…Jon!”

His heart almost breaking from the gut wrenching fear in her voice, Jon shook her more urgently. “Sofia!” he whispered urgently. “Wake up it’s just a dream!” Suddenly her body froze solid and her eyes snapped open. It was only Jon’s quick reflexes that avoided a vicious black-eye when her fist came flying out of nowhere towards his face. Ducking the blow, he was prepared to fend off another when he noticed that her body had relaxed a little and her eyes were focused on him.

Confused, Sofia asked. “Jon? What are you doing here? On my bed?” Looking down Jon realised, embarrassedly, that he was lying on her bed, having fallen onto it ducking her earlier vicious left hook.

Quickly rising off her bed he looked her in the eye and explained. “You were having a bad nightmare, I was trying to wake you.”

Sofia averted her gaze and drawing up her knees to her chest, hugged herself tightly. In a small tone of voice she apologised. “I am sorry for waking you. This is the third time I’ve woken up tonight…I don’t sleep… very well. I’m sorry.”

Jon’s heart went out to the younger woman, remembering the first time that he had been in combat, remembering how he was unable to sleep for days. “Do you want to talk about it?” Jon asked softly, deciding that it was probably now safe to sit down on the bed next to her.

“There is not really much to tell,” Sofia explained. “It’s dark and cold and I cannot seem to move. There are… things. I cannot see them. I just know they are out there in the darkness, coming closer and then they start to touch me. I try calling for help, begging them to stop but they keep coming.”

Jon could immediately see the parallels between her attack and the nightmares, but did not think it would help Sofia to bring-up the obvious similarities. Thinking furiously, it occurred to Jon that a big source of the problem seemed to be that Sofia felt that she could not defend herself, hence being unable to move in the dream. Never in his life had Jon ever contemplated combat training for an Imperial Princess, but considering their current situation, some self-defence training was probably going to be far more useful than her political science lessons.

Gently broaching the subject, Jon hesitantly proposed, “Perhaps I could help you…”

Looking at him quizzically Sofia asked, “You can you help me? Sleep better?” Suddenly realising how that sounded Sofia blushed furiously.

Jon was fascinated to notice that her blush spread all the way down her check, neck and under the sweatshirt. Jon idly wondered if she was wearing anything underneath the shirt, before bringing this thoughts sharply back on-topic. The last thing that she needed was some mooning, lovesick admirer, like the ones that surrounded her on the Imperial Star. Ignoring her reaction he cautiously explained how he could teach her to protect herself, so that if she was ever in a similar situation she could defend herself.

“Perhaps that would also help you with these nightmares?” Jon concluded. “At the very least you will be so worn out from the exercises that you should sleep…” Jon was going to say like the dead, “…better,” he proposed.

“Well I cannot see how it can hurt.”

“Good. We can start tomorrow,” Jon concluded. “Do you want to try and get back to sleep?” he asked.

“No,” Sofia replied, shaking her head violently. “I could not get back to sleep after that last nightmare.”

“Ok,” Jon replied getting up to leave, but Sofia’s hand closed around his arm and she asked.

“Please, stay with me a while and talk,” she pleaded looking at him beseechingly.

“OK. What do you want to talk about?”

“Oh, I don’t know, anything. Tell me about your early days in the Navy?” Sofia asked remembering earlier about when he had been awarded the fleet medal.

So Jon told her some stories about his basic training, some of which made her laugh, some that made her gasp. Then he told her about his first few deployments…all the while watching her beautiful green eyes, as her eyes got heavier and heavier, before they closed completely and she was lying against his arm snoring gently. Pulling the blanket over her, to avoid her getting cold during the night, he was tempted to give her a goodnight kiss but at the last minute thought better of it. However, when he tried to rise from the bed he found that he couldn’t as Sofia still had a firm grasp of his arm. Not wanting to wake her after finally getting her to sleep, he just shrugged, switched the light off and let his own eyes drift shut.

*****

The light shining through the bedroom window awakened Jon early. The intense luminosity of the Altair sun and its extremely rapid rate of rotation meant that sunrise was very early. Glancing next to him, Jon was pleased to see that Sofia was still sleeping soundly. She’d had no more nightmares during the night; whether that was because of his presence, or his promise Jon had no idea, but he was pleased to see that her skin seemed to have regained some of its colour. Sometime during the night she had shifted position and her head now lay resting across his naked chest. Jon allowed himself the small pleasure of a further few minutes of rest, running his hand gently through Sofia’s lustrous red hair. Wondering what life would be like if he could wake-up every morning with her at his side… With a gentle sigh, he slid his body out from beneath hers to start his day, fully aware that if he did not move soon he would find further excuses never to leave her bed.

Quietly creeping out of her room, praying that she would remain asleep to avoid another difficult conversation he finally let-out a relieved breath, when her bedroom door was finally closed…only to turn around to come face-to-face with his father.

Of all the goddamn timings, Jon cursed to himself on observing his father’s shocked expression and could guess at the wild assumptions that were currently taking root.

“Let’s get a coffee and …talk,” his father announced tersely. “While we let the women sleep.”

*****

With it still being very early in the morning, with the sun only just up, the temperature outside was very pleasant. Jon knew that it would climb quickly, until by midday everybody would have to take cover inside from the sweltering temperatures of the midday sun.

Looking over the rim of his cup of coffee at his father’s brusque expression, Jon decided to go for the pre-emptive strike and try and head-off the looming argument.

“I am not sleeping with Sofia…Princess Aurelius,” Jon hurriedly corrected himself, he had been spending far too much time recently with Sofia…the Princess, and had started to stop thinking of her as that and now simply thought of her as… Sofia. The incredulous look from his father, made him stop and review his previous statement. “Ok, I am sleeping with the Princess, but this was the first and only time.”

The incredulous look from this father changed to one of complete disbelief. “You are sleeping with the Imperial Princess Sofia Aurelius, daughter of the Emperor? Are you insane!” His father hissed angrily trying to keep his voice quiet so not to wake anybody else in the house. “Good grief boy, I thought we at least raised you with some common sense. What is the penalty for sleeping with an Imperial Princess anyway?” He went on rhetorically, “Seeing as it is the death penalty for even touching one of the Imperial family I would assume at the very least it is a more painful death.”

“Have you finished yet?” Jon interjected angrily. “While I did sleep with her, once, just once… I’m not sleeping with her if you know what I mean?”

“No,” his father replied just staring at him perplexedly.

“Look dad, we are both adults here, let me put this simply. I am not having sex with her!” Jon exclaimed loudly.

“Keep it down son,” his father replied nervously looking around the small garden. “We don’t want the neighbours to hear, what would they think?”

Jon just rolled his eyes in disbelief and replied. “I don’t know dad, hopefully they won’t think I am sleeping with Sofia, aghhh,” Jon cried banging his head against the wall. “…With Princess Aurelius,” Jon replied completely exasperatedly.

Ryan just continued to look at his son with a concerned expression before stating stoically. “I think you are getting too emotionally involved here, son,” and he went off to look for more coffee.

You think! Jon thought unkindly, watching his father disappear into the house.

*****

It was late in the afternoon, and the sun had begun its descent and the outside temperate had fallen sufficiently for Jon and Sofia to practice outside. As it was still extremely hot, Jon had elected to forgo a T-shirt and just wore a pair of sweatpants. Sofia meanwhile, had managed to find a better fitting shirt and wore a pair of jeans. Both antagonists faced off, a few meters apart, on some old exercise mats that Jon had found.

Blinking away the sweat from his eyebrows, Jon was having second thoughts about this whole escapade. What had seemed like a perfectly good idea late last night, was quickly giving way to the light of reason during the day. Jon was having trouble focusing on the task at hand, as his attention was continually drawn to Sofia’s figure. In the casual workout clothes she seemed far younger than her age, and her clothes were clinging to her in all the right places, actuating her stunning figure.

Meanwhile Sofia could not take her eyes off Jon, standing there bare-chested like some Greek god. Her eyes followed one particular rivulet of sweat as it ran down his chest. Subconsciously she licked her lips and only when she looked up into Jon’s eyes did she recognise the desire that was burning brightly in them, most likely mirroring her own expression.

“So what do we do first?” she asked nervously, trying to distract herself from his body… and his searing gaze.

“As most of the time you will be fighting men that are bigger and stronger than yourself, I will teach you to fight with a knife. A gun would be far more effective for you, and we will get onto that, but you will find yourself in a situation one day when you don’t have a gun or have lost it. It will be easy for you to conceal a small knife somewhere, and most men won’t be expecting it. So you will have the benefit of surprise.”

With that he drew a small combat knife that he kept in the secure armoury that he maintained at his parents house. Carefully handling it to Sofia hilt first, he encouraged her to get used to the weight and feel of the small blade. “From now on you will carry it with you…always,” Jon insisted seriously. “Now let’s start with a basic thrust. Attack me with the knife,” Jon insisted.

Noticing her hesitation, Jon called out frustratedly. “Haven’t we already been over this?” Reminding her of the time in the officer lounge of the Imperial Star, when he faced, unarmed, the senator’s son who had his sword drawn.

Jon at least had to give her a little credit, that she did not need to be told twice, and at least she made an attempt to stab him with the knife…even if it was completely pitiful.

Sighing in frustration, unsure if the heat caused it, the close pull of Sofia’s body or the task at hand, Jon desperately tried to think how best to proceed. In basic training it was easy. The sergeant gave you the knife, ordered you to defend yourself with it; and then proceeded to kick seven bells of crap out of you until you succeeded. Eyeing Sofia in front of him carefully, with her hair tied back in a braid, the swell of a breast tapering down to her narrow waist…Jon tore his gaze away.

The frontal assault approach was not going to work. No way was he seriously going to attack her, even if Sofia ever contemplated that he would physically hurt her. That left the current approach, encouraging her to attack him seriously. Not the current half-hearted approach that she showed, but with the full-on intent to cause as much harm to him as possible. Well, if the physical approach was not an option, time to try the psychological option, Jon reluctantly decided.

Moving far closer, to use his slight height advantage, as a psychological advantage to intimidate, he swore at her. “That was pathetic,” he noticed the ripple of surprise in her expression. Jon had never addressed her in such a coarse manner before, having always treated her politely and with respect. Steeling his heart for what he was about to say, he continued in the same manner. “No wonder your father admitted to me that he was ashamed of you. How many times he cursed the day that he had a daughter, and not a son.”

Now the surprise was giving way to shock and hurt, Jon knew that he would need to go even further to ignite her anger and hatred, those emotions he could use, could mould, to teach her to harness and use to protect herself. Thinking what he could use to truly hurt her, he remembered stumbling into the room yesterday shocked at seeing Sofia and his mother in such a loving embrace, something that she had never been able to have with her own mother. Her Mother!

“You’re useless! Marcus was better off without you. He told me that he wished it was you that had died in child-birth and not your mother!” Now he could see the flames coming into her eyes, her grip unconsciously tightening on the knife, her muscles stretching ready to strike. Just a little more!

“I don’t know why he was so bothered, personally,” Jon commented, off-hand. “She was just another concubine to the Emperor, I know that he had dozens of them since.”

With a wordless cry Sofia sprang forward like a cat, slashing the knife at Jon’s face, which he blocked at the last second, taken by surprise at her speed. But already she was twisting around to try and stab him in the chest. Again Jon parried and again, each block just fuelling her ire. However, Sofia was tiring quickly and, finally in tears, she threw the knife aside and swung with the palm of her hand at his cheek. While Jon recognised the blow, this one he allowed through his guard, as Jon felt he deserved far worse for his earlier lies.

With a surprisingly hard smack, that snapped Jon’s head back from the force of the blow, the sound brought Sofia back to her senses. Staring in disbelief at the person that she thought she knew, that perhaps she had even begun to fall in love with… Turning away in tears, she ran back inside the house. Even from outside Jon could hear the force of her bedroom door slamming shut. Rubbing his face in pain, reminding himself to watch out as she had a vicious right hook, Jon left to find his father.

Training was over for the day and Jon needed to get repairs started on the ‘Light.

*****

It was a sombre pair that made their way towards the shuttle later that day after sunset. Jon had insisted on waiting until the cover of night to avoid anybody following them and discovering the shuttle.

“Do you want to talk about what is bothering you?” His father inquired, breaking the silence.

“No.”

“How did the training go? I saw you teaching her earlier.”

“Ok,” Jon replied.

Finally giving up in disgust - obviously Jon had learned that particular trait from his mother, Ryan turned back to the trail, following the directions sporadically supplied by Jon. Having made good time as Jon had made careful notes of their journey from the shuttle, they soon arrived.

“Wow, she’s a beauty!” His father commented running his fingers along the bow. “We never used to get anything like this at the spaceport. Usually we just got beaten up shuttles and the odd decrepit freighters.”

“But can you fix her?” Jon inquired in frustration, interrupting his fathers little jaunt down memory lane.

“Now don’t get your knickers in a twist, son,” Ryan replied and added with an evil grin. “And come to think of it, you stay away from your Princess’ knickers.”

Jon just rolled his eyes and replied, “She’s not my Princess, dad.”

“Could have fooled me, the way that you two were drooling over each other, earlier when you were practicing.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jon replied desperately trying to change the topic. He had already had one cold shower. Trying to forget the way that Sofia had looked, standing there in a thin shirt and form fitting jeans, sweat glistening on her brow. Jon could already feel himself getting warm again, so instead he focused on the expression on her face as he lied about her mother and the tears she had shed. Jon felt his blood run cold and his heart turn to stone. Yep, that will do it, Jon thought to himself, ashamed. He turned his gaze back to his father who had crawled under the port engine.

“Give us some light, can you son,” his father’s muffled voice came from underneath the shuttle. Switching on the flashlight that they both carried for this very purpose he shone the light underneath the shuttle where his father was pointing. A few minutes of banging and a couple of muffled curses later his father slid out from underneath the engine.

“The port engine is fine, I could not see any damage at all. Looks like the problem is with the energy distribution matrix, the good news is that we can fix it. The bad news - it will take some time, as my colleagues and I will need to test each connection individually to find the bad one.”

“How long?” Jon inquired in a sinking tone.

“Working out here, only after dark?” Ryan directed the question towards his son who nodded in confirmation. “I would guess four, maybe five nights tops,” he replied. “Perhaps shorter if we strike lucky and find the damaged connection earlier.”

Jon just stared into the night sky, wondering who else out there might be looking for them and how soon they would arrive. However, if his father said it would take a week, that’s how long it would take. Nodding his head in understanding, Jon offered his hand to his father and helped him up.

Noticing the despondent look on his son, Ryan clapped his hand on his shoulder and said positively. “Look on the bright side son, you can look forward to a week of your mother’s cooking and a week of getting hot and sweaty with your Princess.”

“Fantastic,” Jon replied sourly.

*****

It was very late, or more precisely very early when they arrived back. The women had already retired to bed for the night. After sharing a late night snack, the two of them also quickly retired to their beds. They both had a long week ahead to get the shuttle repaired quickly. Jon paused briefly outside Sofia’s closed bedroom door, straining to hear anything, but unable to do so quickly carried on into his own room. Tired from the long day and longer night, Jon quickly fell into a restless sleep, with dreams of faceless people chasing them and Sofia’s desperate cries for help.

Jon arose early, once again woken by the bright light streaming through the blinds. Having slept terribly through the night, waking up several times unsure if the cries of help were from his own dreams or the occupant of the next room. Deciding that he desperately needed some coffee, Jon switched the machine on and sat in his parents’ kitchen watching the sun rise quickly into the clear sky. It looked like it was going to be another scorcher of a day. The kitchen was bright and airy and Jon recognised several of his mother’s small touches throughout the room, but for Jon it never felt like home.

Jon had spent his childhood in a small, dingy, mouldy apartment in one of the many slums in Carrington city. The kitchen was barely big enough for one, let alone a table and chairs. The combined living room, dining room was just about big enough to fit the family around a table and the view…well it offered a superb view of the dank, grey, opposing apartment block. The hollow centre of the tower block had long filled up with trash, completely blocking the windows of some of the lower apartments. As for the smell… it was unbelievable. However, Jon remembered a happy childhood with Catherine still alive and healthy. His parents were not around much, always working hard to earn enough money for them, but it was still a family.

He was interrupted by the sound of movement behind him and instinctively knew that it was Sofia. Jon wondered how and when he had become so in tune with the Princess that he could feel her presence. Remembering the harsh words stated the previous day, Jon did not turn around but he knew that she had seen him by the sound of her sudden indrawn breath. Jon heard the clinking of cups and the sound of coffee being poured, followed soon after by the sound of the kitchen door being quietly closed. Jon wondered if the echo left in the kitchen was actually the sound of his heart breaking.

Naturally an active person, Jon found the inactivity during the day particularly frustrating, and he continually found himself staring at the clock waiting for the sun to set so they could resume work on the shuttle. It was therefore a shock when he noticed that Sofia had changed into her workout clothes and was following some of the more simpler warm-up exercises that he had taught her the day before. Frankly Jon was surprised that Sofia had any desire to continue with the training, but as was often the case he found himself underestimating her. He hurried to change into his exercise clothes, this time deciding to wear a shirt, as Jon had no plans to torture himself demonstrating the various holds and throws by holding her against his bare chest.

Sofia did not meet his gaze when he arrived, instead simply held the knife firmly in her hand and cocked her head at an angle as if to say, ‘now what’?”

“Strike at me with the knife, like you did yesterday,” Jon ordered, wincing at the reminder of why she used the knife yesterday. “But this time slowly, and I will help you correct your posture.”

Sofia nodded her head in understanding and reached out to strike him with the knife once-again, but this time slower, as if time had been slowed down to a crawl. Jon stopped her, when the knife was barely inches from his throat and helped her correct her centre of balance and lock her shoulder, so her full weight was behind the thrust. Jon and Sofia went through the motion half a dozen times with Jon patiently explaining what she was doing wrong and each time correcting her. Sofia refused to meet his gaze or respond, just nodding her head in understanding. After several more tries, Jon was satisfied with her posture and they ran through several more forms, from different thrusts, to slashes and blocks. They then reversed roles, with Jon being the attacker with the knife and he taught her the very same blocks that he had used on her the day before.

Unused to the punishing physical exercise and the heat from the late afternoon sun, Jon offered Sofia several opportunities to rest but each time she refused. Impressed with her determination Jon ran through several more forms of unarmed combat, demonstrating the vulnerable areas of the body and where best to strike to incapacitate or disable an opponent. Sofia was a quick study and often only needed one or two demonstrations of a technique before she mastered it and they moved onto the next. Jon was stunned by her progress. While Sofia lacked the physical strength necessary to excel at combat, she more than made-up for it with her speed and exquisite balance. Jon assumed that Sofia had spent many years learning dance and gymnastics to have such a perfect posture. When the sun started to disappear beneath the horizon Jon called an end to the training session. Once again Sofia failed to respond, just nodding her head in acknowledgement, before pivoting around and heading back inside the house.

Sighing wearily, Jon collected the practice mats before heading indoors for a change of clothes and a shower before dinner. Unlike their first night together, dinner was a strained event as the tension in the air between the two was easily noticeable to both parents. The two refused to make eye contact and all conversation went via one or the other parents. Finally the entire table lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. Jon was not the only one relieved when dinner was finished and cleared away. Eventually the time came to depart, with Jon waiting for his father who was in a deep discussion with his mother. With a nod of understanding, the couple broke up and Jon followed his father out of the house.

By mutual agreement they met his father’s ex-colleagues several kilometres from the house. Jon had initially had some concerns about having to trust several unknown strangers. However, his father reassured him that he had known them all for many years and trusted them implicitly. Additionally without their help, the repairs would take weeks if not months. They agreed that his father would only explain the bare minimum, that the ship was damaged in an attack, required repairs and they wished to avoid the taxes and commission charged at the spaceport. After a brief introduction the small group made their way to the shuttle and within a few hours the landing site was a hive of activity as panels were removed for easier access and detailed diagnostics initiated.

Having only basic engineering knowledge, Jon was little help beyond instructing the ship’s computer to power-up the individual systems as his father and the engineering team monitored the power distribution to try and locate the damaged connector.”

The next thing he knew was a brief shake of his shoulder as his father woke him up. “I’ve been calling for the last few minutes,” he explained. “We need you to initialise the secondary actuator.”

“Sorry I must have nodded off for a moment,” Jon explained, embarrassed.

“Don’t worry about it, you’ve had a hard time of it recently. Look why don’t you give this a miss tomorrow and get some sleep?”

“I’d love to,” Jon replied. “But you need me to power up the systems. The shuttle is genetically coded to me; it won’t respond to any of your commands.” At his father’s dubious expression, Jon motioned towards the flight controls. “Try it yourself; the secondary actuator is the one on the top left.”

His father tentatively reached out to activate the control, but with an indignant beep from the ships computer nothing happened. Smoothly reaching out, Jon gently touched the control, which immediately activated.

“And only you can fly this ship?”

“This ship and it’s sister ship the Star Light are, were the personal shuttles for the Emperor and his family, only they have permission to fly them.”

“So how come you have permission for this one?” Jon’s father asked the obvious question.

Jon was about to reply that the Emperor had ordered him to use this ship to take Sofia, hence must have added him personally as an authorised pilot, when he stopped. Jon clearly remembered that night, after receiving the orders he had gone straight to the flight deck to check on the ship. He had already been given access to the ship by the time he had arrived. So exactly when had he been authorised to pilot the ‘Light? Suddenly curious, Jon accessed the security log for the ship and scrolled back in time until he found the record detailing his access. It was dated several months earlier. But that did not make sense… how could the Emperor have possibly known that he would need access to the ship so long before? He remembered the conversation with the Emperor clearly; he had made it expressly clear that the two ships belonged to the Aurelius family – they were private property and could only be flown by members of the family. Confused at why he then had been given the necessary access Jon turned back to testing the next component on the power-up list.

*****

Life slowly settled into a routine, with Jon rising early, wondering aimlessly around the house until the temperature cooled later in the day to spend a few hours training Sofia, before working on the shuttle repairs late into the night.

Jon was exhausted, tired and irritable. While Sofia’s progress in their afternoon training sessions had been astounding she still refused to even look him in the eye, let alone talk to him and the atmosphere in the house was…unpleasant. The little sleep that Jon had been getting was restless, intermittent and plagued by bad dreams. Sofia fared little better, as she had retreated back into the same shell that she had after the attack on Transcendence, and showed little appetite over meals, content to just push the food around her plate and actually eat very little. Her sparking emerald green eyes, had faded to a dull green, and her skin appeared pale and washed out.

Having put-up with this for almost a week and having been unable to get a word out of his stubborn son, Ryan decided to approach the Princess directly. Ryan did not have much experience dealing with Imperial Princesses, but having been married for over 30 years he felt that he had some experience with women. That afternoon, when Sofia had once again retired to her room and Jon had fallen asleep in the kitchen, Ryan felt it was as good as any opportunity to try. Knocking gently on her door, hoping that she was not also asleep he was relieved to hear her voice, giving him permission to enter. Upon entering Ryan found Sofia sitting up on the bed, with her head resting on her knees, which were folded against her chest. Ryan’s heart went out to the younger woman, as she seemed so alone and miserable. It occurred to Ryan that if Catherine were still alive, she would be around the same age as this woman. While there was nothing he could do for his long-dead daughter, perhaps he could help this troubled young woman.

“Excuse me Princess, I hope I am not disturbing you…” he apologised, suppressing a grin at the flash of surprise that crossed Sofia’s face. You didn’t know that I knew your secret, let’s see what else you don’t know, Ryan thought to himself smugly.

“I didn’t know that you knew who I was,” Sofia explained, embarrassed. “When Jon didn’t say anything, I thought it best to keep quiet about it.”

“Jon told me, the night you arrived. However, I would probably have guessed eventually…Anyway I don’t have much experience prostrating myself in-front of royalty,” Ryan explained matter-of-factly.

“It’s not necessary, to be honest. Having spent my life as an Imperial Princess, it was nice just to be Sofia for a while. Anyway it was fun helping Irene with the dinner, I’ve never cooked before,” Sofia explained with a giggle.

For a brief instant, Ryan could understand his son’s attraction to the Princess, as when she laughed her entire face lit-up with a smile. Taking a seat next to her on the bed, Ryan cast his eye around the room trying to think how he could bring up the topic of her and Jon’s sudden coldness. “Did Jon tell you that he bought this house for us?” he finally asked.

“Yes, Irene mentioned it.”

“When I asked Jon where he got the money, he just told us that he sold some silly trinket that he had been given. Must have been some expensive charm…”

“The fleet medal, the Aurelius Star Cluster,” Sofia decided to confide in Jon’s father. It bothered her a little that Jon’s parents did not seem to be aware of the sacrifice that their son made for them.

Ryan’s eyes went wide at the news. “Sounds important,” he whistled. “I hope Jon does not get into any trouble if anyone ever finds out.”

“I’m sure that daddy would have been furious if he discovered that Jon had sold the award,” Sofia explained. “But I think, secretly he would have approved, if he knew what Jon had done with the money.”

“Jon talked about your father a lot when he was last home,” Ryan replied thoughtfully. “At the time we did not know who he was, and Jon was not forthcoming, but I knew that Jon respected him a great deal. Jon referred to him as one of the greatest men that he had ever known and I know that Jon is devastated about his death. He blames himself for not doing enough, not being able to protect him.” Deciding to change the topic slightly, Ryan added. “I remember one of Jon’s biggest regrets was not being able to meet your mother. He often told us how he would have loved to meet such a person who could have captured your father’s heart so completely. I think Jon thought your mother must have been a pretty special woman.”

“Yes, she was,” Sofia replied. Remembering the times as a child when her mother would comb her hair and sing softly to her until she fell asleep. “I think my mother would have enjoyed meeting Jon too. Aside from her, Jon was the only person who could never be intimidated by my father.

I remember one time when I was caught sneaking around the ship, I liked to do that a lot.” Sofia added with an impish grin. “Father threw an almighty tantrum, furious that I had sneaked out without an escort and was proposing all sorts of terrible repercussions. When Jon calmly placed himself between my father and me and simply stated that the blame should lie with him as he was in charge of seeing to my safety. For almost an hour my father belittled him, blamed him, cursed him, threatened every punishment under the sun, from demotion through to treason and death. He just stood there not saying a word! Finally my father collapsed into a chair exhausted and just dismissed him, but still he stood there impassively and inquired as to my punishment. Faced with a possible death sentence and he was concerned about my sentence! I don’t think father knew what to say; he just dismissed us both. Aside from my mother, Jon is the only other person to stand-up to my father, on my behalf. I think everybody was secretly terrified of him, but not Jon.”

Sofia remembered that incident clearly. She had never seen her father so angry and was terrified of the consequences, but Jon had deflected his anger away from her. Ever since then she had seen Jon in a new light, somebody that she could trust, somebody that she knew she could rely upon to protect her. She had never felt so safe as she did when she was with Jon.

Ryan smiled at the story, finding it incredible to believe that his son had stood up to Marcus Aurelius, the Emperor, all to protect this young girl from his temper. “Jon never spoke much about himself and his exploits in the navy,” Ryan explained slowly. “I got the impression that his life was very dangerous and he did not want us to worry… His mother, Irene, was constantly asking him if he had met anybody, I think she was hoping that he would meet some girl, settle down and start a family of his own. I remember there was this one time…” Ryan explained, giving Sofia a knowing look, as she was captivated by what he was saying. “Irene pestered Jon endlessly about whether he had met somebody. Finally Jon capitulated and confessed that he had met someone.”

Suddenly Sofia realised that she was no longer having fun. She had been spellbound hearing about her family from Jon’s own words to his father, but she did not want to know about some fling, or even worse, a permanent relationship that Jon was involved in. She could feel a growing knot in her stomach as Ryan repeated Jon’s words, describing this beautiful woman, with flawless skin, beautiful eyes and the grace and manner of a Princess. Sofia could hear the words as if coming from Jon himself, conveying the love and affection that he held for this woman.

As a clump of something cold and unpleasant landed in the pit of Sofia’s stomach, she hesitantly asked, “Did Jon ever tell you her name?” While she did not know all the women on-board the Imperial Star, she knew many of them, and counted a significant number as her friends. Thinking back she could not remember the number of times that her female friends commented about the fetching Commander, she knew that more than one of them had approached the Commander, but each one had been politely rebuffed. At the time she had felt relieved, jealous of any other woman sharing the Commander’s attention, but unsure why. Now she knew that most likely at least one of them had caught his eye.

Surprised at the question, as Ryan was preparing to leave the Princess to her thoughts, he shook his head in a negative. At the disappointed look from the Princess he did add. “The only other thing that he mentioned was that she had flaming red hair, and eyes like the brightest emeralds.” With a smile in her direction, he left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

He was talking about me! He meant those beautiful words for me! The thought sang through her mind. As an Imperial Princess of the Empire, Sofia had very little say in her own life. Her time was strictly scheduled for study and, or official ceremonies, for her to appear next to her father. Therefore Sofia had never had to make an important decision on her own before. Sofia sat down and thought long and hard for many hours about what she wanted.

*****

Jon had been waiting for some time at their usual place for their training sessions, having laid out the practice mats some time earlier. However, now the sun was starting to hang low in the sky and still Sofia had not appeared. Sighing, Jon prepared to put the mats away and call it quits for the evening. Jon was surprised to regret the end of their training sessions together. While Sofia had said almost nothing after their first day, he missed at least being able to spend some time with her, being able to touch her. Blinking back the sweat from his eyes, Jon was surprised to see her approaching in the late afternoon light. Dressed in her usual workout clothes of a T-shirt and jeans, with her hair tied back in a braid, Jon tried to work out what seemed different about her. Finally he realised that she was looking him in the eye, not diverting her gaze like she had for the past few days, and her smile… her smile lit-up her entire face, reaching into her eyes which seemed to glow with an inner warmth. Jon swallowed deeply. Forget repairing the energy grid for the shuttle, Sofia was emitting enough energy to fly the ‘Light halfway across the galaxy by herself. As she approached, Jon took a self-conscious step backwards unsure of the reason for the dramatic change.

“Sorry I am late,” Sofia uttered as she arrived at the practice mat, shooting Jon a smile that rooted him to the spot.

“What do you want to practice today?” he asked, reluctant to bring up the reason for her good mood and jinx it. God, how he had missed her smile!

“Let’s practice hand-to-hand, you know physical contact,” she stated giving Jon a look that, hot damn, was almost predatory if he had not imagined it.

“Ugh, sure,” he replied. Totally off-balance by her sudden about turn in mood, wondering suspiciously if this was a ploy to get him off balance for their practice session…in which case, Jon admitted to himself, it was working terrifically well.

Both antagonists dropping into a basic combat stance, which Jon had painstakingly taught to Sofia, they observed each other closely. Which was to say that Jon was observing her sparking eyes and warm smile…when Sofia darted a quick blow to his torso, which, frantically, Jon only just managed to block in time. After that Jon decided it was safer to focus on her hands and feet than other more alluring parts of her body to focus his gaze on. As they fought within the tight confines of the training mat, Jon came to some quick conclusions.

First, that she was an outstandingly able student and had been paying close attention, as he fought to defect blows to his face, torso, groin and legs in rapid succession. Second, that Sofia was toying with him! Sure, she was an outstanding student, but she was not following through with her blows and instead of identifying a weak-spot in his defence and focusing on it… she was playing. Suddenly it struck Jon that Sofia was not intent on actually hurting him, but was…enjoying herself!

With that realisation for the first time in many days, Jon allowed his posture and body to relax and he found himself returning the smile. Deciding that she was not the only one allowed to enjoy herself, the next jab, that had ever so slightly too much weight behind, he caught her wrist and spun her around, sliding her body into his chest, regretting once again that he had decided to wear a shirt, as he enjoyed the feel of her against his bare chest.

Twisting her head around to meet his gaze, eyes sparking she exclaimed, “You never taught me that move!”

Jon just laughed and replied. “I cannot give away all my secrets now can I?”

However, it was obvious that Sofia was not beyond improvising a little herself, as, while Jon’s attention was once again solely on her face, she jabbed a sharp elbow into his chest. Not enough to hurt, but enough for him to loosen his grip on her, enough for her to slide out of his grasp. Taking a step back, the two opponents allowed themselves to catch their breath.

“How about we make this more interesting, a bet on who wins the next round?” Sofia challenged, eyes sparkling in anticipation.

“I don’t know,” Jon confessed, “What are we going to bet on?”

“Whatever you want,” she shot back.

Jon, who had already worked up a heavy sweat, felt his body temperature shoot up by a further ten degree’s upon her response. A thousand thoughts, all lustful, poured forth from his imagination into his mind and he had to fight to control his bodies response. Taking a deep breath to calm his overactive imagination, Jon thought quickly. While Sofia was an outstanding student, even with her slight advantage in terms of speed she was never going to best him, Jon had spent almost the past ten years in combat of one form or another, continually honing his fighting skills. Hence he would put on a good show, perhaps even let Sofia think she had the edge, before making it seem like he only just won…and the wager. Pushing to the back of his mind all the delirious thoughts of what he wanted, especially when she stood there in-front of him, hot, sweaty and glowing…Well he would just make some silly requirement that, that… she never cut her hair, or something… Decision made he nodded his head in agreement and stepped back into his combat stance.

Sofia once again attacked, harder and faster than before. Jon had to focus a great deal of his concentration into blocking her attacks. Occasionally, when he saw an opening, he quickly counter attacked to make it seem like he was at least trying. Finally after a good few minutes of sparring and both opponents starting to get tired, Jon finally started to look for an opportunity to finish the match. However, before he could, he saw Sofia take a step off the practice mat, instantly slipping. He saw her startled expression and tried to lunge to catch her. Unfortunately he was just too far away and off balance, with a startled cry Sofia fell heavily onto the mat, her ankle at a bad angle and was still. Worried that Sofia could have badly hurt her ankle with the fall he hurried over to make sure that she was unhurt.

Before Jon knew what was happening, his legs went out from underneath him and completely unprepared, he hit the mat, hard. All the air fled from his lungs and Jon desperately tried to catch his breath, but before he could a soft but heavy weight landed on his chest and a vicious elbow was shoved into his throat. Lifting his head off the ground, Jon stared into a pair of triumphant green eyes.

“I win,” she exclaimed victoriously.

“You cheated!” Jon replied, experimentally trying to move his body to see if he could dislodge her. However, the moment Sofia felt him starting to move she jabbed her elbow deeper into his throat. Anyway Jon quickly discovered that movement was a bad idea, as most of Sofia’s weight was spread across his lower chest and…groin. Her weight combined with his movement was causing… other parts of his body to become excited. Laying his head back on the ground in defeat, he sighed deeply before realising the implications of losing. He had never seriously considered losing the wager and had not given any thought to what she might demand, after all she had insisted anything…

“Ok, you win!” Jon admitted. “So you win the bet, what do you want?” Jon asked curious to know what she was going to demand.

“A night out. Dinner, followed by dancing!” Sofia exclaimed excitedly. “You do know how to dance don’t you?” Sofia asked suspiciously, she had never actually seen Jon dance.

As a matter of a fact, Jon did know how to dance; as an officer in the Imperial Navy he was also expected to represent the Empire on formal occasions of state, hence dancing lessons had been mandatory at the Military Academy. Desperately Jon tried to think of some excuse, some reason before suddenly hitting on the perfect one. “I would love to, but we don’t have anything to wear.” Jon motioned towards their sweats and Tshirts. “Unfortunately seeing as I just disobeyed direct orders, stole a shuttle, including taking hostage the Imperial Princess on the aforementioned shuttle I think pay-day is…unlikely this month!” Jon smiled triumphantly, with the perfect excuse.

Sofia just gave him another predatory smile, before breathing into his ear and whispering, “Jon, dear, honey, snookum’s, do you remember what I am?”

Staring into her bright green eyes that were dancing in merriment, with her breasts firmly pressed against his chest and their groins joined, all Jon could manage in his strangled response was “Very hot…”

Surprised, as that had not been the response she was expecting, Sofia released her elbow from the poor boy’s neck in case he was starting to suffer from oxygen deprivation, before explaining. “I am an Imperial Princess, daughter of the Emperor and very, very, extremely, fabulously, rich. Could I interest you in a new ship, as I understand that our current one has some problems, or a planet perhaps, maybe just a small moon…”

Jon just lay back on the ground, staring into the darkened sky. Oh yeah, I had forgotten about that. Damn. Looks like dinner and dancing it is.

*****

Jon pulled at his collar once again, while waiting for Sofia to get ready for dinner and dancing, Jon had strenuously refused to use the ‘date’ word.

“Stop pulling at it, or you’ll end up twisting it,” his father complained.

“It’s not my fault, the damn thing is too tight, it’s like a noose!” However, his father just gave him an amused look.

“Now don’t forget, I want you both home by midnight, and no necking in the cab,” his father warned him seriously, which was rather spoilt by the grin that was threatening to split his face in half.

“You are having far too much fun with this,” Jon warned his father.

His father gave the accusation careful consideration before he replied, “Yep.”

Sighing at his unrepentant father, Jon had to confess – only in private - that the suit that he wore was not that bad. While very similar to his usual navy uniform this was a charcoal grey, unlike his usual navy whites. Jon idly wondered if it was this similarity that prompted Sofia to purchase it earlier in the day, when Sofia and his mother went out for some…shopping. The fact that they were gone most of the day did not phase Jon in the slightest, and if he continually checked the chronometer every five minutes, well…that was just because he was really interested in the time. Jon had been waiting for over thirty minutes for Sofia to get ready, and for the thirtieth time wondered what she would be wearing. A sharply indrawn breath from his father standing by his side seemed to answer that question and steeling himself, Jon turned around and the breath caught in his own throat.

He had seen Sofia dressed up for many formal occasions, wearing many different dresses but at that moment in time Jon could not for the life of him ever remember Sofia look so beautiful. With her stunning red hair, combed back so that it almost reached her shoulder, deeply offset by a lacy emerald green blouse that matched her eye colour perfectly, she was wearing a maroon coloured skirt that barely reached her knees, showing off her perfect, and endlessly long legs that concluded in a pair of strappy wrap-around sandals. Jon knew that he should say something but could only gape, with his mouth open as she descended down the stairs.

“Close your mouth Commander,” she uttered on the way past, “otherwise you will catch flies.” With a pat on the back from his father and best wishes from his mother he followed the Princess out of the house to the waiting cab. The cab had also been waiting for the past thirty minutes and it was only the promise of a truly astronomical tip, that had mollified the driver, after all it was Sofia’s money, and Jon had heard that the Aurelius ship-yards had been doing good business for the past, oh, five centuries…

They arrived soon after at the restaurant Jon had chosen for dinner. Jon did not actually know any expensive restaurants on Altair - he was fairly sure that the definition of an expensive restaurant on Altair was an oxymoron - but a quick search on the planetary data-net confirmed that they did exist. Booking a table had not been a problem as Jon doubted that there were more than a dozen potential customers on the entire planet that could afford the astronomical prices.

Offering his hand to the Princess - after all anyone looking so stunning could hardly have been anything but - he escorted her into the restaurant. The maître d’ scanned the list of names before them and, confirming their reservation escorted them to a table next to the windows, open to allow in the still warm evening air, with the stars glistening beautifully outside. Seated, Jon found that he could not tear his gaze away from Sofia, completely enamoured.

Finally Sofia broke the silence, by glancing down at the menu. “Shall we order?” She proposed. Tentatively, Jon reached for the menu, handling it much like one would a poisonous snake. With a certain degree of dread Jon read down the list of items, not recognising any of them. Slightly more urgently he flipped to the next page with the same result. Jon glanced at some of the prices listed next to the items, and then adverted his eyes. Possibly he could afford some of the smaller items on his navy salary, for example the Tartare Salad, was priced at just under his monthly salary.

As he slowly closed the menu, Sofia looked up in surprise and inquired, “You have decided what to order, already? That was quick.” Jon nodded in acknowledgement and watched as Sofia motioned for their server to come over to take their order. When their server arrived, with real pen and paper, to take their order Sofia motioned to Jon to order first. “I’m still trying to decide… darling,” she explained. As Jon observed Sofia peering over the top of the menu, paying absolutely no attention to its contents he knew he was being set up. The Witch!

“I’ll have the Lobster Newberry, arugula and goat cheese salad,” Jon ordered promptly, gazing deeply into Sofia’s eyes, not for an instant missing the flash of surprise in her eyes.

“And what about madam?” The server inquired, turning to Sofia after jotting down the order.

“Ugh,” she replied with a slight flush, having been far more interested in what Jon was ordering than actually reading the menu. “I’ll have the same as him,” she finally stated.

“Excellent,” the server responded completely missing the non-verbal byplay that was taking place across the table. “Can I get sir or madam any drinks? We have an excellent wine selection,” he motioned towards the menu lying on the table.

“Why don’t you order…dear,” Sofia suggested with an enigmatic smile. “You know me, no idea about wines.” The server shifted his gaze to Jon expectantly.

“A bottle of 2712 Haut-Brion Blanc,” Jon did not even glance at the menu, keeping his gaze intently focused on Sofia.

“A particularly inspired choice, sir,” the server said approvingly. “I’ll be back with your wine in just a moment.”

As the server disappeared, probably into the deepest darkest depths of the wine cellar to look for a 75-year-old bottle of wine, Sofia’s gaze fell to the tablecloth. What had initially started off as a little light teasing of Jon had quickly lost its allure when it became obvious that Jon was exceptionally familiar with the menu. Sofia, wondered how many other women Jon had wined and dined at this restaurant, perhaps this very table.

Noticing Sofia’s sad gaze fall to the tablecloth, as she started to draw random shapes on the table, Jon cursed himself. After the terrible lies that he had said about her family, Jon swore to himself that he would never hurt this woman again, that she had already gone through enough pain in her life. Now here he was barely thirty minutes into their date, and already he had hurt her again. This time it was different though, whatever he had done to hurt her, he was going to correct it. Jon had already spent a week living with the painful distance between themselves and he would not, could not, go through that again. Hence he did something that even a few weeks ago he would never have contemplated. Without permission he reached across the table, enfolding the finger drawing shapes on the table with one hand, and with the other deftly lifted her chin until she was looking him in the eye.

“Please tell me what I said or did to upset you?” He asked softly, continuing to hold her hand and touch her cheek delicately.

Looking at the tablecloth again, she commented. “I guess that you must come here often?” Noticing the surprised look on Jon’s face she hurriedly added. “As you seem to know the menu so well. Do you bring many women here for dinner?”

Jon continued to gaze into Sofia’s eyes fondly, without responding. Only when finally, waiting for a response did she look him in the eye, he replied. “I’ve never been to this restaurant before, I found it on the data-net while you were out shopping. As for other women, there have been terribly few, ever since I found myself keeping company with a real life Princess.”

Sofia just blushed at his gentle words, but that did not explain how come he knew the menu so intimately! “So how did you know what to order?” Sofia asked puzzled.

Leaning forward so only Sofia could hear his whispered response he replied. “I have absolutely no idea what I just ordered. I simply chose the most expensive item on each page.” The sound of Sofia’s crystal clear laugh turned more than one male head in the restaurant.

*****

All in all, Jon enjoyed dinner far more than he was expecting. The food was… interesting, after Sofia had explained to him what he had actually ordered. The wine was crisp and clear, surprising seeing that it was almost 75 years old…and the bill? Well Jon just decided not to even think about that. It was still fairly early when they left the restaurant, and the evening still pleasantly warm after the daytime heat.

“So what would you like to do now Princess?” Jon accentuated his point by smoothing back behind her ear one of her strands of hair that had escaped.

“I believe that you still owe me a dance, Commander,” Sofia replied archly.

“So I do,” Jon replied, looking around and taking his bearings. He remembered a club, not far from here, which he frequented occasionally when attending the Academy on Altair. Unlike most of the clubs that he knew, this one was more of an open-air patio, hence was not stifling and deafening – at the same time.

Taking her hand in his, the couple walked hand-in hand in the direction of the club. Frequently Jon pointed out sights, scenes and buildings from his childhood on Altair. There was a short queue already forming outside the club, and they had to wait several minutes for the queue to disperse. Idly Jon wondered if Sofia had ever had to queue for anything in her life, but quickly dismissed the question, as she seemed to be taking it in good humour.

In actual fact Sofia spent most of her time observing the other patrons in the queue waiting to enter the club. Jon felt a stab of jealously for a moment before he realised that she was just naturally curious. Sofia had grown up on the Imperial Star, surrounded either by Imperial Navy personnel or the politicians and their families on rotation. She had never seen the riot of colours, styles, tattoos, and piercings that was on show by the youths queuing for the club.

Jon did observe a number of the youths eying Sofia lustfully; those he met each of their gazes for a few moments before they averted their eyes. Most of the young men also got a sharp elbow in the stomach from their partners, encouraging them to pay attention. Jon noticed one or two envious glances from the partners as well! Sighing to himself that this was probably not a good idea, but too late now as Sofia would never agree to leave, Jon promised himself to keep very, very close to her inside the club.

Sofia meanwhile, was drowning in a sea of colours and cultures, and loving every minute of it. She had not realised how sterile her life aboard the Imperial Star had been until so many different people surrounded her. She stared in amazement at the different people, some with green and orange hair, others covered in tattoos, and the clothes that the women wore! Some of them hid almost nothing! She quickly glanced at Jon to make sure that he was not ogling at any of then, but instead Jon was giving an angry stare at one of the young men ahead of them in the queue who was staring openly at them; a few moments later he looked away.

Jon meanwhile just seemed to ooze… menace, even without his immaculate white uniform, with the Praetorian insignia and his sword, dressed in a charcoal grey suit, which now matched his darkened eye colour. The suit did nothing to hide the broad shoulders and strong biceps, and the frown that he wore was enough to scare anybody. While she had always noticed that Jon was very handsome, this was a new side to him that she had never seen before. Far from being repelled, Sofia found the dark, heated look extremely attractive, knowing that it was Jon’s way of warning any potential men away. Taking a page from Jon’s book she reached up and touched his cheek, drawing his gaze to her. As Jon’s face focused on her once again his eyes lightened to their usual misty grey and his face relaxed.

As they reached the front of the queue, Sofia turned around and reminded Jon. “Don’t forget that you own me a dance.”

Jon only smiled, he had not forgotten.

*****

The club was absolutely packed when they finally made it inside; finding a table was out of the question – and anyway with the deafening noise and stifling heat it would have been pointless. Instead Jon slid an arm around Sofia’s waist, much to her delight and shouted loudly into her ear, to be heard above the music, the directions to the open-air patio. Once they finally managed to push through the crowds and out into the open, Sofia gasped in delight. The view was as spectacular as Jon had remembered it, with Carrington city spread across to the right, but the bay spreading out in a panorama directly in front of them.

By the time they had managed to reach the outside patio the music had transitioned into something softer and slower and much more suited to the hot night. As she felt Jon hesitating behind her, she spun around to look at him.

Playfully tugging his arm Sofia pulled him forward, until his body brushed up and down hers. “Not so fast,” she said. “You promised you’d dance with me.”

Jon gazed down at Sofia and tried to pinpoint the exact moment when he felt out of his depth. He was thinking he had things under control. Now, suddenly, he found himself looping his arms loosely around Sofia’s waist, and what a fantastic waist it was too, as she danced him backward onto the middle of the patio.

Dammit, she would want more than one dance, Jon thought to himself resignedly.

Then again, seeing that he suddenly had no idea what he was doing, maybe he should just surrender to her. The thought of surrendering to Sofia took on a way too erotic connotation then, so he set the thought aside and tried to concentrate on something else. Unfortunately, his concentration seemed to be intent on erotic thoughts this evening, and they kept zeroing in on things they had no business targeting. Like how warm and silky was the bare flesh above Sofia’s skirt that his fingertips encountered when he settled his hands on her hips. Like how good she smelled up close this way, sweet and decadent and tempting. Like how fluid and natural her movements were when she propelled her body forward into his again. Like how unspeakably lovely her eyes were when she glanced up to see how he was doing.

Like how he wondered what she would do if he kissed her.

“Getting the hang of things, Jon?” she asked as she executed a stunning twirl that offered him quite a nice view of her back.

“Oh, yeah,” he replied, the words coming out a bit rougher than he intended. “I’m getting the hang of things really well.”

She laughed with genuine delight, oblivious to the fact that the two of them were talking about entirely different things.

“I knew you’d be a good dancer,” she said, spinning closer still.

“How did you know that?”

“I notice more than you think, Jon.”

“I don’t doubt that for a moment. Something tells me you miss very little.”

“And you don’t miss a thing,” she responded, reeling and darting around Jon with the grace of a summer breeze, chuckling good-naturedly at his obvious and total confusion.

Before he realised his own intentions, he snaked an arm out to halt her, pulling her to him until her body was flush against his.

Then the strangest thing happened. Although the music kept playing, faster and faster, and the dancers surrounding them still pranced and staggered merrily about, the world enclosing them gradually slowed down to a halt. So Jon slowed down with it, spinning Sofia in a gradually more tight circle, pulling her closer with every turn, until the two of them stood utterly still at the centre of the dance floor.

And then, although he never planned to do it, he leaned forward to kiss her… only to be abruptly swung around by a firm hand on his shoulder!

His mind still full of her scent and the feel of her pressed up against his hard body he was slow to respond to the abrupt change of events. Trying to blink away the fog that surrounded his mind, he came face to face with a very angry pair of cerulean blue eyes.

“You have some nerve to come back here, Radec! After the stunt that you pulled last time!” Following his gaze, down from the eyes he recognised a hard chiselled face, and the powerful body of somebody used to hard labour. Eyes blinking in the darkness he noticed a number of other indistinct shapes, hovering in the darkness behind. The realisation hit him like a thunderbolt.

“Jack Stanton!” he exclaimed, “with family.” Recognising the other brothers as they stepped forward. “For crying out loud, it’s been over ten years! Have you not got over this yet?”

“You broke little Becky’s heart,” Jack exclaimed angrily.

“You sure this is not more about your wounded pride, when I took exception to you and your brothers using me for a punching bag? By the way are you not missing one? I only count four, I hope you didn’t lose James on the way over…”

“Excuse me!” an angry voice exclaimed, interrupting their little jaunt down memory lane. Sofia stared in complete bewilderment at the group that had just interrupted their dance. And we were just about to get to the best part! Sofia wailed, stamping her foot in frustration. “Who are you?” she demanded turning her displeasure on Jack, “and more importantly who is Becky?” She demanded giving Jon a furious gaze. Seriously, before this night is out I am going to get a full list of all Jon’s previous relationships, chronologically. Sofia decided angrily.

Jon had completely forgotten about Sofia, so caught up in the surprise of seeing Jack and his brother’s again. “Becky was…” at an angry gaze from Jack, Jon corrected, “…is Jack’s younger sister, we dated, briefly, during college,” Jon explained.

“You broke her heart!”

“Oh come off it,” Jon scoffed. “Becky had her heart broken once a week, but it must have repaired itself just as quickly as usually by the next week she had hooked up with whoever the new guy was. Jack and his brothers took exception to this and decided to use me as a punching bag. We’ll I don’t like being a punching bag,” Jon insisted with a dark look. “Anyway, it looks like most of the bones healed fine in the end,” Jon grinned.

Sofia was about to propose that they take up this discussion at a later, well… date, as she was much more interested in continuing off where they had just been interrupted. However, before she could intervene a massive forearm encircled her around the waist, pulling her back against an equally massive chest.

“Hey little lady, why don’t you find yourself a real man, instead with hanging out with this piece-of-crap,” an equally massive voice boomed out from above Sofia.

Sofia was more surprised than frightened, and while Jon had an extremely pissed off expression, it was more anger about somebody man-handling her, than the cold hard, I am about to kill everybody in the room expression that she had come to recognise on his face when he was deadly serious about something. “This is their youngest brother?” Sofia exclaimed in surprise, encased by the massive body.

“Yeah well, Bill Stanton was a monster himself. Not that I would be surprised if a couple here are half-brothers, as I understand his wife must have laid with half of Carrington city. The male half that is…” Jon added with a smirk, purposely ignoring the fact that Jack had gone completely red-faced at the comment and was cursing a mean streak at him.

Sofia just sighed to herself, wondering what it was about Jon that meant he always had to have the last word. Anyway Jon was a big boy and could look after himself. After giving him a reassuring look that she was fine, she turned back towards the monster that had her surrounded. Stroking him softly on the chest, she looked up into his eyes and cooed. “You mean a real man, like you…James.”

Staring down, wide-eyed, at the stunning woman that was pressed softly against his hard chest, he was just able to make out the slight swell of a breast, encased in a silky emerald blouse; James could hardly believe his luck! He was still staring at her in complete rapture, when she added. “And who do you think you are calling little?” she demanded, slamming her knee straight into his groin. James’s eyes just rolled up into his eyelids and he collapsed onto the floor like a house of cards, hands to his groin, whimpering like a baby. Satisfied that he would not be going anywhere in the near future, Sofia turned around to see if Jon required any assistance.

Jon meanwhile had everything under control, ducking under the ridiculously telegraphed swing from Jack and hammering his own fist into the other man’s stomach! Jon could feel the wind rush out from his lungs, and with a wheeze he collapsed onto the floor. Jon however, was not standing idle, already sidestepping a vicious punch from one of the other brothers. With a vicious kick of his own leg, targeted at the brother’s thigh, there was a loud crack as bone snapped and he too fell to the floor in a howl of pain. Ducking under a haymaker that would have taken his head-off, he quickly glanced around to notice that Sofia had disabled her own opponent. Momentarily glad that their days of training had paid off he caught her by the hand and quickly stated. “Sorry I think we will have to leave dancing for another time. Back the way we came, left at the bar there is a back door.” He stated breathlessly pushing her back indoors, ahead of him, into the packed crowd.

“You seem to know this club, particularly well.”

“Well I must confess, this is not the first time I have been here.”

“I see, and did you need to make a quick exit, out the back door, during those visits too?” Sofia inquired, pushing her way through the crowd.

“Not every time,” Jon replied noticing that the other brothers were gaining on them, simply by shoving other patrons of the club out of their way.

Deciding that he needed to buy the two of them a little more time, he grabbed the two nearest clubbers, shoving them in the direction of the brothers and screamed out aloud, over the music. “Fight!” pointing in the direction of the brothers. As is often the case every head turned in the direction of the yell. What Jon saw was the brothers push the two clubbers out of their way. Of course, everybody else saw it as a challenge and piled in. Before they knew what was happening the brothers were buried under a mountain of bodies, with fists flying everywhere. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Security descending onto the dance floor to break up the fight.

Pushing Sofia in the direction of the back door, he instructed her. “Wait for me outside, I won’t be long. I just want to make sure that the gang of five…” he motioned over his shoulder, “don’t have any plans for chasing us across Carrington city tonight.”

Nodding her head in understanding, Sofia pushed open the back door, hurrying out into the night. Sofia was amazed at how undeveloped everything on Altair was, from the old manual swing doors, to public transportation that still ran on a combustion engine with fossil fuels. Sofia shook her head in disbelief that having come from this planet, Jon could even recognise a computer, let alone use one!

Glancing around, realising that she was in some sort of enclosed yard, noticing the bins in a corner overflowing with trash she just rolled her eyes in disbelief. She wondered for a brief instant if they still buried trash on Altair; everywhere else everything was recycled or reused.

Realising that it was not the best idea to be standing directly in front of the exit, Sofia noticed a gap in the wall next to the trash, and hurried through, glancing left and right she found herself in a narrow alley running along the side of the club. After a further few meters, she found another alley intersecting that one and ducked down this side alley. Finally out of sight, Sofia leaned against the wall to catch her breath, trying to suppress a laugh. That was fun!

Trying to remember the last time that she had such fun, giggling, she decided that the time she sneaked into Jon’s apartment and caught him bare-chested had been almost as fun. However, her introspection was suddenly cut short when she heard footsteps hurrying down the alley after her. Tensing her body, she waited for exactly, the, right…moment. As the body flashed past, she timed her moment spectacularly catching him by the wrist, using his own momentum against him to slam him up against the wall, knocking the wind out of him. To be doubly sure she also kicked him in the groin, hard. Only to look up, into the misty grey, wide-eyed expression of Jon, staring at her in complete astonishment.

“Whoops, sorry!” she giggled out, high on excitement and adrenaline. Jon did not say a word. Just slid slowly down the wall, whimpering painfully as pain radiated out of every pore of his body.

It was quite some time later, when Sofia helped Jon back to his feet, after profusely apologising for hitting him so hard, assuring him that she thought he was one of the brothers chasing after her.

Finally being able to see straight, breathe, and not being totally incapacitated by the pain radiating from his groin, he looked up into Sofia’s eyes and his breath caught in his throat. She was absolutely glowing; her hair a crimson red, her eyes sparking like the brightest jewels, and her skin, while covered in sweat, was gleaming from the starlight. She was like an angel, descended from the heavens; Jon had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

As if via a magnet, he was drawn to her bright red, soft, lips. He dipped his head forward, Sofia tipped hers back, and oh, so slowly, he covered her mouth with his. Her lips opened easily beneath his, and the taste of her filled him, nourished him, intoxicated him. But it didn’t quite satisfy him. Instead, the kiss only inflamed his appetite, making him hunger for more of her than he could ever hope to have. Despite that, he deepened the kiss, cupping her face in his hands, tilting her head back further, plundering her mouth at will. Sofia was not passive through all of it, instead curling one hand around his neck, running the fingers of her other through his hair greedily. She returned his kisses with equal fervour, equal finesse, and equal fire. For the life of him, he simply could not let her go.

Even many years later, when thinking back on their first shared kiss, he wasn’t sure how long they stood there, so entwined, perhaps seconds, perhaps centuries, perhaps forever.

Chapter Nine

Present Day

Terra Nova, Zeta Aquilae System

Several days after the senior staff meeting, Jon was overseeing the final loading of the nondescript freighter that they had decided to use for the assault on the Syndicate outpost. David & Gunny had submitted a comprehensive tactical plan for the assault of the station including schematics and detailed timings. Paul and Jon had spent many hours, late into the night reviewing the plan, discussing what could and might go wrong, refining it and preparing for various contingencies. Finally agreeing that any more planning would be pointless, they signed off on the plan, distributing it to the various department heads to update their respective teams.

Now, the final stages of the plan were coming together, with the ship being prepared and the assault teams boarding. A loud clanking distracted Jon from reviewing the final checklist and looking up, was stunned at the sight of the Marine boarding party approaching. All of the assault team had been fitted out in Marine assault armour. With the modern Space Marine being expected to fight in all possible environments, from the cold vacuum of space, to the varied environments of the different planets that consisted of the Confederation, hence Marine armour had been adapted, until the point it had become a completely self-encompassing environmental suit. Totally sealed, heavily armoured, with integrated sensors, communications and weapon attachments it had more in fashion with a modern starship than the armour worn by the Marines of old. The effect was to make the approaching marines look like a troupe of darkly armoured beetles with multiple appendages. All of this made the armour highly restricted, permitted only for active military personnel and totally illegal to be in the possession of anybody else… like themselves.

“Interesting equipment Gunny,” Jon commented dryly on recognising his bulky shape as he shuffled past. What Marine combat armour lost in terms of speed over the years, was more than compensated for by the sheer firepower and protection it provided. “You must let me know where you came across a dozen of those suits…” after a moment’s thought Jon added. “Come to think of it, I would prefer that I didn’t know.”

“You would be amazed at what you find working as a cargo hauler,” Gunny’s voice boomed out of the concealed speakers within the suit forcing Jon to take a step back from the blast of noise. Trying to get rid of the ringing from his ears, Jon wondered what it was about Marines that they had to do everything in the loudest way possible.

“Well carry on Gunny,” Jon replied stepping aside so the huge suits could squeeze through the airlock into the waiting freighter. Jon was glad he would be up on the bridge as the hold was going to be very tightly packed indeed.

Ensuring that all the Marines and supplies were loaded and secure, Jon closed the airlock and sealed it before making this way to the small bridge on the freighter. On arriving Jon slid into the copilot seat next to Miranda who was going to be piloting the outbound leg of this journey.

“Is everybody secure in the back?” Paul inquired, as he took the remaining seat in the small bridge.

“Sure are,” Jon replied calmly glancing over the flight instruments to ensure the ship was ready for departure. “If the Syndicate station personnel react in a similar fashion to me when faced with those Marines they are going to be in for a big surprise! Have you finished the pre-flight?” Jon directed the question towards Miranda.

“Yes we’re ready,” Miranda replied. “The pre-flight check shows all systems are green and we are ready to depart.”

“Very well, let’s get this show on the road,” Jon replied with a grin, flicking a switch to activate the communications system. “Terra Nova this is UCF1 requesting permission to depart,” Jon requested.

“UCF1?” Miranda mouthed silently to Paul.

“Under-Cover-Freighter 1,” Paul replied laughing. “What can I say, we have an outstanding tactical officer - who is completely useless at thinking up code-names.” Having received permission from C&C that they could depart, Jon nodded towards Miranda who after ensuring that the docking clamps had been disengaged slowly eased power to the engines and the lumbering freighter slowly moved away from the docking ring.

With some surprise Miranda realised that this was the first time she had left the station in a couple of months, ever since her last disastrous flight. She hoped that this trip would not end so badly as the last.

“What’s our flight time, Miranda?” Jon inquired recognising the flash of nerves that had crossed her face for a brief second.

“Approximately four-and-a-half hours,” she replied, confused at his simple question when a quick glance at the flight console would have answered his question. It was not until she looked up from her console that her jaw dropped open in shock! Instead of closely monitoring the flight controls, which as copilot he should be doing, instead Jon had his feet up on the control panel and was leaning back in his chair.

“Great,” Jon said. “Lots of time then, so Paul how is the family?” Jon directed the question at his operations officer who was also resting comfortably in his chair.

“Good thanks. We are thinking about trying for another.”

“Be good to have another addition to the crew,” Jon replied with a grin. “You will need to be quick if you want to be first though,” he added. “Station scuttlebutt has our lovely pilot here getting very friendly with a certain young communications officer…” Jon responded with a wink towards Paul, throwing back at him his comment from a few weeks back in his quarters.

“I’m what!” Miranda replied gob-smacked. “I will have you know that Lieutenant Anders and I have shared a few meals to discuss…” Miranda was so caught up in her indignant response that she failed to notice the smile on the face of the two other occupants of the bridge. Both were experienced combat veterans familiar to the pre-mission nerves and satisfied that they had managed to distract Miranda from her concerns.

*****

Almost exactly four-and-a-half hours later the external sensors on the freighter picked up the mass of the small Syndicate station, directly ahead. As a well-oiled team that had frequently been in similar positions, Jon and Paul turned back to their consoles to carefully monitor the situation.

“We’ve been picked up by the station,” Paul calmly informed the two pilots. “They are powering up their weapon systems and locking onto the ship.” Miranda visibly tensed at this piece of news, waiting for the first shots to be fired that would result in their imminent demise.

Jon reached over to put a hand reassuringly on her shoulder. “It’s nothing to be concerned about. They are just playing it safe. I expect them to be contacting us right about…now,” Jon pointed at the flashing light on the communication console that registered an incoming message. “Now, just like we rehearsed, play it cool,” Jon explained smoothly before opening a two-way communication channel.

The voice of the Syndicate station operator filled the bridge. “Unidentified ship, this is restricted space. Identify yourself immediately or we will be forced to open fire on you.” With a reassuring grin Jon motioned Miranda to respond.

“What do you mean, unidentified,” Miranda responded putting just the right amount of outrage in her voice. “This is a scheduled cargo transfer. Who screwed up over there and missed this off the logs?” Miranda demanded. The voice from the station suddenly fell silent, as this was obviously not the usual response of an unidentified ship.

A few moments later another voice came on the channel, inquiring in a calm voice. “Please identify yourself and purpose.”

“It’s me, Miranda,” she replied hoping to whichever god that this person recognised her as she had only been to this station infrequently, usually shuttling whichever senior level executive was to join one of their high level meetings, that and fending off their unwanted advances throughout the trip!

“The ship is the Eden carrying replacement power transformers. I was just told to pilot this hunk of junk here; I was told this shipment was expected. Seems like somebody screwed up over there!” Miranda had remembered the last time she was here, that the crew were constantly bitching about the failed power transformers, hopefully this would make the shipment seem more believable.

It felt like the response took an eternity coming, but in actual fact it could not have been more than a couple of seconds before the voice replied. “Very well Eden, docking permission granted, please use docking bay three.” Then the communication terminated abruptly.

“They are powering down weapons,” Paul added after a few moments checking the sensors. “Looks like they fell for it.” Confirming the same readings from his console, Jon nodded in agreement before turning to Miranda.

“Take us in nice and slow and establish a hard-seal at the docking port they described. I assume you know which one that is?” Jon asked hopefully. Miranda nodded her head in acknowledgement and started to move the ship towards the station.

Hitting the intercom to the cargo hold Jon ordered. “Gunny, David, prepare your teams. We will be docking in five minutes.”

*****

It was difficult to know what the crew of the Syndicate station had been expecting upon opening the airlock from their side. Certainly one of the last things they were expecting was a dozen heavily armed Marines to burst out, shouting though their amplified speakers for nobody to move. The maintenance crew was stunned by the sudden appearance of the Marines. They were quickly rounded up and restrained. Once the Marines had ensured that the docking port was secure and safely in the hands of the security team, they moved out into the station to secure the computer core.

Monitoring the ongoing operation from the command deck of the freighter Jon, Paul and Miranda were unable to hear the gunfire from the station, but were able to monitor the progress of the assault team via their internal communications system. Hence the first indication they received that the assault team had been detected was the shout of “Incoming!” via the communications followed by the clatter of heavy automatic weaponry in the background.

There had been a long discussion prior to the operation about the weaponry carried by the team. Standard tactics for a Marine boarding party was to be issued with energy based weaponry, which worked in all possible environments. Gunny had promptly discarded this with the comment that the only good use for an energy weapon was to cook your dinner with. In his experience energy weapons were heavy, bulky and had a notoriously slow rate of fire. They were, however, the preferred weapon for ship (or station) based combat as they worked in the vacuum of space.

“If we end up losing atmosphere on the station, they are screwed anyway,” Gunny commented with his usual bluntness. “The crew is going to have bigger worries than dealing with my Marines!” Hence Gunny had issued all the team with projectile-based assault weapons. These could not be used in the vacuum of space but were deadly in the close confines of the station.

That decision turned out to be the correct one. As the defenders quickly found themselves pinned down by the heavy automatic gunfire from the attacking Marines. Their own pulse-based laser weapons with their slow rate of fire, proved very ineffective against the heavily armoured marines.

“How are we doing Gunny?” Jon asked conversationally.

“We’re making good progress Commander, we are nearly at the computer core. However, it would seem that the station security personnel have fallen back to a last line of defence around the core, they are dug in pretty deep. It could take some time…”

“One minute Gunny,” the frantic waving from Paul interrupted Jon.

“Looks like the station has started broadcasting some sort of distress signal. It’s heavily encrypted and the computer cannot break the encryption but the fact that the signal is duplicated every thirty seconds indicates some sort of automated or repeated message,” Paul explained.

“Gunny, it would seem that the station has started broadcasting a distress signal. Can you terminate the signal from your position?”

Ducking back under-cover for a brief moment, Gunny reviewed the positioning of his party and called out over their tactical frequency. “Jonas, Jackson get-up to communications and lay some demolition charges up there. We need to stop that signal before somebody comes to investigate.” With a nod of understanding the two Marines bringing up the rear of the assault team checked their suit’s computer for the location of the communication equipment and after identifying the quickest path fell back from the rest of the group.

“Jonas and Jackson are on the way Commander!” Gunny shouted over the communication link. Noticing that once again the station security personnel were falling back under the withering gunfire he motioned for his team to advance…

*****

Several minutes later the freighter was shaken violently by a string of explosions surrounding one of the station’s central hubs.

“The transmission has now ceased,” Paul said, matter-of-factly, giving a cat-like smile as he peered out of the cockpit window with a whistle. “Wow! Those Marines sure did a number on that station.” He added noticing the deep rents along the station where the explosives had detonated together with a growing field of hull debris being jettisoned away from the station.

“Good job guys. Transmission has terminated,” Jon updated the Marines via the communication link. “We need to pick-up the schedule as we have no idea if anybody received that transmission and how long it will take for them to respond.” Unfortunately the ship’s sensors, picking up several gravimetric distortions, quickly answered Jon’s rhetorical question.

“We’ve got incoming!” Paul called out urgently.

“What have you got?”

“Sensors are picking up several gravimetric distortions thirty kilometres from our starboard bow.”

“Any idea regarding numbers?”

“Not yet,” Paul said. “They are coming in close formation so I cannot isolate the distortions any more accurately.”

At the confused look from Miranda, Jon quickly explained. “We cannot track ships while they are in FTL, but we can detect when ships are about to enter or exit FTL by the massive amounts of gravity waves caused by their FTL engines generating wormholes in our space-time. It would seem we are about to receive company,” Jon replied tensely.

“How did they arrive so quickly?” Miranda asked reasonably. “We only detected the transmission several minutes ago and quickly shut it down.”

“No idea, with any luck it is just another ship on a scheduled arrival.”

Behind the two pilots Paul just snorted in disbelief. “Yeah, like we ever get a lucky break…here they come!” He exclaimed as the gravity distortion finally abated to leave several ships, fast approaching the station. “Sensors are detecting two assault shuttles with five, no make that six fighters in close escort,” Paul cursed.

A communication from the approaching group broke the sudden silence on the bridge with the curt orders. “Unidentified ship – this station is private property, you are ordered to power down all systems and surrender otherwise you will be destroyed.”

“Well…there goes the neighbourhood,” Jon quipped. “Paul, how long until they arrive at the station?” Jon asked.

“If they remain at this approach velocity, a little under three minutes,” Paul said.

Tapping open a secure communication channel with the crew on the station Jon ordered. “David, Patrick we have incoming reinforcements estimated arrival time is a little less than three minutes, fall back to the ship and prepare to depart.”

“Commander,” Gunny objected. “We are at the computer core now, they have secured the doors and we are cutting through now. We need more time.”

Glancing at the tactical screen that was showing the real-time unfolding situation Jon thought for a moment before replying. “Understood, we are moving to the backup plan,” Jon said.

“Acknowledged, we will try and speed things up this side,” Reynolds replied before turning to the Marines that were currently using a laser cutter on the heavy blast doors. “We’re out of time, pull your men back, we’ll blow the doors…”

Meanwhile Jon was busy removing his restraining harness, while ordering Paul. “Make sure David and the security team are secure then make all possible speed to the nearest FTL jump-point.”

“But what about the Marines on the station?” Miranda interjected in a worried tone.

“They’re Marines,” Jon replied sardonically. “They are used to being abandoned by the fleet. Don’t worry they will be making plans to make their own way home. Paul you have the bridge,” Jon ordered over his shoulder as he hurried towards the exit.

“And where the hell is he going?” Miranda demanded as the door of the bridge slid shut leaving Paul and her alone to deal with the unfolding disaster.

“He’s gone to take care of that bunch,” Paul thumbed his finger out of the starboard window in the approximate direction of the incoming ships. A few moments later a hard knock was felt causing the freighter to shudder as something detached from the underside of the freighter. Miranda was stunned to see the Eternal Light drifting away from the freighter. Once at a safe distance the main engines of the smaller ship powered up and it shot off in the direction of the oncoming ships.

“He’s going to take them on by-himself, is he nuts?” Miranda demanded in complete disbelief.

“I would worry less about him and the ‘Light,” Paul insisted. “And more about ourselves, unless we get moving,” Paul replied tersely. Rapidly flicking switches to bring the freighter’s engines up from a cold start. “Anyway he is the best pilot that I have ever seen,” Paul added matter-of-factly.

“I almost had him,” Miranda replied smugly.

Affording a quick glance at the younger woman Paul replied delicately “I understand that Jon was going easy on you. According to him he was hoping that you would lose interest, anyway he was very grateful that you survived the destruction of your ship. He said he would have been mortified if he killed anyone with such a great posterior,” Paul added glibly, frantically trying to nurse the engines into life.

“He said what?” Miranda exclaimed in disbelief, completely forgetting about the approaching threat and turning her full attention to Paul.

“Ugh…” Paul said, frantically trying to change the topic of conversation. “I probably shouldn’t have mentioned that should I? Anyway it was after quite a few drinks in my apartment and we got talking about you and that young communications officer that you were dating…” not realising that he was digging a hole for himself.

“And…” Miranda insisted, her eyes narrowing at Paul.

“Well…” Paul hedged. “I might have mentioned something about you and the aforementioned communications officer and obviously commenting about your radiant beauty….” Paul had recognised the cliff that was looming ahead and was frantically trying to start bridge building.

“Let’s get to the part you were discussing my ass…” Miranda insisted venomously.

“Well…Jon made some sort of comment about how he was grateful that you were unharmed in the incident as otherwise he would never have got the opportunity to know you better…” Paul hedged.

“He said that?” Miranda replied thoughtfully, her expression softening slightly.

“Then he mentioned about observing your fantastic ass,” Paul added helpfully.

“He had better make it through this alive,” Miranda insisted in response. “Then I can kill him!” she growled.

“Finally!” Paul cheered in celebration as the engines finally reached full power from the cold start-up. Flicking the communication channel open he asked. “David, are you and the rest of your security team secured?” he inquired.

“We have just secured the airlock this side and we are ready to depart,” David responded.

“Let’s go then!” Paul insisted hurriedly, motioning towards Miranda to pilot the freighter away from the station.

“I cannot,” Miranda motioned towards the flight console and specifically the docking lights that showed they were still firmly docked to the station. “We need to wait for the station to release the docking clamps before we can depart.” Miranda explained calmly to the increasing incredulous face of Paul.

“In this instance we are going to skip a few items from the pilot’s standard pre-departure checklist,” Paul commented derisively. “I’ll introduce you to a term in the navy my old squadron commander called ‘ex-fil’, or what Jon commonly refers to as ‘getting the hell out of Dodge’.” With that, he leaned forward slamming the throttles of both engines straight to full thrust!

The slight shudder through the freighter as the Eternal Light decoupled was nothing compared to the terrifying screaming of metal as the powerful engines of the freighter fought against the clamps that were securing the ship to the station. It seemed for a terrible instant that the powerful clamps to the station would be victorious, but with a final terrible roar of stressed metal, the supporting clamps and a good portion of the station were torn free as the engines of the freighter propelled it away from the station.

“Don’t worry,” Paul added reassuringly. “I am sure they will not be billing us for the damage…”

*****

“Fire in the hold!” the voice of Gunny echoed out across the teams tactical channel followed a moment later by the heavy bulkhead doors protecting the computer core being torn off by a blistering explosion. Before the explosion had even dissipated Gunny was through the hole gouged in the door by the heavy explosives throwing stun grenades to immobilise any defenders. The Marines had no particular care if the defenders survived the encounter or not, but instead had settled on these to avoid any possible damage to the computer core, their main objective.

As it turned out the use of the stun grenades was fairly superfluous as the defenders were already totally disorientated from the earlier heavy explosion to the doors. The Marines quickly disarmed the defenders and restrained them while two marines started the delicate job of dismantling the computer core.

“How long will this take?” Gunny demanded as the two techs quickly started pulling off deck panelling.

“Should only take a few minutes, Gunny,” one of the techs replied. “These cores are designed to be portable for easy replacement and repair.” A few moments later the deck under the Marines started to vibrate rapidly, then with a noted sudden drop in air-pressure, sirens started to wail in the background and emergency blast doors started to close.

“That could be a few minutes too long,” Gunny muttered aloud, “I think that was our ride that just departed.”

*****

Approximately ten kilometres away from the Syndicate station, and still accelerating hard towards the incoming enemy ships, Jon noted on the scanner as the freighter slowly started to pull away from the station. However, according to the ship’s tactical computer the enemy ships were still going to overtake the fleeing freighter several minutes before it could make its escape into FTL.

“Looks like I need to buy Miranda and Paul some time,” Jon said to himself in the Eternal Light, instructing the ship’s on-board computer to deploy the internal missile pods. Having expected trouble on this expedition the Eternal Light had additional weapon systems installed, as it was the closest the company had to a dedicated assault shuttle.

Arming missiles and targeting the nearest ship, the tactical computer bleeped to inform him that the missile pods were now deployed and on-line. Confirming that the missiles had a strong lock on the lead fighter Jon launched the first salvo of missiles at maximum range.

The missiles sped out of their launch tubes and, with a glaring light as their main engines fired, accelerated rapidly towards the oncoming ships. Jon continued to fire the remaining dozen missiles, alternating between the oncoming ships, until the launchers were empty. For a few brief seconds, the Eternal Light was true to its name as deadly missiles, one after the other sped away from the ship in a brilliant pyrotechnic display. Watching the missiles on his tactical computer he remembered the words of his earliest flight instructor.

“When you have missiles, use them! Keep using them until you have no more! You cannot take them with you into the next life.”

Watching the approaching ships carefully, Jon noted as soon as they detected the incoming missiles. Obviously treating the Eternal Light with contempt the approaching ships had remained in their close formation, but as soon as they detected the missiles, every ship broke formation and began a desperate series of violent manoeuvres to avoid the incoming missiles. In addition it quickly became obvious that the approaching shuttles had some sort of point defence weaponry, as the missiles targeting these ships disintegrated half a kilometre from the target. The remaining fighters fared less well, with over half being destroyed by the incoming missiles. With the formation of the enemy ships now completely disintegrated, the Eternal Light sped through the gap left by the destroyed ships and slid onto the tail of one of the approaching shuttles. Carefully targeting the engines and flight control surfaces, which Jon knew to be the weak point on these shuttles, he opened fire with the ship’s forward guns. The battle was well and truly joined.

*****

Miranda watched open mouthed in amazement as the ship’s sensors tracked the battle, now less than ten kilometres from their fleeing freighter. What had initially started off as a totally one-sided fight with eight enemy ships facing-off against the Eternal Light had now disintegrated into a free-for-all with three enemy fighters being destroyed in the first missile salvo and what appeared to be a now heavily damaged Syndicate assault shuttle. The enemy ships had been thrown into complete disarray by the ferocity of the attack and while Jon in the ‘Light had the freedom to manoeuvre and fire at will the remaining ships had to show restraint to ensure that they did not collide or accidently fire on their own ships.

“I’ve never seen anything like that!” Miranda whispered in wonder. Paul spared a look from the engine controls where he had been trying to nurse every spare ounce of thrust out of them and glanced at the unfolding battle on the tactical computer.

“He was the Commander of the 58th Squadron, the Praetorian Guards,” Paul explained tenderly. “They were an elite fighter squadron in the Imperial Navy. Personal bodyguards to the Emperor himself… and he was the best. His squadron were all destroyed escaping with the Emperors’ daughter, Sofia, right under the nose of a rogue Navy Commodore. The rest of his squadron gave their lives to buy enough time for the two of them to escape. I think Jon lost more than his squadron that day; he lost the closest thing he had to a family. He has been looking for a purpose in life ever-since then.”

Miranda was shocked by the story that Paul unfurled, realising that she had misjudged Jon badly. She had always assumed that he was some cocky, golden boy that had everything in life handed to him. She was about to respond when she glanced at the scanner again. “Uh oh,” she said. “We seem to have company.”

The scanner clearly demonstrated that the one remaining syndicate shuttle had broken from the battle and was now racing at full speed towards the station. Two fighters had broken off the engagement with the shuttle and, once clear, had changed their heading towards the escaping freighter and were now approaching at full speed. Jon was still busy with the remaining fighter and damaged syndicate shuttle and was unable to give chase.

“Yes, we definitely have company,” she said with a newfound confidence in herself. She was determined that they all were going to survive this, and she promised herself that Jon and she were going to have a long talk when they got back home. “Those two fighters are going to be on us in less than thirty seconds, have you got any ideas?” Miranda directed the question to Paul.

“Yeah, as a matter of fact I do,” Paul replied cryptically reaching above the flight controls for a concealed panel. Miranda had noticed the unusual panel during her pre-flight inspection prior to leaving Terra Nova, her curiosity having been piqued by a yellow flag attached to the panel where somebody had scribbled

Use only in the case of extreme emergency!

At the time she had just disregarded it as part of the ship’s emergency systems, probably a fire suppressant system, she had assumed. Paul discarded the yellow flag with a shake of his head and a quick smile of amusement, before flicking open the panel. A small row of switches resided within the panel and Paul started flipping these one by one.

Slowly, but quickly building in momentum, Miranda noticed vibrations starting to run through the length of the freighter starting near the stern of the ship and moving towards the bow. As the vibrations moved towards the command deck Miranda started to feel the shudder as explosive charges detonated along the length of the hull. In-conjunction with the detonation of the charges, Miranda started to notice new systems coming on-line as part of the flight control system…

Throughout the length of the ship, explosive charges detonated, separating superfluous hull plating from the ship to reveal dozens of weapon ports along the length of the ship. As previously hidden weapon systems started to power up, heavy rail guns and multiple missile batteries slid smoothly out from the hull into their deployed positions.

“You didn’t think this was just any freighter did you?” Paul asked rhetorically with a smirk as the tactical computer reported dozens of weapon systems and point defence systems along the length of the ship were now in their fully deployed and active positions.

“With the dramatic increase in attacks over the past few weeks on our ships, we decided that it was time to refit a number of our ships to better protect them. I present to you the first fully refitted ship, the Eagle One!” Paul waved his hands in a dramatic impression of a magician who had just pulled off his greatest trick. “The Eagle One is equipped with half a dozen heavy rail guns, bow and stern missile batteries and overlapping point defence weapons. She can go toe-to-toe with any ship in the system up to a Confederation Destroyer, and we could give one of those a run for its money,” Paul winked at Miranda.

“Now let’s give these guys an object lesson in why not to mess with us.” Paul activated the weapons systems, targeting the approaching two fighters before passing total control of the now fully active weapons systems over to the ship’s computer…

*****

Having seen the destruction of three of their fellow ships and the heavy damage inflicted to one of their assault shuttles, the Syndicate pilots were in no mood to leave any survivors alive on the fleeing freighter. Anticipating no resistance they approached at almost full speed, the pilots waiting until they were within point blank range before opening fire. Hence it was already far too late when they recognised the multiple weapons ports on the ship. The lead fighter, already well into his attack run continued, strafing the port side of the ship.

The computer on the Eagle One prioritised the lead fighter and within milliseconds had calculated the approach vector and speed. Determining that the ship was too close for an accurate missile lock the computer activated the port side rail guns. Sighting the approaching fighter, all three portside weapons opened fire with massively dense, depleted uranium rounds. These super-dense shells had no explosive component, instead relying upon the kinetic energy of the shell impacting the target at a fraction of the speed of light. With all three-rail guns firing at over a hundred rounds per second, the approaching fighter disappeared in the barrage of gunfire.

The second fighter, on seeing his lead wingman disappear in a flash of energy, frantically let loose a missile before he peeled away from the deadly warship.

While the incoming missile was launched only a few hundred meters from the Eagle One with a transit time measured in seconds, for the ship’s computer this was an eternity. Simultaneously directing the ship’s point defence guns, similar to the rail guns but much smaller and with a far higher rate of fire, at the incoming missile the ship armed multiple missiles of its own in the aft launch tubes.

The incoming missile was shredded by the multiple point defence guns spread across the hull more than a hundred meters away from the fleeing freighter, just as the responding missiles left their launch tubes. Unfortunately the now fleeing fighter did not possess the multitude of defensive guns as on the Eagle One; hence, while the fighter desperately tried to escape, it was hit first by one missile followed a fraction of a second later by another.

The engagement between the Eagle One and the attacking fighters had only lasted a few seconds but was being monitored closely by Miranda and Paul on the bridge. Both breathed a deep sigh of relief when the second fighter disintegrated after being hit by the missiles.

“We are thirty seconds to the nearest FTL jump point,” Paul confirmed checking the navigational computer. “We only suffered minor damage to the hull from those fighters,” he exclaimed, relieved.

“What about Jon and the Marines still left on the station?” Miranda demanded looking back in the direction of the station and still ongoing battle. “We cannot just leave them.”

“We have no choice,” Paul insisted. “We do not know who else might have picked up that distress call and what sort of reinforcements might be on their way. We have used up our element of surprise with this ship; they are not going to fall for the same ruse again. In addition we have almost a dozen crew in the hold that are depending upon us to get them home safely. It’s just too risky for us to remain here,” Paul sighed. “One of the hardest decisions of command is when to leave people behind.”

With that he started the power-up sequence for the ship’s FTL engine, now that they were finally away from the gravity field of the nearest moon. Paul did not think it constructive to mention that Miranda and Jon were similar in regard to never leaving people behind. It had always been Jon’s belief that nobody got left behind.

Glancing back at the sensors, which showed the still-ongoing clash around the station with the Eternal Light. Miranda whispered. “Jon, bring them all back home safely,” with that the Eagle One slipped into FTL.

*****

Jon was relieved to observe from the corner of his eye that the Eagle One had escaped into FTL.

“At least they made it out safely,” Jon, thought aloud, darting the ship out of the way of another stream of incoming weapons fire. Having quickly destroyed the initial fighters with the ‘Light’s missile complement and badly damaged one of the shuttles, the fight had quickly degenerated into a free-for-all melee. Unfortunately at this point Jon was at a significant disadvantage; no matter how heavily armed the ‘Light was, she was still a shuttle and not designed for such close-in combat. Previously the only advantage that Jon had, was that the opposing ships had to watch their fire to avoid hitting a friendly, however this advantage disappeared when two of the fighters and the undamaged shuttle peeled away and set a course directly for the station.

The Eternal Light was still stuck fending off the remaining fighter and the occasional shot from the immobilised shuttle. While the two fighters had been dispatched prior to the Eagle One escaping into hyperspace, the undamaged shuttle had started to dock at the sole remaining undamaged docking port of the station. Jon meanwhile was too far away to render assistance to the Marines still on-board the station. Activating a communication channel to the Marines Jon inquired. “Gunny what is the situation over there?” The response was weak due to the distance from the station but intelligible.

“We have secured the computer core and are making our way to the backup docking port for extraction.”

“Heads up that you have incoming unfriendlies.”

“Any idea of numbers?”

“Not a clue,” Jon said. “You have one syndicate shuttle docking now. I do not have any information on numbers but safe to assume that they do not want to meet-and-greet.”

“Understood, looks like we have just been handed our ticket off the station,” Gunny responded.

Jon did not think it worthwhile pointing out that it was unlikely that the Syndicate was just going to hand over the shuttle to the Marines.

“Acknowledged, I’ll be there shortly,” Jon said, jerking the Eternal Light out of the path of another stream of gunfire. “I hope,” he added.

*****

Having extracted the computer core several minutes earlier, the heavily armed Marines had been making for one of the station’s hanger decks in the hope of finding a functioning ship when they received Jon’s warning. Having decided that a fully powered up and docked shuttle made a far more inviting target the Marines changed direction and hurried towards the secondary docking ring.

“Ok, fan out and take up defensive positions,” Gunny ordered as they neared the shuttle docking ring. The hastily prepared plan was to ambush the attacking forcing and then capture their shuttle before the crew realised what was happening. The tricky part of the plan was where to stage the ambush; too close to the docking ring could result in damage to the shuttle, which they planned to capture intact. Too far away and the shuttle could depart before they could board it. Finally Gunny settled on the conjunction of the docking ring with the main habitat ring. This was a natural choke point but far enough away from the shuttle to avoid any damage.

Having ensured that the rest of the team were behind suitable cover; Gunny ducked behind a bulkhead and checked the magazine on his assault rifle: he still had almost a full magazine. Quickly ejecting the magazine he slid in a fresh one and checked that there was a round in the chamber. Gunny had seen enough combat to know that those extra few rounds could mean the difference between life and death. Satisfied that his weapon was ready and that the rest of his team were behind cover, he readied himself for the appearance of the Syndicate troops, he did not have long to wait.

With a pounding of heavy boots the Syndicate troops rounded the airlock into the line of fire of the Marines. Dressed in the dark tactical armour frequently used by corporate security and police teams throughout the sector and armed with a variety of weaponry they were obviously not expecting a battle hardened and well positioned opposition. While Gunny had not specifically discounted the possibility of surrender it was still an option that was available to the opposing troops. Unfortunately that option quickly vanished when the lead soldier, upon sighting the Marines, raised his pulse rifle and let loose a volley of gunfire. That was enough for Gunny who sighting down his rifle depressed the trigger, sending a salvo of bullets back in response. The rest of the Marines opened fire at the same time.

Over time armour had evolved to face the different multitudes of weaponry, from ancient times when heavy armour was first introduced to combat the threat from archers and lancers, through to the lighter and more flexible armour designed to combat propellant based weaponry. With the advent and wide spread use of energy based weaponry, armour was suitably adapted. Modern combat armour consisted of multiple layers of alloys and synthetic composites all designed to spread and dissipate the focused beam from an energy weapon. Unfortunately this armour was far less resistant to the heavy slugs fired from the Marines’ automatic weapons.

As a result the lead Syndicate soldier was flung back by several rounds from different directions piercing his tactical armour. This had the result of halting the Syndicate advance as the troopers following close behind all disappeared into a tangle of limbs on the floor. This probably resulted in saving many of their lives, as the subsequent volley of automatic gunfire from the Marines mostly went high. Having overcome their surprise at the sudden onslaught the Syndicate solders started to pull back to the nearest cover; their responding weapons firing sporadically, at best.

Recognising that the Marines needed to keep the initiative and that they could not afford to allow the Syndicate troops to regroup and take-up their own defensive positions, Gunny motioned for the Marines to advance. The advantage now switched to the attacking force as without the element of surprise and the loss of their cover the Syndicate weapons fire became more frequent and accurate, however the heavy armour and high rate-of-fire from the automatic weaponry of the Marines managed to keep the Syndicate soldiers behind there limited cover.

Gunny had taken point at the front of the Marines and was almost at the corridor intersection where the Syndicate troops had taken cover when one of the soldiers appeared, grenade in hand! Being only inches apart the soldier was too close for the Marine sergeant to bring his weapon to bear; at any moment the soldier was going to overcome his shock and release the grenade!

In desperation Gunny did the first thing that came to mind, releasing his own weapon and grasping the enemy soldiers hand in a vice like grip, totally encompassing the grenade. Having overcome the shock of appearing face-to-face with one of the Marines and realising that he could not throw the grenade the soldier brought up his energy pulse pistol and depressed the trigger. At point blank range the weapon couldn’t miss!

Almost immediately Gunny could feel the excruciating pain spreading from his abdomen region, along his veins, like fire spreading across dry kindling. With alarms blaring in his encompassing suit of armour and realising that he was only seconds away from blacking out, Gunny took the only option left to him. With the powerful actuators that were built into the suit Gunny picked the soldier up like one might lift a small child and with a massive heave threw the stunned soldier back down the intersection. Moments later a blinding light and massive explosion threw the Marine back against the wall and he finally blacked out…

Sometime later Gunny slowly came back to consciousness; the first thing that hit him was the pain of a massive headache, caused when he had hit his head due to the force of the explosion. The burning in his abdomen where the pulse pistol had hit quickly followed.

“Hey Gunny, you OK?” The voice came from above him and, finally managing to focus, he recognised the face of Jonas, one of his fellow Marines peering down at him with a concerned expression on his face.

“Have we secured the shuttle yet?” Reynolds demanded with a hiss of pain as he breathed in.

“Not yet Gunny, we are just about to assault it now. You did a real number on that Syndicate squad with that grenade. Well it’s their own fault, what ass waves around an armed grenade!” Jonas snorted in professional incredulity. “You need some help?” He asked, noticing the chief still on the ground and obviously in some pain.

“I want that shuttle so we can get off this piece of shit! So get moving, Marine! I’ll bring up the rear to cover the retreat,” Gunny insisted stifling another groan. Jonas just grinned at Gunny before ordering the other Marines.

“Let’s move out Marines!” He called, “we have a shuttle to secure!” Biting back another groan and trying to keep his movement slow to avoid slipping back into unconsciousness, Gunny slowly pulled himself to his feet. Reaching down he picked-up his rifle from the floor and slung it across his shoulder; no veteran Marine would ever abandon his weapon. Using the corridor to support his weight he slowly followed the other Marines towards the docked shuttle.

Fortunately there was only a token amount of resistance left to protect the shuttle, as the main body of the Syndicate security forces had already been overpowered, restrained or incapacitated by the Marines. Hence having quickly secured the shuttle bay, the Marines were just waiting for Jon to give them the all clear to depart. It would look damn silly to have come all this way, secure the computer core, and fight though the syndicate reinforcements simply to be blown to bits by a Syndicate fighter while departing the station.

“Gunny, I think you had better come and have a look at this,” one of the marines reported, grim-faced.

Gunny looked up in surprise; anything to turn a Marine’s stomach was not good. The shuttle bay broke out into several storage rooms, where cargo both coming onto the station and departing could be temporarily stored. Leading the sergeant to one of the larger storage rooms, Patrick almost gagged at the sight. Crammed into the room, shoulder-to-shoulder, gaunt faced, half starved to death, were rows upon rows of people. Predominantly women and children, but some men, all wore the expression of one resigned to their fate. Gunny did not need to take a second look to recognise people sold into the misery of slavery.

Conducting a quick head-count Gunny found over fifty people packed into the room. Far too many people to fit into the small assault shuttle, even if the Marines discarded their bulky assault armour. As a soldier Gunny had faced difficult battlefield decisions before and he considered, briefly, leaving them behind to the Syndicate. A quick glance into the eyes of one of the terrified children, cowering behind its mother, quickly dispelled that option. The child was little older than Lieutenant Castle’s daughter, whom he often read bedtime stories to. He would not condemn any child to a life of such purgatory. Additionally, the sergeant did not even want to consider what Jon would say when he reported abandoning so many families to the Syndicate.

“Commander, Reynolds here,” Gunny called Jon who was on the Eternal Light. “We have a problem here. We need a bigger ship…”

*****

Jon listened in growing disbelief to the report that Gunny made regarding their gruesome discovery on the Syndicate station. Cursing the Syndicate, being involved in almost every illegal and underhand deal in the sector, slavery was a new low; even for the Syndicate. Jon swore that he would put an end to this dreadful trade in human misery. However, putting aside his personal feelings Jon focused on the significant tactical problem at hand. With the Eagle One out of communication range in FTL and neither of the ships in their possession possessing the capacity to transfer so many people, they had a significant logistics problem. Waiting for assistance was out of the question, who knows who else had picked up the distress signal; for all Jon knew further reinforcements were already on the way. They needed a new ship – and fast!

Checking the sensors, Jon was relieved to detect that another freighter, already docked at the station, a few bays away from Gunny and his marine team. He had no way to know the status of the freighter as the ship’s sensors reported that all of its systems were powered down.

“Gunny, I am detecting a docked freighter approximately 500 meters from your position, outer docking ring, three bays counter-clockwise. Status unknown as it is currently powered down. Can you fly that thing?

“I can fly it,” was the confident response from Gunny.

“Then double time-it Gunny. I think we can expect further reinforcements, of the unfriendly variety, very shortly. I’ll give you cover.”

“Acknowledged, Reynolds out.”

Taking off his headpiece so that the already frightened people could hear him without the suit’s amplifying speakers he called out. “Everybody listen carefully, my name is Gunnery Sergeant Patrick Reynolds, with the Imperial, ugh…Confederation, damn… we’re the Marines and we are here to rescue you! We have a ship big enough to take us all that’s not far from here. I need you all to keep together and follow me. I repeat we are here to rescue you and take you to safety.” The group of people just stood motionless, just staring at him in disbelief.

“MOVE IT PEOPLE! NOW!” he screamed at the top of his lungs in his best Marine sergeant tone of voice. The terrified people fled out of the room, in the direction of the shuttle bay, escorted by the other Marines that had fallen into formation around the civilians. Patrick momentarily felt bad about shouting at the obviously deeply shocked prisoners, but unless they moved quickly, none of them were going to be making it off the station alive.

Fortunately having incapacitated most of the station security, following their assault on the computer core and then the Syndicate reinforcements, on their way back to the shuttle, the remaining resistance was extremely light. Arriving at the freighter docking port, Gunny was relieved to see the freighter still firmly docked. He had nightmares on the journey of the freighter departing, and the Marines being stranded on the station with the rescued prisoners.

Instead all that awaited them was a small maintenance team, frozen in disbelief at the sight of armoured marines, shepherding dozens of terrified victims into the docking bay.

“Everybody that does not need to be here, out, NOW!” shouted Gunny at the immobilised engineers. After all, there was no point wasting time and resources restraining the engineers when the entire station, hell probably the entire system, knew that they were there. Grabbing one of the engineering crew as they scurried past Gunny lifted the poor man a couple of feet off the ground, with the powerful actuators built into the armour. “What is the status of the freighter?” Gunny demanded of the terrified engineer. Eyes wide with terror he could not, or would not answer. Pointing his assault rifle that was longer than his arm, at the engineer, he repeated. “I won’t ask the question three times, what is the status of the freighter,” Gunny enunciated each syllable individually.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” the engineer babbled, falling over his own words to answer the question. “We were just told to secure it and power-it down until its next run.” Gunny tossed the poor tech aside and strode powerfully towards the freighter. The docking port had been sealed and required a passkey to enter; fortunately this was not an armoured airlock, just a standard security door. Hence Gunny’s powered fist punched straight through the door on the first attempt! Actuators straining from the effort, Gunny pulled the door wide open. Looking through the docking port, Gunny was relieved to see both the station airlock and the freighter airlock open. Both being thick and heavily armoured Gunny knew they would have taken considerable effort to open.

“Jonas, inform me when everybody is aboard and strapped in. Seal the exit behind you. I’ll be on the bridge.”

“Sure thing Gunny. You sure you can fly this?”

“They’ve yet to build a ship that I cannot fly, at least in a straight line, Marine.”

“Aye, Aye, Gunny.”

Leaving Jonas to get the civilians on board, Gunny boarded the freighter, and soon found the bridge.

“Let’s see now…” Gunny stated aloud. “We need main-engine start.” Flicking a switch at random, a claxon sounded throughout the bridge. Hurriedly flicking that one off, Gunny tried the one underneath it… Aghhh-ha!

*****

Jon watched as the freighter’s engines powered up and the vessel slowly pulled away from the station.

“Glad to see that you made it Gunny,” Jon called over the ships communication system.

“Yet to find a ship that I could not fly, Commander. Now can I have a heading to the nearest FTL jump point? I just need some time to find where they have hidden the goddamn FTL controls. Why do they keep insist on moving these things around!”

Jon just laughed at the grumbling from the older man. “Heading 64.8 to starboard.”

“We clear yet?”

“Almost Gunny, I still have one more fighter to shake-off then I will follow you out. Stay on that heading until I contact you again.”

Running low on ammunition, Jon had been playing a cat-and-mouse game with the last fighter. Having seen all his fellow ships destroyed, this last fighter was playing it safe, hanging back on the more cumbersome shuttle’s tail and taking the odd pot-shot. Deciding to put an end to this game, now that the freighter was slowly lumbering towards the FTL jump point, as he did with Miranda many months before he slowly started to reduce thrust, ever so slowly reeling the other fighter in closer…

Unfortunately this time the Eternal Light did not have the benefit of any asteroids close by, or missiles, Jon thought disappointedly. Well, the heavily armoured shuttle had already taken a beating; one more hit was not going to matter. With that Jon powered the thrusters to full reverse! From an external viewpoint it seemed like the shuttle stopped dead in space. The trailing fighter caught completely unawares suddenly shot forward, clipping the shuttle with its portside engine. This had the unfortunate side effect of tearing the portside engine off, along with a good portion of the stabiliser, resulting in the fighter going into an uncontrollable spin.

Reversing thrust, once again, the Eternal Light resumed a parallel course with the freighter, and moments later both disappeared into FTL with a brief flash of light.

All that remained behind was a badly damaged station and a dozen floating carcasses - all that remained of the Syndicate reinforcements; buffeted by the solar wind from the distant star.

Chapter Ten

Present Day

Terra Nova, Zeta Aquilae System

Several weeks later the ripples from their raid on the Syndicate station were still being felt throughout the Confederation.

The first order of business on their arrival back at Terra Nova was to see to the health of the rescued prisoners. In a scene of well-organised chaos, families disembarking from the captured freighter were all given a cursory examination by one of the trained medical corps. Those deemed at high risk were immediately moved to the medical bay for a more through medical examination and treatment. Those deemed weak but otherwise healthy were moved to the nearest cargo bay that had been hastily converted into a triage centre.

The moment that all had disembarked from the freighter, Lieutenant Edgar and his intelligence team descended on it like a pack of vultures. Starting with the ships computer, followed by the bridge, cargo hold and engineering, Edgar and his team completed a complete forensic examination.

Having only just docked and powered down the Eternal Light, Jon was bone tired, but wanted to ensure that all was proceeding smoothly before he retired for a well-deserved shower and hot meal. However, that plan had to be put on hold, when moving swiftly through the crowd, Paul and Jason approached the Commander.

“Can we have a word, in private?” Paul inquired, motioning towards one of the free observation lounges. Jon raised one eyebrow inquisitively, wondering why both officers were grinning as if they had just been caught with their hand-in the cookie jar. Jason in particular looked like he was about to start walking on air in a cloud of self-congratulation. Curious to hear what his two senior officers wanted to discuss, Jon nodded his head in agreement, joining them in the lounge and ensuring that the door was firmly closed behind then.

“Lieutenant Edgar approached me a few minutes ago, with a very intriguing proposition. Timing is critical for us to pull this off, hence I wanted you to hear this immediately. Jason?” Paul said.

“Without realising it sir, the Syndicate have just handed us the keys to their own demise,” Jason started off without any preamble. He then went on to describe the most ingenious plan of disinformation since the Allies fooled the Axis into believing the completely wrong location and date for the D-Day landings. It was without a doubt the craftiest plan ever devised in over 800 years of information warfare. It was ingenious. It became simply known as The Plan, or its full name The Plan to Discredit the Syndicate Organisation Resulting in it’s Downfall (THDSORID-1).

Jon was fairly certain that David had somehow been involved in the naming.

The first step was already underway with the medical attention being given to the families; Jason surreptitiously issued some of his officers with portable holo-recorders to record the scenes. Meanwhile the rest of his team, that had been busy disassembling the freighter, frantically reversed direction and started to put everything back; with subtle modifications.

For example, originally the freighter had belonged to some long defunct shipping company, bought at a knock-down price at auction. However a few minor tweaks to the ships registry resulted in it becoming a real freighter, owned by one of the Syndicates, shell, shell, shell companies which was last reported lost somewhere in the Orion nebula. Similarly a few boxes of unused machine parts suddenly became a significant haul of contraband. The aft cargo bay became full with enough weaponry and explosives to start a small war, all with their serial numbers and anything else that could be used to track them removed. Except for the odd missed number here and there, that tied it back to another Syndicate shell company. The ship’s computer meanwhile was packed full of every-piece of intelligence about the Syndicate, their facilities, ships, operations and accounts that Jason and his team had managed to gleam over the past six months. All nicely encrypted so that it would not appear too obvious…

In all, within the space of 24-hours, the nondescript freighter was turned into an intelligence treasure trove that pointed a ‘come-and-get-me’ arrow straight back to the Syndicate. It was simple, straightforward and would have been blatantly obvious as such to the first person that came across the ship.

Then, after the medical team had given a clean-bill of health to all the prisoners, they were all helped back onto the ship, with assurances that they would be returned home. The ship’s navigational computer was wiped of any information about its point of origin. The destination was programmed into the autopilot for Transcendence, a bare 5 minutes in FTL from Terra Nova. Once all systems had been checked, and then checked again, the ship was allowed to depart and stage two of The Plan was put into operation.

Not having a high degree of confidence in Transcendence docking control, and less in the Confederation military to bother to actually investigate a nondescript freighter just floating off the station, Jason made a few calls, anonymously. He called every media outlet on the station and casually suggested to them that the story of the decade, no, the century was going to drop out of FTL into their lap, in, oh, twenty minutes and that they would have to be quick off the mark to get an exclusive.

Transcendence station had never seen a stampede like it, nor were they ever likely to again, as hundreds of reporters, correspondents, cameramen and news anchors made a beeline for the docking port. A large proportion of the station population followed them, on the assumption that if a few hundred people were making a mad dash off the station, perhaps they knew something that they didn’t and should be followed…just in case.

Hence there was quite a welcome committee at the ready when the freighter dropped out of FTL almost on top of the station, before powering down the engines. Finally station security, with the backing of confederation navy personnel towed the freighter into dock and popped the hatch. Of course, by then it was far too late to cover-up the contents of the freighter as dozens of families, dehydrated, hungry and bewildered stumbled off the ship, into the arms of the waiting media. It only took a few innocent questions to discover that they were recently rescued slaves, which set off an all-out media scrum.

As one news anchor summed it up on the nightly news. “Ships frequently go missing… But how often does a ship, full of recently freed slaves, just appear?” Meanwhile Confederation Navy officers started to debrief the victims and search the ship with a fine tooth comb…

With information scarce about the origins of the ship, rumours became rampant, speculation fever pitch. One enterprising reporter, pretending to be family, managed to conduct a brief interview with one of the prisoners before he was hauled out by station security. During the interview it was claimed that they had been rescued by a group of Marines… Navy switchboards throughout the Confederation lit-up as a million and one people called to confirm if it was true. The Navy refused to confirm ‘unsubstantiated rumours’.

With the ship becoming the lead news item on every network, Jason and his team leaked the first scrap of information, that the ship’s owner and registration had been identified. Hordes of investigative journalists were quick to investigate the company, which… did not exist. The shell company was owned by a parent company, which… did not exist. However, this had a shared ownership model, with a company that, did not exist…they kept digging.

The next day, further leaks were reported. Jason and his team supplied all of these, anonymously, once again. It was reported that illegal weapons had also been found on the ship, speculated to belong to the same slavers who had taken the victims captive. A few serial numbers had been found, belonging to a company that did not exist… The Confederation Navy was incredulous, as it seemed that leaks were occurring before the investigative team had even found any evidence.

The Galaxy News Network (GNN) were the first to report a breakthrough in the story when one of its investigative reporters had tied together the parent company of both the ship and the company that had purchased the arms found in the freighter. The ‘Chamber of Commerce, Business and Shipping,’ was an inter-system, logistics conglomerate, with offices in most major systems. Their data-net crashed, when it received 3.2 million hits within the space of twenty minutes after the broadcast. They refuted all knowledge of the ship, weapons or captives.

Finally a small regional news syndicate announced the icing on the cake that it had managed to obtain actual footage of the rescue! As their data-net did not even last ten minutes before it crashed, it was jointly agreed that all the major news networks would broadcast the recording simultaneously (although GNN did start the broadcast a few minutes early, claiming that their chronometer was fast). Viewing figures for the footage set a new record, at it’s peak it was claimed that 1.2 billion confederation citizens tuned into the live data-net feed.

The cinema on Terra Nova was reconfigured to show the live broadcast, however as this was unable to contain the entire crew complement, the engineering team piped the feed through all the station’s holoprojectors. However, pride of place at the front row was reserved for Gunny’s Marines and David’s security team that had carried out the operation.

The broadcast commenced with the Eagle One docking at the Syndicate Station and the Marines restraining the stunned maintenance team. Gunny and the Marines rushing into the prisoners’ gaol, with Gunny shouting, “We’re the Marines, here to rescue you!” closely following this. Jon thought the background music swelling to a crescendo at this point was a particularly good touch.

Gunny meanwhile had gone an interesting shade of pink. Leaning forward in his seat Jon patted the embarrassed Marine sergeant on the back. “You and your team did good Gunny, real good.” Meanwhile the Marines, always a riotous bunch, yelled out “Hu-Ra!”

The scene then cut to a wide-angle shot of the Marines escorting the rescued families through the station, frequently encountering heavy resistance designed to stop the attempted rescue. All in all, Jon thought, it was an inspired piece of editing by Jason and his team. He would have been the first to nominate them for a New Hollywood award for editing and post-production. After all, the entire recording was complete fiction, having been edited to turn the entire order of events on its head to make it appear a rescue, when in actual fact it been a daring raid to obtain the computer core.

Meanwhile the Marines had finally made it to the freighter and after ensuring all the rescued families were aboard the freighter departed the station, only to be warned by the recently arrived Syndicate reinforcements.

“Unidentified ship – this station is private property belonging to the Chamber of Commerce, Business and Shipping. You are ordered to power down all systems and surrender, otherwise you will be destroyed”. Jon thought that bit of editing was a particularly good touch.

Meanwhile what followed was a horrific attack on a vulnerable, defenceless freighter, full of starving families, women and children… That just so happened to appear invulnerable… and per-chance to completely obliterate any attackers!

Straight after the broadcast of the recording it cut to a press conference that had been hastily convened on Transcendence by the Confederation Navy. The young, baby faced Navy spokesperson was categorically denying any Navy involvement in the incident. This was having the opposite effect of making the Navy seem even guiltier, as while the Marines had not worn any identifying insignia, they were obviously Marines, hell; they had even announced themselves as Marines! Even the Navy spokesperson seemed uncertain. After reading the prepared announcement, the spokesperson inquired if there were any questions, he seemed to be particularly dreading the questions…

One proactive reporter was straight out the chair inquiring. “Can the Confederation Navy confirm which active unit these Marines belong to?”

The response from the spokesperson was automatic. “All active military deployments are classified and I cannot comment.”

Jon almost fell out of his chair with laughter; the spokesperson had practically contradicted his own earlier statement. You could see onscreen the spokesperson hesitate for a moment, then with a fish out of water expression, you could see him think, Doh! No further questions were permitted and the spokesperson made a hurried exit.

Unable to think up excuses for incarcerating the freed captives for any longer; the excuse to the Judge that they needed to remain secluded to aid in their recovery was only going to last a few days at best, the Confederation Navy released the freed prisoners into… the open arms of the awaiting media. Having lost everything in the Syndicate attacks that took them captive, Jon certainly hoped that one or two of the families at least managed to negotiate a richly paid media exclusive.

In any case, it had an even more electrifying impact than Jason and his team could have wished and prayed for. The media coverage was wall-to-wall, of terrified families, fearing for their lives, after having already lost their livelihoods, in tears describing their rescue by the Marines. One pretty, dark haired little girl held up the teddy bear that she had been given by one of the Marines when she was frightened by the medical check-up.

Jon made inquiries around the station, but none of the Marines recollected giving away a teddy bear, or at least was willing to admit to doing so. Personally, Jon had his own suspicions.

Suffice to say that calls to the Marine’s recruitment office, already up by 200%, skyrocketed by a further 600%. In counterpoint, the stock price for Chamber of Commerce, Business and Shipping (CCBS), already trading down 20%, fell a further 60%.

Another switchboard that also quickly became overloaded was for the Senate Office on Eden Prime, flooded by calls from indignant citizens demanding to know what action was to be taken by their government against CCBS. Senators, a fickle species on a good day, always quick to detect the changing winds of public perception were lining up to sign-up for the newest Senate sub-committee to investigate the activities for CCBS. Of the 280 senators, representing each world in the Confederation, 270 voted in favour, 9 against, with one vote uncast (he was in the washroom and missed the vote). It did not make much difference to the voting citizens, as he, along with the other nine senators, was not put forward for re-election the following year.

Jason and team, worried that the yawn-inducing political sessions of the Senate might turn off the now agog public, issued their next clip. On the assumption that nothing sells better than sex, they released a short clip of Miranda disembarking from the Eagle One, releasing the tight zipper from her figure hugging flight suit, with her dark raven hair unravelling. She was every teenager’s wet dream (and quite a few of the aforementioned teenagers’ fathers). Suffice to say that applications to the navy pilot program quadrupled overnight. Frankly at this rate, Jon felt that the Confederation Navy could do far worse than turn over the keys to their recruitment program to Jason and his team…

The Senate sub-committee officially sat for their first session the following day, the quickest session organised in the brief history of the Confederation Senate. None of the Senators had little idea what the hell was going on, as the Navy were being as usual, tight-lipped. The Navy in fact were busy investigating multiple breaches of security around the ongoing investigation, still troubled by the fact that the leaks seemed to be occurring prior to the investigation actually uncovering any evidence. Therefore when in doubt, and when in urgent need to be seen to be proactive, the sub-committee subpoenaed the board of directors for CCBS, along with the entire executive management team. The lawyer representing CCBS uncomfortably informed the Senate sub-committee that nobody was able to attend, citing prior commitments.

The sub-committee mulled over this response for a full-half day, then ordered the Navy to send in the Marines, the real ones this time, to seize…well anything.

Jon organised another cinema night on Terra Nova and with the usual popcorn and peanuts flying back and forth. The Marines and station security cheered as the (real) Navy Marines boarded and seized all Syndicate facilities throughout the systems. According to Gunny they didn’t make too much of a half-assed job doing it…

Not surprisingly they mostly found abandoned facilities, wiped computer cores and lots of foot-troops, the senior Syndicate personnel even quicker to see the oncoming storm, had long since hotfooted it out of the system. However, at least they did so with only the clothes they wore on their backs as the Senate had already frozen all Syndicate accounts, with the supplied details from Jason and his team, via Navy Intelligence, a more obvious oxymoron yet to be discovered.

However, for Jon the crowning moment of the entire affair was the (brief) statement from the Confederation President, Sofia Aurelius. Biting on the inside of her cheek, which Jon knew for a fact that she did only when worried about something (doubtful) or royally pissed about something (much more likely) she announced that the Senate investigation would be thorough and leave no stone unturned.

Jon had a fairly strong hunch that Sofia knew exactly who, or what was behind the incident and planned for pretty much all of it to remain untouched. After all how could she not? If she did not recognise the equipment and tactics deployed, then she most certainly recognised some of the faces in the short video clips supplied, Doctor Richardson had delivered Sofia at her birth, and was the personal physician for her father and her for over ten years!

Finally with her prepared statement coming to an end, she resignedly asking if there were any questions.

The enterprising journalist from Transcendence, obviously having been promoted, was straight out his chair once again with the same question.

“Can the Confederation Navy confirm which active unit the Marines in the holoclip belong to?”

Sofia however was not some young, naive Navy spokesperson. Giving the reporter a withering glare, with eyes burning furiously and a voice like a whip demanded. “Are you deaf, as well as being an idiot? Did you even listen to what I was saying? The Navy has no knowledge of these actions. Now sit-down before you make yourself look even more idiotic. Does any other idiot have a stupid question?”

The more astute reporters quickly lowered their hands, realising that the President was not in the mood to take any further questions. However, some people were slower than others, and one reporter shouted out a question from the back of the room.

“I’m sorry, I did not get your name and who you worked for?” Sofia called back sweetly.

Uh oh, Jon thought.

“After all, we would not want some editor firing the wrong, poor, innocent reporter by mistake for your inept question would we?” The aforementioned reporter sunk deflated back into his seat along with the remaining questions.

You go girl!

“In closing remarks,” Sofia said. “I would like to remind all Confederation citizens that the Government will not allow vigilante justice and any such action in the future will result in the full force of the Confederation Government and her military forces.”

Jon raised his bottle of beer in mock salute to the holoprojector and stated out aloud to the empty office. “Message received and understood, Princess.”

As the broadcast concluded, Jon wondered at what point their relationship hit such a new low that they now had to use the Confederation media to talk to each other. It had been some years since Jon last saw Sofia and was surprised at how much she had aged, while Jon still thought she looked as beautiful as ever, still possessing the spark that had so dawn Jon to her. However, he could not fail to notice the dark rings under her eyes, eyes that seemed to have lost that sparkle that Jon could so clearly remember.

Frankly Jon thought she looked tired and weary, a thought that left him in a melancholy mood for many days thereafter.

Chapter Eleven

Present Day

Terra Nova, Zeta Aquilae System

Jon was not the only one on the station anxiously waiting to see what the Syndicate’s response might be. While Jason and his team might have fooled the entire Confederation, with the possible exception of the office of the President, they had no such illusions about the Syndicate. The Syndicate had ample time to review the logs from the station before having to abandon it. This included the voice communication of Miranda requesting docking clearance, and possibly sensor recordings of the Eternal Light and Eagle One. No - the Syndicate knew exactly who was behind the attack, and while they had underestimated Jon and his crew once, he doubted that they would do so again.

Hence, late at night, station time, almost eight weeks after the attack on the Syndicate facility, Jon was working in his office, reviewing the latest status reports. It was therefore, with only little surprise, that Jon noticed his office lights dim for a moment, before returning to their original brightness. A few moments later they flickered again, before extinguishing completely. The office suddenly plunged into darkness, the only illumination coming from the viewport and the energy screen holding back the depths of space. Jon’s gaze was immediately drawn to the screen as it wavered for a heartbeat before it too vanished, to no longer hold back the deep emptiness of space.

Jon’s breath froze, the chill of vacuum instantly seeping deep into his pores, his eyes frozen wide in stunned disbelief. Moving slowly as if to conserve whatever life remained, Jon slowly hit the communication key in his desk to be put through to C&C.

“Lieutenant Patterson here,” came the crisp response.

“Chris, it’s Jon. I have just lost power in my office. What is the status of the energy distribution grid?”

“We’re detecting random power fluctuations throughout the Station, Commander…” Patterson responded.

There had never been a power issue, not in the two-and-a-half years that Vanguard had been occupying the station, never. One of their first tasks on arrival was a complete inspection and overhaul of all the station’s systems, particularly life support and energy distribution. Jon was not a big believer in coincidences and he thought he detected a slight hesitation in the Lieutenant’s voice, as if he was going to add something else, but unsure if he should mention it.

“Have any ships docked recently?” The long pause before any answer was forthcoming demonstrated to Jon that he had correctly identified the cause for Patterson’s hesitation.

“Yes Commander, the Santa Maria docked only half an hour ago.”

“She was a scheduled arrival?”

“Yes sir, but she was running slightly behind schedule, approximately thirty minutes late…”

Again Jon detected the note of hesitation in the lieutenant’s voice. “Just spit it out Chris. What was unusual about the Santa Maria’s arrival?” Jon could hear the intake of breath over the communication link and rolled his eyes in disbelief. Jon was aware that he had a certain ‘reputation’ among the more junior officers, he guessed at that moment they were adding telepathy to his list of skills.

“Captain Anderson was not on the bridge at arrival, sir. His crew reported there had been an accident on-route and they requested immediate docking and a medical team on arrival. As they were not forthcoming about the nature of the accident, damage to the ship and any possible risk to the station I assigned then to docking bay fifteen, and dispatched a medical team. I was still deciding whether to contact you or the Captain when we picked up the energy fluctuations and you called sir. ”

Jon thought quickly for a moment, bay fifteen was the most remote external docking bay they possessed, far on the outer docking ring away from the main station habitat ring, for this reason it was seldom used except for dangerous or volatile cargos…

“Very well Lieutenant, have the medical team arrived at bay fifteen yet?”

There was a pause for a few moments as he was trying to ascertain the location of the medical team. “No sir, at this time there was only a skeleton medical staff on duty, so they were waiting for the off-duty team to arrive. They have only just been dispatched.”

“Then withdraw the medical team and seal off the bay…” Jon thought for a further moment, alone in the dark office with only the starlight shining through the gaping viewport. If they were interfering with the energy distribution grid they could be anywhere on the station by now…

“Sound general quarters,” Jon ordered crisply. “Intruder alert.”

“Sir?” Patterson queried dumfounded. He could not remember Terra Nova, ever going to general quarters before.

“That was an order Lieutenant,” Jon insisted resolutely.

“Yes sir.”

In the background Jon could already start to hear the wail of the alarms, signifying that the station was now on an alert status.

“I’ll be in C&C shortly,” Jon concluded shutting the communications channel. Shifting his gaze away from the viewport to his desk Jon touched a latch at the side, causing a section of desk to slide open, revealing a Valerian sword, his sword, the sword given to him by the now long dead Emperor.

In the darkened office, the only illumination coming from the stars and the occasional emergency light, the sword seemed to glow with an inner blue flame, either reflecting the little light from the stars, or coming from somewhere inside the blade, Jon had no idea. He hesitated before reaching for the sword. He had not wielded this weapon since abandoning his oath to the Emperor, since he betrayed Sofia, since he turned his back on his old life. He did not feel worthy to possess such a weapon, but at the same time he could not part with it. The blade was part of him, part of his soul and he could no more abandon it than cut-off his right hand. So instead he had kept it close, but never touching it.

However, now there were possible intruders on his station, in his home, threatening people, families that he loved… Shoving aside his own fears and inadequacies he reached out and grasped the hilt of the sword, pulling the blade free from the desk. As always when holding this blade, his blood seemed to sing with the song of battle. Casting one more glance over his shoulder, outside the viewport, still dark with the inkiness of space, Jon departed for C&C. With his blade still held firmly in his hand, the office door slid shut and sealing itself behind him.

*****

“Status report,” Jon demanded stepping into C&C, seeing it a hive of activity, fully staffed even though it was still late at night.

“All departments confirm general quarters, Commander,” Lieutenant Patterson promptly responded. “As designated by the new internal security plan, reinforced security teams have been deployed around main engineering and all civilians have been sequestered in medical, again with a reinforced security team deployed. The rest of the station is now on lock-down.”

Jon was secretly impressed, for a station of over 300 souls including families to go into complete lock-down in the time that it had taken him to get to C&C… Jon doubted that they could have done better in the Imperial Navy. Once again he was proud of his crew.

At that moment the doors slid open to C&C, and with half a dozen officers simultaneously reaching for their side arms, Miranda stepped out into C&C.

“You’re meant to be in your quarters,” Jon interjected angrily, as the officers in the C&C re-holstered their weapons.

Miranda just shrugged nonchalantly. “Nobody ever told me where I was supposed to be during an emergency. Anyway I thought that I could help?” Motioning her over, towards the two most senior officers on duty, Jon told Patterson to continue with his status report.

“With Engineering and Medical secure and the rest of the station on lock-down, the next stage of the plan involves deploying reinforced sweeper teams to secure the station, section by section.”

Jon nodded his head in approval at the plan that he had signed off a few weeks before. “I want the teams sweeping the station, from medical and engineering towards docking bay fifteen. We are almost certain that one of those will be their target, if not both. Ensure that, as each section is cleared, that it is secured to ensure that no force can outflank the sweeper teams,” Jon ordered.

“I’ll let the sweeper teams know sir.”

“Tell them I’ll meet them on-route.”

“Sir?” Patterson exclaimed, aghast. “Would it not be better for you to remain in C&C, or at least wait here for one of the sweeper teams.”

“I’m not wasting precious resources and time, better spent searching the station, babysitting me,” Jon said angrily. “Let them know that I am on my way.”

“Yes sir,” Patterson replied in a resigned tone. Their commanding officer’s habit of placing himself in the firing line was well known throughout the station. The crew respected him even more for his attitude, knowing that he would never order them into a situation that he himself would not lead from the front.

As Jon was heading towards the exit he noticed Miranda still following close behind. “Where do you think you are going?” he inquired crossly, frustrated with his crew’s habit of trying to wrap him in cotton wool, to ensure that he was not hurt.

“I said that I wanted to help,” Miranda replied calmly. “It might be a waste of precious resources and time, better spent searching the station, babysitting you - for the sweeper teams,” Miranda replied throwing his earlier words back in his face. “However, as I am not part of any of the sweeper teams then it won’t hurt for me to watch your back.”

Growling in frustration, unable to refute her logic, Jon opening the small arms locker in C&C, passing her a heavy pistol, barrel first, and followed by a few spare clips. “You know how to use this?”

“David put me through a quick training course,” Miranda replied checking there was a round chambered and that the weapons safety was firmly on. “You are not taking a second gun?” Miranda asked in surprise, noticing that Jon’s hands were empty, as he was striding quickly from C&C.

“I’ve got the only weapon I need,” Jon replied, patting the blade that Miranda only now noticed strapped at his waist.

“You’re taking an overgrown knife to a gunfight?” she asked incredulously.

“It’s called a sword. In this case a Valerian sword,” Jon exclaimed rolling his eyes. “Look it up in the ships computer later.”

“Sure,” Miranda groused. “Probably filed under Ancient Historical Weapons.”

Jon could only grin; she was probably right.

*****

“So how many of them do you think there are?” Miranda asked nervously, peering around a corridor, checking in both directions before motioning Jon forward.

Trying desperately to suppress a smile at the younger woman’s antics, obviously she had never been in combat outside of a ship before, he thought carefully about the question before replying. “Well, only one freighter docked, prior to the energy grid problems. I doubt that they could fit more than, oh, fifty people onto that ship,” he replied trying not to laugh as Miranda came to an abrupt halt.

“Fifty?” she replied with an ashen face, picturing turning a corner and facing fifty armed men all with the intent to kill her.

“Well that’s the worst case scenario. On the bright side there might be none.”

“None?” Miranda echoed, a terrible thought suddenly occurring to her. “You don’t actually know if there are any intruders on the station do you? It could have just been a shipboard accident like the crew reported?”

Jon nodded his head in agreement, that it was an equally plausible scenario. Thinking intently, Jon finally shook his head. He was not wrong. The intruders had made a fundamental mistake when cutting the power to his office, as they had lost their element of surprise.

Meanwhile, shaking her head in disbelief, that she was skulking around the darkened station in the early morning, when she could instead be in her quarters, fast asleep…Unfortunately so engrossed in the injustice of the entire event, she stepped out into the next corridor without checking first…

It was only the quick actions of Jon, drawing her back, against his chest, that saved her life. The energy bolts whipped through the air where she had been standing only seconds before!

“Looks like I was right,” Jon whispered into her ear, glancing around the corner for barely a second. However, even that was long enough for a few more bolts to strike the corridor dangerously close to his head.

Backing up a few meters to the nearest communication console, Jon put in the call to C&C. “Intruders spotted, level 3, Corridor 32J,” he reported concisely. “Looks like half a dozen, armed with energy pulse rifles and tactical combat armour.”

“Understood Commander,” C&C replied. “I’ll have reinforcements converge on your location.”

“Negative, we don’t know if there are any other teams on the station, continue the sweep as originally planned.”

“Acknowledged.”

“Come on, let’s see if we can cut them off at the next intersection,” Jon proposed.

“Us?” she replied in a doubtful voice. “But there are only two of us and six of them,” she pointed out.

“Yes, but isn’t that so much better odds than two of us and fifty of them.”

Backtracking, Jon led Miranda through a number of winding corridors and through a number of rooms, until finally they arrived at a connecting door. Careful to stand far enough back not to activate the door sensor, Jon motioned for Miranda to keep quiet.

Whispering to her quietly Jon explained the plan. “The Syndicate forces will probably pass along this corridor, as it’s the main throughway to engineering. We will wait for them to pass, when they do we’ll ambush them. We will have the element of surprise on our side, I’ll go first and distract them, and then you come.”

“Perhaps we should wait,” Miranda suggested nervously. “From what you describe it sounds like these are Syndicate Enforcers. I have never met any but they have a reputation for being the Syndicate shock troops of choice when they need a mess cleared up, quickly. They have a fearsome reputation, even in the Syndicate.”

Jon looked at the nervous young woman sympathetically, remembering his own first time into combat. Impulsively he learned forward slightly, the two were already standing very close so as to be heard and kissed her gently, softly on her lips.

“You’ll be fine,” he whispered reassuringly. “Just follow my lead.” Then he took a stride forward, sliding through the door before it was half open, straight into the middle of the Syndicate shock troops.

There was a moment of stunned disbelief from the Syndicate troops, as if this ghost in white had suddenly risen from the ground and appeared in their midst. However, that instant, was a heartbeat too long for two of the troopers as in a blink of an eye, Jon had his sword in hand, and within a thin mist of blood one of the troopers was dying with his throat slit open, the other, staring in disbelief at the stump where his wrist ended, where only moments before his hand had been.

The group disintegrated into complete chaos. With screams of pain, cries of anger and fright the group tried to bring their weapons to bear on the threat that had suddenly appeared in their midst. However, in the close confines of the corridor it was a futile task as they all held long-barrelled weapons. The few that managed to get their weapons to bear in time held off firing in fear of hitting colleagues. Most did not even have the chance to get their weapons raised, as again and again the sword rose and fell. Each time another Syndicate soldier fell, never to rise again.

In desperation one of the troopers depressed the firing stud on his weapon in the hope of hitting anything, however with a deft touch from his free hand Jon casually brushed the weapon aside, meanwhile sliding his own blade through the tactical armour, like a hot knife through butter; the blade barely felt any resistance passing through the armour into the still beating heart.

The sergeant, upon seeing his squad being cut to pieces made the most rational decision of all. Dropping his rifle and reaching for his combat knife, he took advantage of their attacker’s turned back to snake a powerful arm around his throat.

The only remaining syndicate soldier seeing a lull in the attack took a step back and brought his rifle to bear on the now immobilised enemy. However, before he could depress the firing stud a loud crack resounded along the corridor, first one, then two more in quick succession. The soldiers face disappeared in a cloud of red mist as the heavy shells tore into his head, with two more shells hitting him squarely in the chest, throwing him back down the corridor.

The sergeant, seeing the only remaining member of his squad die, took advantage of what few seconds he had left, as the swordsman was unable to bring his own weapon to bear. As he raised his knife in preparation for the deadly blow he was astonished to simultaneously see the blade leave the swordsman hand and rise up in the air. In a flash the swordsman caught the blade in his other hand, reversing the grip and suddenly the tip of the blade was pointing back down, accelerating back towards him!

In desperation he shoved the razor sharp knife between the swordsman’s rib’s angling up towards his heart. The impact of the sword hitting his chest, and a further three shells simultaneously piercing his back stopped the knife barely centimetres from its final destination.

“Jon!” screamed Miranda, desperately trying to push-off the heavy body of the syndicate soldier. Staring in horror at the hilt of the knife sticking out from his back, with a quickly spreading red patch, radiating out from the knife, consuming Jon’s immaculate white uniform. Gently rolling him over, trying not to jar the knife, but fearing to remove it, she looked into his eyes.

“Told you that everything would be fine,” Jon quipped. The effect only slightly spoilt by the blood beginning to froth from his mouth. Jon could feel the weight on his chest, knowing that the knife had pierced one of his lungs, and he was slowly drowning.

“I’ll get help,” Miranda said frantically but by then Jon’s eyes had already drifted shut.

*****

Sometime later Miranda reappeared in C&C, having little idea where else to go. The thought of being alone, in her dark quarters, was too terrifying to contemplate.

Paul looked up in concern at the sight of Miranda, her hands still covered in blood, Jon’s he assumed, as looking over the younger woman carefully he could not see any other injuries.

“How is Jon?” he asked worriedly. He had just arrived in the C&C when Miranda’s frantic call for help had arrived.

“He’s still in surgery,” Miranda replied listlessly. “The doctor said that he would call when he had any news.”

“Jon’s a fighter, he will pull through,” Paul reassured her confidently. Who he was reassuring, Miranda or himself, he was not sure.

“Did we get all of them?”

“It looks like they split into two groups. You intercepted one; the other made it to Engineering but was cut down by Gunny with a squad of Security and Marines. They were a tough bunch, all fought to the death, although we offered them plenty of opportunities to surrender…”

“Sir,” a voice from operations interrupted him. “The Santa Maria is pulling away from the station.”

“Damn,” Paul replied. He had completely forgotten about the freighter between consolidating reports from the various sweeper teams, Gunny and David’s security team. “Bring the station weapons on-line,” he ordered. It was time to finish this.

“What if they have hostages on-board?” the weapons officer made the good point.

“Unlikely,” Miranda interjected. “That was a Syndicate Enforcer squad, they don’t take any prisoners. They don’t want anybody left alive to identify them.”

“Station weapons on-line, sir,” the weapons officer replied.

“I know Captain Anderson from the war, he would die before he would allow anybody to take his ship. Fire!” Paul ordered.

Surrounding Terra Nova was a small asteroid belt; this was not unusual for similar sized stations. It was far cheaper to accelerate asteroids towards the location of any new installation, and then mine and refine the alloys from the asteroids than to ship the refined materials across the system. Hence there was nothing unusual about the size or positioning of the asteroids around Terra Nova… except for their contents. After extracting all the materials from the cores, after the construction of the station, several small fusion reactors were placed in certain asteroids. These fed powerful particle lasers than had been installed at the same time. Combined with the manoeuvring jets from redundant shuttles, this allowed the station to reorientate the lasers on the asteroids, at will.

Hence as the Santa Maria tried to desperately escape the station, the nearest asteroid began to slowly reorientate itself and track the fleeing freighter. When the freighter came within range, a beam of light, brighter than any sun, shot out from the asteroid, striking the freighter amidships. The hull quickly began to crumple under the onslaught; finally the hull failed completely triggering the collapse of the ship’s own fusion reactor. A few moments later there was no trace of a freighter having ever existed.

The officers in the C&C watched mournfully as the light from the freighter’s fusion reactor slowly disappeared.

“That’s it,” Paul announced to the C&C staff. “As of now the station is closed for emergency repairs. Re-route any incoming ships to alternative destinations. If any other ship declares an emergency you contact one of the senior staff for instructions. Any other ships that fail to respond to the warnings…” Paul left the instruction unsaid; the destruction of the Santa Maria clearly demonstrated the station’s ability to defend itself from any further attacks.

Standing up to leave, Paul needed to check the status of the various departments and to check on Jon. That thought reminded him that he had completely forgotten that Jon was still in surgery. Looking at Miranda, who was still staring vacantly at the view-screen, a thought occurred to Paul. Something that would take the young woman’s mind off the past few hours, help him and fulfil an earlier plan of Jon’s. “Miranda, please come with me,” Paul instructed the young woman gently, motioning to one of the offices just off C&C.

Once inside, with the door firmly closed, Paul shooed Miranda in the direction of the small washroom attached to the office. “Why don’t you get cleaned up a little bit, then we can talk?” he suggested softly.

A few minutes later Miranda returned, taking a seat across the table from Paul. While Paul would not describe her as clean, at least she had washed most of Jon’s blood from her hands. Deciding to get straight to the point Paul explained. “While I am sure that Jon will pull through the surgery, he will be out of action for sometime, certainly he will not be running the station in the short-term.”

“I assume that you will takeover while he is… recovering,” Miranda replied, hating it that they already seemed to be talking about Jon in the past tense.

“Normally,” Paul replied. “But I am more of an administrator, not a leader. Before the attack and Jon’s injury we agreed that you would takeover temporary running of Vanguard, Terra Nova and our other company assets.”

“Me!” Miranda exclaimed, not sure what to feel, shock, surprise, horror, or excitement.

“Indeed,” Paul exclaimed clearly. “You have already rotated through all of the departments, and worked closely with all the senior staff. They have come to respect you and listen to your opinions carefully. I have no reason to expect things to change when the announcement becomes official.”

“And you and Jon discussed this and agreed before any of this happened, and you have no problem with this?”

“It’s all official, you can check the orders with the computer,” Paul reassured her motioning towards the terminal in the office. Fingers crossed behind his back that she would take his word for it and not check, as the computer would confirm no such thing. “As for me, I am an administrator, I would be more than happy to pass on the burden of leadership to you, it’s unwanted I assure you.”

Leaning back in the chair, deep in thought for a moment, not agreeing or disagreeing to the proposal. Finally Miranda asked, “So just who were you?”

“Excuse me?”

“We’ll everybody on this station seems to have had some role in the Imperial Navy.” As if ticking off names on a list she continued. “Jon was Commander of the Praetorians, bodyguard to the Emperor and his family. Gunny was a Special Forces Gunnery Sergeant in the Marines. David was head of Security on the battleship Illustrious. Jason was, well who knows what the hell Jason’s job title was but he has ‘Navy Intelligence’ written all over him. The doctor was chief flight surgeon on the Imperial Star… So what were you?”

Paul was trying to suppress a smile that she had managed to so quickly delve into each of their pasts. “Logistics - somebody had to keep the Empire afloat in a sea of paperwork,” Paul insisted straight-faced.

Miranda just gave him a suspicious frown. “And your rank?”

“Captain,” Paul replied truthfully.

“You outrank Jon?” she asked in surprise, somehow assuming that Jon was the most senior officer.

“Only on a good day - Jon was the Commander of the Praetorian Guard,” Paul explained, trying to think how best to explain. “They sort of sit outside the normal chain of command, as they reported only to the Emperor. Being Commander of the Praetorians was like having a royal flush in poker, it’s sort of an unbeatable hand, nobody outranked the Commander of the Praetorian’s, well, except for the Emperor, of course.”

Miranda nodded, guessing it sort of made sense. “And this is only while Jon is recovering, after that he will take back command?”

“Absolutely.”

“OK then, as long as this is what Jon wanted… and that it’s only temporary.”

“Excellent, why don’t we meet up in my office in a few hours for a handover,” Paul replied, surprised that he had managed to pull off the entire charade. He would have to remember to update the computer and backdate the orders. Rubbing his hands in delight, Paul could not wait to see the expression on Jon’s face when he found out.

“What’s wrong with Jon’s office?” Miranda asked suspiciously.

“It’s currently got zero air-pressure and the temperature is only a few degree’s above absolute zero,” Paul replied standing up.

“But I thought Jon was in his office at the time?”

“Sure was.”

“Then how come he is…?”

“Still alive?” Paul finished the sentence for her. “You should listen to the crew more, now that you are in charge. Didn’t you know that Jon could survive the vacuum of space?”

“Yeah, along with being invulnerable, possess a magic sword that can cut steel, being the best damn pilot in the galaxy, clairvoyant and telepathic.”

“Really? Jon is telepathic? I never knew.”

“You should listen to the crew more,” Miranda replied with a sigh.

Paul laughed, having missed the verbal back and forth with Jon, hoping that his dear friend made it through the surgery. Suddenly having an inspirational thought, he added in a whisper. “Anyway you missed off the best one, according to the crew, or at least the female half… he is meant to be the best lover in the galaxy.”

I will not blush, I will not blush, Miranda thought, her mind flashing back to Jon’s warm kiss earlier. She blushed. Damn.

Paul noticed the young woman blushing and his laughter followed him out of the office.

*****

It was late at night, again, and this time it was Miranda that was exhausted, having had little sleep the night before and having spent many hours with Paul going through all the latest status reports for the company. No wonder Jon was always locked away in his office, Miranda thought, the paperwork was enough to kill him!

Paul noticed Miranda’s yawn, and taking pity on her - she had had a rough past twenty-four hours - suggested they finish up for the night. The only good news during the past day was that Jon had come through the surgery fine, and was currently in an induced coma to let his body recover from the trauma. Doctor Richardson had given a good prognosis, and with rest he was expected to make a full recovery. The station was just anxiously awaiting news that their Commander was awake.

As Paul was about to leave, Miranda interrupted with a question that had been on her mind ever since she had seen Jon step through that door. “Before you go, I want to know why Jon has a death-wish.” The sudden intake of breath from the older man indicated that she had touched a delicate topic.

“Jon is not suicidal,” Paul replied angrily, stopping at the threshold of the door, determined to defend his friend from such accusations.

“I never said that he was,” Miranda replied calmly. “But I question if Jon honestly cares if he lives or dies. I saw his expression the moment before he stepped through the door straight into the middle of a group of Syndicate enforcers. I’ve never seen such a terrifying expression on a person before. It was completely detached. No worry, no fear, anger or hatred, completely serene. I don’t care about this way-of-the-warrior crap, but I’m not going to follow Jon into oblivion, simply so he can escape from his existence.

Sighing deeply, Paul resignedly walked back, before falling heavily into the spare seat. “Jon has no plans to lead anyone into oblivion. He cares for his people, the mantle of leadership falls more heavily on some people than others, and for Jon it is eating him alive. Every time we lose somebody Jon takes it as a personal failure on his behalf. I think part of the reason he puts himself in these dangerous situations is to avoid himself having to risk another.”

“But there is more to it than that, isn’t there?” Miranda prompted perceptively.

“Have you ever had a goal in life - a true purpose?”

“You mean something to get me out of bed in the morning?” Miranda responded with a grin.

Paul frowned, trying to find a way to convey his meaning to the younger woman. “Jon once had a purpose in his life. He was the Commander of the Praetorian Guard, sworn to defend the Empire, the Emperor and his family, that was his existence, that was his purpose for being,”

Paul tried desperately to convey the intensity of Jon’s feelings. Remembering him when they first met, taken aback by the intensity and fervour in the younger man, a man who honestly believed in the Empire, it’s ideals and was totally devoted to its leader – Marcus Aurelius. It was a passion that bordered on fanaticism, but how to convey that to this young woman to whom the Emperor was something she read about in novels and the Empire was something distant that had no impact on her life.

“And this purpose came to an end?” Miranda once again perceptively pointed out.

“Not an end, that is too simple a term to convey the tragedy that followed,” Paul replied. “In the space of a few days Jon’s whole world came tumbling down around him. Marcus Aurelius, assassinated. The Praetorian Guards, gone. The Empire, collapsing from within; along with Jon’s entire existence.”

“And what of the Imperial Princess, Sofia Aurelius, that I keep hearing about from the crew, in whispers?”

“Not even I know the full story,” Paul confessed. “I know that they must have become very close during their escape. Sofia would not leave him, when he was badly wounded upon making it to Eden Prime. She would not leave his bedside for days…”

“She was in love with him?” Miranda asked, surprised. She, like almost everybody, had watched the news, reading about their mad dash for escape across the galaxy.

“I think so. Yes,” Paul replied firmly, remembering the young lovers on Eden Prime, the expression in her eyes when she gazed at Jon. The same expression he saw every night, when returning to his quarters, embracing Carol, his wife.

“And Jon, did he love her?” Miranda asked hesitantly.

“I…I don’t know,” Paul replied truthfully. “I thought for a time he did, they were so happy together, but I don’t know…something happened.”

“Happened?” Miranda inquired confused.

Paul took a deep breath, averting his eyes, having never told anybody else before, not even his family, but maybe Miranda had the right to know, the right to have all the facts, so she could make her own decision. “Jon betrayed Sofia,” he explained lowering his gaze to the table top.

Miranda just blinked. Then laughed.

“Excuse me, we are talking about the same person here? Commander Jonathan ‘my word is my honour’ Radec? He betrayed her? And you saw this with your own eyes?”

Paul had to smile at Miranda’s description of Jon, as it sounded just the sort of phrase he would use. “Princess Aurelius, Sofia, she came to me that night, distraught, telling me what she had seen, pleading with me to tell her that it was not true. Begging me to tell her what was wrong with her, why Jon would want somebody else…” That was not all that transpired between the two of them that night, but that was nobody else’s business, not Miranda’s, and especially not Jon’s.

“And what did you tell her?”

“What could I tell her? I knew nothing of it, but Jon had been very distant for many days before. I knew that he had something on his mind, but he would never divulge it to me.”

“So what did you do?”

“I confronted Jon about it.”

“And what did he say?”

“He didn’t deny it,” Paul replied angrily. He remembered the scene as if it was yesterday, furious with the younger man, but also guilty at his own actions. Wanting nothing more than to kick the crap out of Jon, but the look of complete despair in the other mans face, stopping him. No physical hurt that he could inflict on Jon would come anywhere close to the anguish that he was going through. So instead, with the shame of his own actions, he walked out, never once looking back.

“So Jon doesn’t have anybody?” Miranda asked astonished, looking back at her own time on the station, she could not remember ever seeing Jon with anybody. He was usually in his office, or attending his shift in the C&C. That was not to say that he was cold or aloof. Miranda could remember a dozen incidents off the top of her head, when she saw Jon interacting with the crew, from congratulating Lieutenant Patterson on his quick thinking in averting a near collision, or taking Lieutenant Castle’s daughter out in the Eternal Light as a birthday gift. The crew loved him, but they also worried about him. Miranda could see that it was not just Paul who shared these concerns.

“He still has some family on Altair,” Paul replied, misunderstanding the question. “I checked once with communications and he messages them a few times a year, on family occasions and stuff. He joins Carol and me sometimes in the evening, he is great with the kids…” Paul trailed off, embarrassed at realising how personal this conversation had become.

“Anyway, Jon is not a danger to you, or me, or anybody else on this station,” Paul insisted firmly. “Now it is getting late, so if you will excuse me…”

Watching Paul depart Miranda realised that he had never answered the original question. While Paul was emphatic that Jon was not a risk to anybody else on the station, he purposefully did not mention the fact that Jon was not a danger to himself…

Chapter Twelve

Present Day

Terra Nova, Zeta Aquilae System

Staring at his face in the mirror, Jon was astonished to see a bruise starting to form on his forehead. Rubbing it painfully Jon looked around, astonished to see his small quarters on the Imperial Star.

“How did I get here?” he asked looking around. The last he could remember was being on the station, with alarms sounding… A chime from the door interrupted his thoughts.

“Come!” he called out. As the door opened a figure glided into the room. The visitor was shorter than Jon and wearing a white cloak that masked his or her features. With a strange sense of Déjà vu, Jon watched as Sofia pushed the hood away from her face.

Jon could only gape, as Sofia, not having aged a day glided towards him. “What are you doing here? I thought that you were on Eden Prime?”

“Do you always greet your guests shirtless?” Sofia replied with a laugh, running her hand across his bare chest. As she leaned forward to kiss him she whispered. “I fully approve.”

The next moment they were twirling, intertwined on the open-air patio, alone, with the band inside playing a slow song, the stars shining brightly down on the young couple.

“Getting the hang of things, Jon?” she asked as she executed a stunning twirl.

“Where are we?” he replied confused. “Is this a dream?”

She laughed with genuine delight. “You don’t miss a thing,” she responded, reeling and darting around Jon with the grace of a summer breeze, chuckling good-naturedly at his obvious and total confusion.

Reaching out, he snaked an arm out to halt her, pulling her to him until her body was flush against his. Spinning Sofia in a gradually tighter circle, pulling her closer with every turn, until the two of them stood utterly still at the center of the dance floor.

And then, as if a parched man, having been offered a drink after going for days without, his lips descended upon hers in a desperate, demanding kiss. This time there was nobody to interrupt them, and the kiss seemed to go on and on, Jon becoming lost in the feel of her. Finally he pulled his head back from hers and opened his eyes, terrified to think that she might no longer be there, only to find her gazing sadly back at him. She dropped her hands to his shoulders, retreated one step, and another before moving her body in time to the music once again.

“Please don’t leave me,” Jon cried desperately. “I have been so alone without you,” admitting it to himself at the same time as saying the words aloud.

Twirling back, closer, Sofia touched her hand delicately to his chest, in the same fashion that she did on the Imperial Star, she explained in a soft voice. “You have never been alone, Jon. I have always been with you, in here,” she said laying her hand over his heart.

With that she once again twirled away, fading from sight, as the music softened, leaving Jon standing alone on the open-air patio.

“I’m sorry,” Jon said aloud. “I never wanted to hurt you, I love you…” admitting it to himself, for the first time ever.

*****

“Son of a bitch, that hurts!” Jon panted out aloud, his ashen face, covered in a thick sheen of sweat. He had regained consciousness a few days before, but it was going to take his body much longer before it recovered. His breathing was still laboured, the scar tissue causing his lungs to expand and contract painfully. Sleeping was the worst, as he frequently awoke during the night, breathless and in pain.

Better the pain from the lungs than the pain from the broken heart, Jon thought. He was still deeply shaken by the dream while he had been unconscious in Medical. What was worst is that Jon could rarely remember his dreams, but this one seemed imprinted on his consciousness, every look, and every touch, crystal clear. Jon lost count of the times that he found himself opening a channel to Sofia, only to angrily snatch his hand away. Even if he managed to talk to her, what was he going to say? It had been almost five years!

Hi, how are you? I know we haven’t spoken for years and I am sorry I hurt you. How about picking up where we left off?

It sounded pathetic, even to him! For all he knew she had long since moved on, found somebody else, somebody to share her life, her bed… The thoughts made Jon’s heart freeze and his blood run cold.

Looking at the chronometer in his bedroom - he had finally been kicked out of Medical after his complaining reached unbearable levels, even for his medical staff - Jon noticed that it was just after five in the morning.

Rise and shine, he thought sourly to himself.

It was barely an hour later when Jon shuffled painfully into his office, unannounced. “What the hell are you doing here so early?” Jon demanded foul tempered, partly from the pain and lack of sleep and partly because he was hoping to beat the current occupant to his chair, failing miserably.

“Well good morning to you, feel free to just stroll in,” Miranda replied waspishly.

“It’s my office.”

“Not until the Doctor clears you back for duty, and for god sake sit down before you collapse!”

Jon distinctly disliked following others’ orders, although he had no problem issuing them, but deciding to overlook the point, this once, he slid gratefully into his chair. “What’s the latest?” Jon asked trying to peer over the rim of the data pad that Miranda was reading.

Miranda only angled the pad further away from his eyesight. “None of your concern,” she replied abruptly. On her first day she had discovered that the department heads were producing daily reports, in hard copy! A young ensign then collated these before they were delivered to the Commanding Officer for review. Miranda could not believe it! She had immediately ordered that all department heads would file daily status reports electronically henceforth.

Jon meanwhile was bored and looking around his office for something to amuse himself. Noticing the desk had been moved to the other side of the office, away from the energy field encasing the window, he commented. “So I see you had the energy grid repaired, I’m surprised you did not have the window altered to remove the need.”

“I thought about it, but I guessed you would just have it modified back again when you returned to duty. I felt sorry for the poor engineering team wasting their effort,” Miranda went back to reading her report ignoring Jon much to his chagrin.

“It got nippy in here without it.”

“So Paul informed me.”

Jon waited expectantly for the obvious question, but was disappointed when it was not forthcoming. “Pretty difficult to breath in a vacuum,” he prodded.

“Hmmmm…”

Jon fell silent, fairly deflated that Miranda was ignoring him, unused to this restless inactivity. “Don’t suppose I could interest you in a short trip? I need to make a cargo pickup.”

“There is nothing on the shipping manifest.”

“It’s personal.”

“I didn’t think that the Doctor has reinstated your flight status.”

“He hasn’t, hence I need a pilot.”

“Well I am busy, lot of others to choose from on the station.”

“Sure, I guess,” Jon replied dejectedly. “Never mind, I’ll go and find somebody else to fly the ‘Light…”

“What?” Miranda squeaked, she actually squeaked!

Jon had to try hard to suppress a grin at his victory. “Well I did not want to drag you away, you’re obviously very busy,” he hedged.

“No, no, no,” Miranda stammered quickly. “I’ve just finished here.”

“You’re sure?” Jon inquired doubtfully.

“Sure!” Miranda stated glibly, tossing away the data pad that she had been so engrossed in, only moments before. Skipping around the desk, actually skipping! She pulled Jon out of his seat towards the door.

“Well…if you’re really sure,” Jon deadpanned.

*****

The Eternal Light tore away from the station at full thrust, before nose-diving into an uncontrollable flat spin, coming back to level flight – inverted, if it was possible to be inverted in space, where the absence of gravity made concepts of up and down relative.

Miranda was just laughing with delight, hair flying in all directions as the ships internal stabilisers tried to compensate for the wild manoeuvres, with only limited success. Miranda had never flown a ship, beyond her old hawk fighter, that was so responsive. The ship seemed to respond instantly to each of her light touches, gliding and soaring through the intervening space.

“Hey, take it easy will you,” Jon groused. “The ‘Light is an old girl now, show her some respect will you? Remember this ship is only on loan to me from the Emperor, he might want it back one day and in good condition too!”

“I forgot you once told me that this ship belonged to the Emperor, wow he had a good taste in ships,” she gushed, motioning towards the rich internal decorating, with the Aurelius family seal prominently displayed. “Anyway seeing that he no longer needs it,” she added tactlessly. “I guess it’s yours now.”

“Actually this now belongs to the Imperial Princess Sofia Aurelius,” Jon corrected her. “After the Emperor’s death she inherited all the family’s assets, companies, properties… and ships.”

“Wow, stunningly beautiful and totally loaded, you completely blew it with her!” Miranda replied with another giggle, barrel rolling the shuttle, much to Jon’s dislike, as his lung was screaming in protest and the painkillers he had taken before the flight were making him nauseous.

“She was better off without me,” Jon replied morosely. “But at least she let me keep the ship.” Jon remembered their parting words painfully.

Recognising that she had spoiled the mood with her flippant comments, and worried at Jon’s pale face, and glassy expression Miranda finally levelled off the ship, reducing power to the engines.

“So where is this cargo that you need to pick up?” she asked curiously.

“The Ceres asteroid belt, you will find it in the navigational computer. It should only be a few hours flight time at sub-light.”

“What sort of cargo are you planning on picking up?” Miranda asked curiously. “Some rock to throw at your department heads when they next don’t deliver your reports on time?”

“I was thinking something a bit bigger…”

*****

A few hours later, Miranda was rousing Jon awake after he had fallen asleep on the way, due to lack of rest the night before.

“Ok we’re here, so where to now?” she asked, her curiosity peaked by his earlier comments.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Jon brought up the ship’s sensor report and highlighted one of the largest asteroids, almost 2.5 kilometres in length, and almost as long in diameter, at the middle of the field. “This one, Erebus, and try and not hit anything else on the way.”

“Gee Jon,” Miranda replied expertly plotting a course, to weave through the field. “Couldn’t you have chosen one on the edge of the field?”

“And deprive you of the opportunity to show off your superior piloting skills? No,” Jon replied, keeping one eye on the sensors to make sure that Miranda did not drift too close to one of the spinning rocks. However, he needn’t have worried as Miranda expertly threaded the Eternal Light between the rocks, slowly moving towards the centre of the field, and the largest asteroid.

The Eternal Light was still almost five kilometres from the centre of the belt, when suddenly on the emergency channel a broadcast started to announce. “Unidentified ship, you have entered restricted space. Vacate this area immediately or lethal force will be authorised. Unidentified ship, you have entered restricted space…” the message continued to repeat itself.

“Whoa, easy,” Jon murmured, touching the back of Miranda’s hand reassuringly as he fired the port control thruster to move them away from one particular rock that had encroached within a few meters of the ship.

“Sorry,” Miranda replied embarrassed. “I was surprised by the message and lost concentration.” She glanced over at Jon’s hand that was still resting on top of hers, noting that he had not withdrawn it after she had corrected their course. Finally she decided that if Jon had not noticed, she would not bring the issue up, anyway his hand was warm, and it was kind of reassuring…

“That’s ok, I forgot about the message, anyway I better send the confirmation code before the automated defence systems blow us up,” Jon replied with a grin.

“What automated defence systems?” Miranda inquired, shooting Jon a disturbed look. “You did not mention any automated defence systems.”

“Sorry must have slipped my mind, anyway nothing special, a couple of rail guns, probably a few missile emplacements, might be a particle weapon or two. It’s been a while,” he replied. Instead, his attention was focused on his console, as he seemed to be busy entering a 32-digit confirmation code. The flashing red light, with the words declaring “Access Denied” did not particularly reassure Miranda.

“Strange, I was sure it was that code,” Jon muttered, scratching his two day old stubble uncomfortably; he redoubled his efforts.

“Jon!” Miranda urgently encouraged him, as the tactical display lit-up like the night sky reporting multiple weapon systems targeting then.

“One minute, one minute,” Jon muttered. “I’m sure that I’ve got it this time.”

Miranda was only two seconds away from throwing full power to the engines and making a mad dash for the edge of the belt, when finally the console glowed green, along with the words “Access Granted.”

“Next time I agree to accompany you for a cargo pickup, how about you mention the automated defence systems and the possibility of imminent death, before I agree to accompany you!”

“Where would the fun be in that?” Jon replied giving Miranda a wide-grin.

Miranda had to catch her breath at the sight of him, because he was really…very… quite… well …breathtaking. The smile made Jon appear years younger, more carefree and she could picture him years before, as a young boy wearing such a smile, having been caught getting up to some mischief. His dark hair was tousled all over his head, because he hadn’t bothered to comb it since rising. Even tousled, Jon was way too handsome. Worse, he had on a flight-suit almost the same colour as his eyes; one that did absolutely nothing to hide what she knew was a phenomenal chest and spectacular shoulders. The faded flight suit was worn and snug in all the right places. Miranda had always thought Jon handsome, but way out of her league. Jon was major league, and her, barely peewee, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t dream, noticing his warm hand still resting on hers.

Tearing her gaze away from Jon’s handsome profile, Miranda was shocked to see that they were now approaching the largest asteroid, far too quickly to be able to stop safely in time. Frantically reaching for the flight controls to reverse thrust and alter course she was astonished to feel Jon’s hand tighten over hers, interrupting her. Glancing frantically at Jon she insisted, “Jon we need to alter course, otherwise we are going to collide.”

Continuing to gaze directly into her eyes, Jon replied. “No. We. Won’t. Miranda do you trust me? Really trust me?”

Miranda’s thoughts whirled back to the conversation that she had with Paul, days before, while Jon was still in a coma in Medical. Then she had accused Jon of leading them into oblivion, wanting to fulfil his own death wish, and now only a few days later, here they were, heading to certain destruction into an asteroid! But Paul had insisted, that none of the crew, her included, had anything to fear from Jon, and Miranda had believed him! Looking into Jon’s warm, understanding gaze she found herself still believing him.

The ship’s collision alert warning started to sound, warning them that they were barely seconds away from the impending impact, but still Jon continued to hold her hand reassuringly. “Trust me,” he whispered to her reassuringly, barely seconds before the Eternal Light collided with the Erebus asteroid…

…Passing straight though the surface of the asteroid. Jon immediately killed the engines and the ship came to a halt within a large cavernous hanger. The asteroid was hollow!

Miranda looked around in astonishment, noticing curved rock walls, and a solid flat landing bay. “But how?” she demanded in astonishment.

“Quite simple really,” Jon explained with a pleased grin. It was a certain rite-of-passage, docking at the Erebus depot for the first time even veteran pilots sometimes panicked, but Miranda had passed with flying colours, although Jon could certainly forgive her for shutting her eyes just before the moment of impact. “The asteroid is hollow, mined from the inside out around the same time that Terra Nova was constructed. The docking port is covered with a simple holoprojector to hide the entrance,” Jon explained as he brought the ship into dock, ensuring that there was a hard-seal and that the atmosphere in the depot was still good. It had been many years since anybody had been here last.

Opening the airlock into the depot, Jon motioned Miranda ahead of him exclaiming “Open Sesame! I give you the cave full of hidden treasure…”

Miranda stopped just inside the airlock, her mouth agape in disbelief. Facing her was another massive cavern; it must have been hundreds of meters in length, as she could not see the far end in the dim light. However, it was not the size that astonished her but the contents, for the cave was full of crates, some small, barely a few meters in length, others massive, running into tens of meters square. The cave was full of them, ascending up into the dark roof of the cave. Curious to know the contents of the crates, she cautiously approached the nearest one. With a glance towards Jon, who nodded in agreement, she prised the lid off, astonished at the contents. Pulse rifles, dozens of them, neatly lined up, taking one out she was astonished to see that it was immaculate, as of it had just rolled off the production line. The next crate held the same, the one after that, energy pistols, after that grenades, missiles and so it went on.

“It’s an arms depot,” Miranda exhaled in understanding, her mind boggling at the size of it. “You could equip an army from this one store; no scratch that, a dozen armies.”

“One of a dozen, at least that I know of,” Jon explained, looking around the room. “Top secret Imperial Navy arms dumps. Known only to the Emperor and his most trusted adjutants. A last resort. A worst-case scenario. Only to be used if the very existence of the Empire was threatened. Of course nobody saw that the biggest threat to the Empire came from… within. Hence now they lie abandoned, forgotten, disused, until now,” Jon said firmly.

“But I don’t understand,” Miranda said confused. “These must be worth millions, tens of millions of credits, more profit than Vanguard would make in a lifetime. So why not just sell them?”

“Well putting aside the question of who I would sell them to,” Jon replied. “As the only customers in the market are thieves, pirates, mercenaries, slavers…” Jon uttered with disgust. “Exactly the last sort of people I would want possessing this…what would I do with the money?” Jon asked, curiously.

“What would you do with the money?” Miranda asked in astonishment. “Spend it, give it away, and live like a king, like an emperor…” Suddenly Miranda realised what she had just uttered aloud. Who Jon was, who he had been… “The Emperor, Marcus Aurelius, told you about this, didn’t he?” but the question was rhetorical, how else could Jon have known about this, and what other secrets had the Emperor divulged to Jon?

“You don’t need to sell this, because you don’t need the credits,” realisation dawned on Miranda as she followed the thought through. “Because you already have more money than you could spend, more money than an Emperor could spend in a lifetime…because he told you where it was hidden…”

The Aurelius family, who had run the Empire for over five centuries, Miranda could not picture, could not imagine, the wealth that they must have accumulated, now all gone… but not all, some of it would have been hidden away, just like this arms depot, hidden away, a last resort, a worst-case scenario…

“Not all of it,” Jon replied embarrassed, but pleased that she had worked it out. “After Marcus’s death, all the family wealth was inherited by Sofia. However, there were other accounts, anonymous accounts, shell companies, assets, and investments all carefully hidden away. Not even I knew about them all, Marcus still had secrets, things that he did not divulge even to me.

“Then why the big charade, Vanguard, Terra Nova, all the contracts, all the effort, for what?” Miranda demanded, remembering all her hard work and effort to make Vanguard a success and for what?

“People need a purpose, a reason, a goal in life Miranda,” Jon explained patiently. “I should know this better than most. When the Confederation disbanded the Imperial Navy, many people, good people, honest, honourable and hardworking, had their life taken away from them. They were lost like me… They are honourable people; you think people like Paul, David, Gunny, and Jason would have just accepted a few million credits each if I had offered it? They would have been horrified, it would have besmirched their personal honour, they would have thrown the money back in my face.”

“So you gave them a purpose,” Miranda exhaled in sudden comprehension. “You created Vanguard not as a company intent on profit, but as a purpose for them.”

“Vanguard generates a profit,” Jon replied defensively.

“But if we are not here for cargo to transport, why are we here?”

“There are some supplies that I want to pick up, and one other little thing…” Jon replied with a hard, flint-eyed expression.

*****

The some supplies, turned out to be a dozen of the larger crates, which of course happened to be at the far end of the depot. Too heavy to carry by hand, Jon and Miranda had to utilise the automated cargo handlers to help load the crates aboard the Eternal Light, even with the automated cargo handlers it was long, hard, sweaty work, but finally several hours later the crates were aboard the Eternal Light, and Jon and Miranda stood alone, facing a massive internal blast door.

“This is your one more little thing?” Miranda inquired looking at the massive door apprehensively. Whatever required such a massive barrier, in a hollow asteroid that was already brimming with weapons and high explosives did not even bear contemplating.

“Behind this door is the reason why you will not find this depot on any Imperial Navy report, or manifest or star-chart,” Jon explained cryptically. “This is why it was only known to the Emperor and a few of his closest advisors.” Approaching a console set into the frame of the massive door, Jon once again typed in a code, which to the best his knowledge he was the last alive to know. This time there was no hesitation, no mistake.

“Authorisation Code – Accepted,” the console flashed. “Voice print authorisation required.”

“Jonathan Radec, Commander, Praetorian Guards, 58th Squadron,” Jon tonelessly announced to the door.

“Voice Print – Accepted,” the console once again reported. However, this time there was no other prompt and the massive door started to open, slowly, ponderously.

“Open Sesame,” Jon announced to the door.

Miranda was astonished that as the door opened, she could see that it must have been close to thirty centimetres thick: what horror could possibly be behind such a door? However, Miranda was disappointed to find that the room behind the door was barely twenty meters by ten meters in size, a cubbyhole compared to the rest of the massive depot. Lying in the middle of the room, like a tomb of old rested a single solitary box. Approximately six meters in length, half in width, half in height, Miranda thought for a moment that it was a coffin.

That was until she saw the markings on the crate, and took several steps back in terror. “Is… Is it safe,” she stuttered.

Approaching the crate cautiously to check its contents, Jon replied. “It’s been sitting here for almost a decade, surrounded by lethal weapons and high explosives, in an unstable asteroid belt. I think if it was going to go off, it would have done so by now.”

Satisfied that what he was looking for was present and that everything checked out, he turned back to Miranda and asked. “Give me a hand with this can you? Probably best that we don’t drop it…”

Chapter Thirteen

Present Day

Terra Nova, Zeta Aquilae System

It was much later that evening, after the Eternal Light had docked and its cargo was safely transferred to Terra Nova, that Jon was secretly reviewing reports in his quarters. Jon was coming around to appreciate Miranda’s suggestion of filing reports electronically, as this allowed him to neatly circumvent the doctor’s explicit orders that he should be recuperating and in no way, or form, be working. Having been unceremoniously booted out of his own office by Miranda he had quickly converted his quarters into a new office; after all, he had plenty of room, as it previously only consisted of a bed, chair and table…

Poring over the daily reports that had been filed while he was off station, he looked up in complete astonishment as Miranda breezed into his person quarters.

“By all means, come in! Make yourself at home!” Jon commented derisively. “You know I could have just finished a shower, and be prancing around in here naked!”

Miranda’s eye’s brightened at the prospect, and she replied flirtatiously. “I can always come back a bit later…”

Jon just rolled his eyes in disbelief. He had initially been shocked upon awaking in medical, to hear that Paul had abdicated his responsibility in favour of Miranda.

Although Paul was perfectly in his right to decide who was in charge during Jon’s absence, initially Jon had been surprised at the decision. Jon still remembered Paul’s reservations clearly from their late evening drinking session in Paul’s apartment. However, it would seem that Miranda’s hard work, dedication and passion had even brought around their cynical Operations chief. But the additional responsibility had done wonders to the newest member of the senior staff. Jon still remembered the angry, untrusting young pilot that had awoken in medical, demanding when she could return home. However, the news about her family and the recordings from the Syndicate outpost had cut any lingering ties to the Syndicate. Meanwhile, her rotation through the various departments had expanded her horizons and brought her into close contact with the various department heads that she had quickly managed to win over. Jon still chuckled on remembering the expression on Gunny’s face when challenged to an arm wrestle.

The change in Miranda had been even more stunning, as her self-confidence began to grow, a wicked sense of humour emerged in the young woman.

Probably a little overconfident, Jon thought observing the bold young woman who had just strolled into his quarter’s unannounced.

“You have plans for the evening?” Jon inquired, motioning towards her bold wardrobe choice. Wearing a bright red silk blouse, black pencil skirt, that nicely showed off her endless legs, with her hair tied-back she looked more like a fashion model than the interim CEO of Vanguard.

“Dinner and drinks with the senior staff tonight,” Miranda replied reclining in the only other chair in the room, a small couch that Jon had only included so that Paul could take a seat, when they did drinks in his quarters.

“What dinner and drinks with the senior staff? I never had dinner and drinks with the senior staff!”

“Exactly my point,” Miranda insisted. “Hence why dinner and drinks with the senior staff is long overdue! Everybody has confirmed that they will be there tonight.”

Eyeing the young woman and her bold ensemble, Jon could well understand how the entire male complement of the senior staff would be jostling to be first in line to dinner. Jon briefly contemplated whether there was time before dinner for a quick memo to all senior staff, that anybody caught ogling the new boss would be first out the airlock in the morning.

“You are welcome to join us…” Miranda proposed tentatively.

Jon would have choked at the proposition if he had been fortunate enough to be eating at the time. Unfortunately he had not eaten yet, so had to settle instead on giving her a surprised look and replied. “Unfortunately I have a prior engagement, but please you go ahead…”

It was Miranda’s turn to get him a quizzical look. “By a prior engagement, you mean that you are eating dinner in your quarters – alone. The same thing you do every evening, except when you and Paul are getting roaring drunk together, or you are unconscious in sickbay after being stabbed…?”

Damn! Busted.

Instead Jon just shrugged depreciatingly. “You know the old saying, the loneliness of command.”

Miranda just stared at Jon in frustration. She had been totally confident as she strode into his quarters that she would be able to entice him to come to the party. Even if she had been advised otherwise by everybody on the station, from Paul downwards.

Jon meanwhile was contemplating an evening socialising with the senior staff with something akin to a panic attack. Going along he had the option of acting like a wallflower the entire evening, avoiding any sort of conversation at all. The alternative was to engage with his senior officers, in small talk!

“Hi Jon, how are you?” “Good thanks, the knife wound is healing well.”

“Been seeing anybody recently?” “No, not since I betrayed and then abandoned my last girlfriend. You might have heard of her, no? She is now the Confederation President.”

“How is business?” “Not bad after going into business for myself. You see my last boss was murdered when I should have been protecting him, and I then got my entire squadron killed, and the boss’ daughter almost raped and killed.”

Jon went completely pale at the thought, focusing on keeping his stomach firmly under control, since it felt like somebody had just dropped a hot lead ball into it.

Belatedly recognising Jon’s expression, Miranda realised that the entire idea had been ill conceived, but dammit the senior staff had earned themselves a break, not everybody was a hard, relentless, unfeeling machine like Jon. As soon as she had thought it, Miranda wished she could take the thought back, realising that it was not true. Jon had feelings, probably a lot stronger, deeper ones than most, he just buried them deep inside. Miranda wondered what it would take to get an emotional reaction from the man sitting across from her. A man that Miranda realised she had developed her own strong feelings for.

“There will be dancing afterwards, you do know how to dance don’t you?” Miranda tried one final time, this time she got a reaction however, just not the reaction that she had been expecting.

Surprise flared in Jon’s eyes, followed closely by shock, then hurt. “No, I don’t dance,” Jon finally replied turning his head away. “I haven’t danced in a long time,” he whispered softly to himself, lost deeply in the past, both real and imaginary.

“Then now is a good time as any! I need to practice before the party, as I am a little rusty. Just one dance, please?” Miranda asked taking Jon’s hand in hers, pulling him to his feet. For a moment Miranda thought that Jon was going to pull away, but she had his hand in a firm grip, and knew that Jon was too much a gentleman, too much an officer to push her away. Instead Jon firmly, but gently, enclosed his hand around hers and stepping away from the desk moved in closer and encircled her waist with his other hand.

Somewhat taken by surprise at the smooth move, Miranda was about to propose that they wait a minute while she put some music on, when much to her surprise Jon started to move. Gliding around the dark quarters, the only light coming from the stars shining through Jon’s viewport. Miranda was mesmerised as Jon seemed to set a pace and rhythm that was playing in his head alone, sometimes slowing to almost a halt, other times the pair almost flew across the room.

If this were his idea of not being able to dance, I would love to see something he is good at! Miranda thought to herself.

Taking the opportunity during one of the slow portions, Miranda looked up into Jon’s eyes and was astonished to see the emotion shining through. Love, sadness, regrets…pain. Miranda had never seen such expressions on Jon’s face before, always before his misty grey eyes seemed to obscure whatever he was thinking or feeling, but for a brief moment the mist seemed to clear and it felt like Miranda could look down, into his very soul, and the pain and sorrow that she saw there took her breath away.

Finally the song in Jon’s head seemed to slowly wind down, and they slowly danced in ever-smaller circles, until they finally came to a rest, with Miranda pressed intimately against Jon. Still Jon stared into Miranda’s eyes as if preoccupied. Slowly, ever so slowly, Jon lowered his mouth towards Miranda’s waiting lips. Miranda let her eyes flutter shut; awaiting his warm lips when suddenly a loud chime interrupted the moment.

Startled, Miranda’s gaze flashed open, gazing into the eyes of Jon who was looking at her with surprise, and confusion. Shaking his head, as if to clear his mind, Jon released his hold on her and took a step away. “Come!” he called, his voice sounding rough to Miranda’s ears.

Jason stepped into his quarters; his eyes instantly taking in the scene, the two of them barely a foot apart, in the middle of Jon’s quarters, both wearing flushed and heated looks. This time it was Jason to wonder what he had interrupted…

“Sirs?” he inquired carefully, not sure what he had interrupted, or how he should address the pair. But Miranda peeled away, disappearing into the washroom, leaving Jason and Jon alone. Jon’s gaze followed the younger woman into the washroom before the door quietly slid shut, again shaking his head as if trying to awake from a particularly surreal dream. Jon turned his attention back to the Lieutenant.

“I’m sorry for arriving unannounced,” Jason apologised, once again glancing at the washroom, again wondering just what he had interrupted. “But this is extremely important.”

Jon was curious at what the intelligence officer wanted to discuss, as Jon could not remember the young man ever being this agitated before. Jon motioned towards the empty seat that Miranda had been occupying moments before. Jon could not exactly remember what had happened after that. He remembered dancing with Sofia? Miranda? He could not be exactly sure, as everything seemed to blur together.

Jason ignored the offered seat and started to pace the length of the room anxiously, as he explained. “Commander, we have only just managed to break the encryption protecting the Syndicate computer core that the Marines recovered.”

For a moment Jon was confused at what the young officer was referring to, finally he recollected the original primary purpose of the raid on the Syndicate outpost was to retrieve the computer core for intelligence. Honestly, Jon had completely forgotten about the computer core as this was overshadowed by recent events, namely the rescuing of the captives, the collapse of the Syndicate throughout the inhabited systems and the more recent retaliation by the Syndicate.

“We’ve uncovered intelligence regarding an imminent attack on the station,” Jason went on to explain.

“We are already aware of that, Lieutenant,” Jon replied with a sigh. “We already halted that attack, killed the Syndicate shock troops and destroyed their captured ship.” Jon explained, amazed that Intelligence could be so blind to events unfolding around them.

Jason just blinked once in surprise. “Not that attack Commander, that was just the diversion to distract us. I’m talking about the fleet currently en route here, its objective is you!”

Jon just blinked in surprise, before motioning once again to the chair. “I think you had better take a seat Lieutenant and explain. From the beginning this time…”

*****

Meanwhile Miranda splashed cool water onto her flushed cheeks, staring into her own wide-eyed face, reflected back at her in the mirror. She was asking herself what the hell had just happened, or nearly just happened. Following Paul’s revelations about Jon during their discussions in his office, while Jon had been recuperating in medical, Miranda had set herself the challenge of breaking him free from his self-imposed isolation.

Hence taking every opportunity presented, Miranda spent time with him, often on the pretence of getting his opinion on a certain decision, continually trying to involve him in the social fabric of the station. However, Jon seemed to rebuff her at every turn, always having an excuse or other pretext at hand to avoid the particular occasion…until this evening. For some reason her request for a dance seemed to completely slip past all the defences he had built… and the dance! Nobody had ever held her like that, looked at her with such complete adoration… or had he?

Sure Jon seemed to be present, in body at least, but his mind, his spirit, his heart? Miranda feared that they were many years away, in distance or time, she did not know. What she did know was that for a moment, just a brief instant she had managed to make a crack in his thick emotional armour and was able to peer inside and see the real Jonathan Radec and what she had seen left her wanting more, so much more.

While Jon came across as cold, aloof and uncaring Miranda now knew that this was just his defence mechanism to stop anybody getting too close, too personal. From the brief glimpse that she got of the real person, she could see a warm, understanding, caring man. Somebody who would respect her for who she was, support her and be a partner in every possible meaning of the word.

Miranda pitied this Princess, who having reached the pinnacle of power in the Confederation, having every advantage, every privilege, but still was unable to retain this man. Therefore confident that she would not make the same mistakes as this other woman. Miranda dried her face and confirming that her hair was still immaculate left the washroom to determine what news the intelligence officer had to bring them. Somehow she doubted that it was good.

*****

Jon looked up at the sound of the door sliding open and Miranda re-entered the room, a warm smile meeting his concerned gaze. Miranda gave a slight nod in response to Jon’s unvoiced question inquiring if she was ok. Jon stood at her approach and once again offered her his hand in an unconscious peace offering at brushing her off so coldly upon being interrupted earlier.

Gladly taking the offered hand Miranda was about to inquire to the reason for the Lieutenant’s earlier interruption, when Jon explained.

“It looks like I will be joining you and the senior staff this evening after all.” On seeing the raised eyebrow from Miranda, Jon expanded. “It would seem that somebody wants me dead…”

“In that case they should take a ticket and get in line. What is it about you that everybody who ever meets you wants you dead?”

“Not a clue,” Jon replied with a shake of his head. “Just my winning personality I guess.”

Still hand-in-hand the young couple exited Jon’s quarters in the direction of the senior staff briefing room, with the young intelligence officer in tow, eyeing their joined hands speculatively.

*****

“And you are sure that it’s Jon personally they are after?” Paul interjected after Lieutenant Edgar quickly recounted the story once again for the benefit of the now present senior staff.

It had been quite an evening of shocks for the senior staff, as having arrived, expecting canapés and drinks with the new interim CEO, they had been stunned at the sight of the new boss entering on the arm of their previous boss, only to have dinner and drinks cancelled, to be informed that there was an emergency situation, yes another one, as they had a fleet of incoming hostile ships with the sole objective of taking Jon dead or alive. The consensus among the group was that dead was probably the preferred option.

“Perhaps you should start again, from the beginning, uh, again,” Jon stated scratching his chin, wondering if that phrase actually made any sense.

Sighing out aloud, Jason finally took a seat, as the constant pacing up and down was starting to make him feel dizzy, taking a deep breath he started to explain, again. “My team and I have spent the past several weeks working on the encryption mechanism that was protecting the computer core, retrieved by Gunny and his Marines from the Syndicate outpost.” Jason tipped his head towards Gunny in deference to their heroic actions in not just retrieving the core, but also helping to free dozens of captives, otherwise likely to be sold into a lifetime of servitude.

“The computer core was heavily damaged during the retrieval…”

“Not our fault,” Gunny protested mildly. “The laser cutters were taking too long, so we fell back to the tried and trusted method of blowing the doors, we did have Syndicate reinforcements breathing down our back, and our ride was departing…”

“I’m sure Gunny and his Marines did the best job they could under very trying circumstances,” Jon suggested mildly, encouraging Jason to continue.

“Next time could I suggest a screwdriver…?” Jason grumbled, but carried on anyway. “Along with the physical damage to the core, it would seem that syndicate personnel were busy trying to erase the contents of the core remotely. Frankly it’s miraculous that my team managed to retrieve anything.”

“We all gratefully appreciate the absolutely stellar effort on behalf of you and your team,” Miranda interjected before Jon could respond. “However, perhaps we could actually get to the crux of the matter? I’ve been led to understand that imminent doom will be arriving shortly, and would hate to die in breathless anticipation of not actually knowing why… ”

Jon had to cover the smirk spreading across his face with his hand, he could not have put it better himself. It was obvious that Miranda had been spending way too much time with him and his sarcasm had started to rub-off on her.

“Anyway,” Jason continued giving Miranda an angry glare. “As requested, getting to the point, most of the data core was too badly damaged or just plain erased to recover much, however we did manage to retrieve something from the communication sub-routine. It would seem whoever coded it introduced a bug in the encryption/decryption algorithm and the pointer for the decrypted voice stream was not being correctly destroyed and hence missed by the memory resident garbage collector.” The sea of confused faces peering back along the length of the table, suggested to Jason that the majority of the room did not understand a word of that.

“It wasn’t deleted properly and we recovered some of the voice communications from the buffer,” Jason summarised. General nods from around the table at least acknowledged understanding of the summary. “Fortunately we managed to strike lucky with regard to one of the messages, we don’t have any visual, just the audio stream and it’s fragmented. The stream does not have any markers denoting origin, destination or timing and it’s difficult to put into context but the content of the message is clear. They clearly refer to the Commander, several times, in particularly unflattering terms…”

There was a couple of knowing smiles and nodding of heads from around the table in sympathy. Most people who knew Jon had come away after meeting him, calling him very unflattering names.

“…The participants in the call also referred to the recent attack, referring to it as an initial surgical strike against the leadership, to disorientate, demoralise and paralyse our command structure in preparation for the final assault. They do not go into much detail regarding forces and timing, beyond that it would take time to gather the fleet although they make it clear that Terra Nova is the intended final destination, with the primary objective being the Commander’s capture, or death.” With these final words the Lieutenant fell silent, the room deathly quiet as they considered the enormity of the situation facing them.

Leaning back in his chair Jon voiced his thoughts aloud. “Well it does answer some unanswered questions, for example why they cut power to my quarters. At the time I thought it an act of stupidity as, by doing so, they lost the tactical element of surprise. However, if I was their main objective all along…it makes sense; we had just assumed that their target was Vanguard and the station…but that raises a new question…”

“…Why you,” Paul interjected.

Jon nodded thoughtfully. “While I obviously drew enough attention from the Syndicate that they sent an assassin after me,” Jon nodded his head in Miranda’s direction warmly. “To which I am in the Syndicate’s debt,” he added with a smirk.

Miranda just laughed.

“Perhaps there is a clue within the message, with the constant use of your rank?” Paul mused. “It’s interesting that is the only way they refer to you, not by your first name, last name, not even by your company title, that could be meaningful.”

Thinking for a moment, Jon shook his head discouragingly. “I’m not sure what we can infer from it, while we refer to each other by rank frequently, it’s a force of habit. Having been in the Navy for so long I do it subconsciously. Outside of us, I never use it. I simply refer to myself by name or use my company title of Chief Executive.”

“That’s my exact point.”

“You think that one or more of the participants on the call was ex-Navy?” Jon asked surprised, as the thought had never occurred to him before.

“Not necessarily ex-Navy, but ex-military certainly. After all we were not the only ones to find ourselves unemployed after the Confederation disbanded the Imperial Fleet.”

Jon looked at his chief of operations morosely, it was bad enough to be facing a significant but unknown threat to their existence, but it would be an order of magnitude worse if the Syndicate were now also employing disbanded Imperial forces.

“Well, this is all idle speculation at the moment,” Jon stated emphatically. “Let’s not go borrowing additional trouble. Lieutenant is there any additional intelligence that you or your team can offer. The make-up of the fleet that is on its way perhaps?” Jon inquired wishfully at the young intelligence officer.

“No sir,” Jason replied emphatically. “My team and I are trying to compile a list of Syndicate ships that have escaped the Confederation, however it’s an endless task as we never had a comprehensive list of their ships in the first place. Too many dummy corporate fronts, unregistered owners, cross-ownership deals. It would take a lifetime to untangle that mess, although I would refer to their use of the term fleet with some concern, as this does suggest a significant number of ships. By now they must have at least some idea of our capabilities and have prepared accordingly.”

“A very sobering thought, thanks Jason,” Jon replied. “What are our options people?” Jon addressed the question to the remaining senior staff.

“Let them come,” Gunny replied confidently. “We have kicked their asses every time we have encountered one another, I have no reason to doubt that this time will be any different. We have been forewarned, they have already lost the tactical element of surprise, and we have enough time to dig in, my Marines are waiting - bring ’em on!”

“Thanks Gunny,” Jon responded dryly. “I’m glad that you’re on our side.”

“While I have full confidence in Gunny, our Marines and David’s station security,” Paul hedged. “We have to face the fact that we are no longer in the Imperial Fleet, we are just not equipped to dig in and wait for reinforcements. At some point they are going to being able to muster enough ships to simply overwhelm our station defences and us. At that point they don’t even need to board the station, they can just shoot holes in us from a distance, until we surrender or there is none of us left alive. David, you were working on some different tactical scenarios several weeks back trying to guess the Syndicate response. I would suggest that those are still valid, what did you come up with?”

As all eyes in the room turned to face Lieutenant McNeill, he squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. “My team and I worked up several tactical scenarios,” he confirmed. “These varied in size from a single ship, executing a covert infiltration of the station, up to a full division sized assault.”

Jon rolled his eyes sarcastically. “I think I suggested at the time that a full divisional assault, with up to a thousand armed assailants was most unlikely,” Jon interjected.

“We had to consider all the various tactical scenarios, sir,” David responded stiffly.

“I hope you did not discount invasion by armed hostile aliens then.”

“No, sir, there was a tactical scenario for that.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“No sir.”

All that could be heard in the silent briefing room was the dull thuds as Jon repeatedly banged his head against the briefing room table in despair. Rubbing his now sore head Jon finally replied. “Look I think we are once again veering off the topic here. What’s your point Paul?”

“We need to request assistance from the Confederation Navy.”

“No.”

“Is that your pride speaking, your personal animosity for the Confederation, a Confederation that you helped found, I should remind you, or because that you recently found out that Sofia is now in charge of the afore mentioned Confederation and you do not want her involved.”

Jon eye’s turned dark and he gave his executive officer an angry gaze.

“One minute, back up a bit, you were also involved in the founding of the Confederation?” Miranda asked in complete disbelief. “Is there any significant historical event over the past twenty years that you were not intimately involved in?”

Jon momentarily tore his eyes away from his executive officer, who he had already decided was going to receive an earful from him as soon as they were alone. “It’s not relevant.”

The look of astonishment on Miranda’s face told Jon exactly what she thought of that response! “What do you mean it’s not relevant? How can your intimate involvement in the birth of the Confederation, the greatest political act since, since, the founding of the Empire, over five centuries ago, not to be relevant?”

“We’re getting off the topic again,” Jon replied. He realised that he had been saying that a lot in the past hour, but they still had not formulated a response to the current imminent threat. “While I am in-charge we are not going to involve the Confederation Navy, and that’s final!”

“While you are in charge…” Paul parroted, angling his head towards Miranda, seated at the head of the conference table.

“So if standing and fighting is not an option, nor is involving Confederation military, what other options are open to us?” Jon inquired, purposefully ignoring Paul’s earlier quip.

“In a number of the tactical scenarios that we ran through the computer, defeat was pretty much guaranteed,” David said. “In those scenarios the suggested course of action was to retreat…” suddenly it occurred to David that with the calibre of the people sitting around this table, the word retreat was just not a word in their lexicon. “…tactically withdraw,” David finally settled upon.

“We’re just going to run away and give them Terra Nova, our home?” Miranda responded in outrage, voicing the thought that was obviously on many a mind around the table.

“Better to live today and fight another day,” David replied uncomfortably aware that there seemed to be little enthusiasm for this option around the table. “There is no honour in getting needlessly killed,” he added.

“Nobody is taking Terra Nova,” Jon said firmly to nods around the table. “At least not intact. However, we need to remember that there are almost 300 lives at risk here, including almost a third of the inhabitants of the station are woman and children. I will not put them at risk. Not even for my personal pride,” Jon replied angrily throwing his operations chief’s words back in his face.

Paul meanwhile had the good grace to look down, ashamed that he had doubted his old friend.

“Hence we hope for the best but prepare for the worst,” Jon quoted the phrase that most military commanders had lived by since the dawn of modern warfare. “We prepare for the full evacuation of the station, and I mean the full evacuation,” Jon put the emphasis on the last two words giving Gunny a penetrating gaze. “That includes you and your Marines Gunny. We are not going to have any heroically suicidal last stands while I am still in charge. When the Syndicate fleet arrives we will re-evaluate the tactical situation, and if it’s hopeless we withdraw.” Jon met each of his senior staff gazes, one-by-one to ensure that they all understood. “Nobody, and I mean nobody, takes Terra Nova from us,” Jon emphasised. “If it comes to that I’ll drop the magnetic containment for the fusion reactor and they can try and capture the remaining dust fragments of the station for all I care!”

While nobody relished the orders, the senior staff all acknowledged them, understanding that while they were all emotionally attached to the station, that they had all come to call home for the past few years, that it was not worth their lives.

Acknowledging the nods around the table, albeit some of them hesitant, Jon finally turned back to Jason who had eventually stopped pacing the room and fallen reluctantly into a seat.

“Do you have a copy of the audio recording that you recovered from the Syndicate computer core?”

“Yes sir, although it’s not particularly good quality, we had to put it through the computer’s scrubbers several times to try and piece it back together.”

“Let’s hear it,” Jon ordered.

Retrieving a data pad that rested on the briefing room table in front of Jason, he tapped on the device several times retrieving the audio file, before piping the output via the room’s audio system. An ear-splitting screech of static filled the room, the sound of a thousand fingernails being run down a board simultaneously, all the occupants in the room visibly winced.

“Sorry,” Jason replied, adjusting both the audio output, and the volume.

The static faded as quickly as it had arrived, to be replaced by a clipped voice. “I thought that you told me never to contact you directly on this channel.”

“I did tell you never to contact me on this channel, Mallart,” another deeper, rougher voice replied. “That did not preclude me contacting you…”

“We think that the first voice belongs to Magistratus Mallart, one of the Syndicate inner-council,” Jason interjected helpfully.

“You think?” Jon replied sarcastically. Once this latest crisis was over Jon vowed that he was going to take Jason and his team on a well deserved, all expenses paid vacation. He and his team had done miracles over the past few months, but seriously, they needed to get out more…

The audio stream broke up at this point and nothing could be understood for several seconds, but eventually the quality improved again until the voices could be understood.

“What is the latest regarding news on Vanguard? Was your assassin successful?” The unknown voice demanded impatiently. Jon was not sure if he was imagining it, but the voice sounded anxious.

“I am unsure of your obsession with this particular problem,” Mallart replied evasively. “Vanguard is a minor annoyance, nothing more. We will deal with them, as we have dealt with all of the others who have rejected our offer…”

“So your assassin failed, just as I predicted,” the voice gloated arrogantly. “I warned you that sending her after the Commander was an effort in futility, he is an… exceptionally skilled pilot,” the compliment came across more as a curse.

“Radec was lucky, that was all. We already have another operation underway, we are assembling our finest enforcers…”

“I’m not interesting in hearing about your failures, Mallart!” the voice thundered. “You have already failed us once, you will not do so again. Your finest are like buzzing insects to this man, he will crush them just as easily. Marcus chose this man personally. He had the elite of the Imperial Navy to choose from, yet he chose this man to protect him and his daughter. Does this not tell you something? Does it not give you some indication of the calibre of this particular individual? Still you treat him as an annoyance… I have already indulged you once, and you failed spectacularly. Send your enforcers, they mean nothing to me, they will fare equally as badly. I will deal with the Commander, personally…”

“I thought that your involvement was going to wait, the plan we agreed is not yet complete, operations for the final colonies are still only at the planning stage, we need more time…and what of the Confederation? If they discover our plans, their forces will move against us.”

“The Confederation Navy will have bigger problems on their hands. With their planets in flames, their populace crying out for protection, they will be forced to divert more and more of their fleet. Eventually they will be spread so thinly they will be defenceless and then we will strike. The plan will continue apace. I will assemble the fleet and we will crush them. Commander Radec and Vanguard will just become a footnote in history. History is written by the victors, nobody cares about the losers…”

As the audio recording came to an end, the silence in the room was broken by a lone voice. “The fleet on-route will consist of at least a dozen frigates, two destroyers, three heavy cruisers and a star-carrier. At least that is what it used to consist of.”

Jason’s mouth fell open in astonishment, and it took him several moments to find his voice as he stared in amazement at the Commander, who had uttered the words. “How in the Emperor’s name can you determine that from a simple audio recording?”

Jon glanced at his hands, white from the force that he had been gripping the edge of the data pad, as the recording had progressed. With a conscious effort he prised his fingers from the device before looking up and responding to the Lieutenants question. “Because I recognise that voice. That voice has haunted me for the last five years. That voice ordered the death of our Emperor. That voice ordered the death of the Praetorians. That voice ordered the mercenaries sent to kill Sofia and I. That is the voice that I have spent years looking for, that I followed every report, every rumour, and every scrap of intelligence to find. That voice is the one that I have sworn, on the lives of all those that he destroyed, that I would hunt down and silence, forever.”

Focusing once again on the occupants of the room, having been consumed by memories that Jon thought long buried, he clarified, “The voice belongs to Commodore Harkov, previously Admiral Harkov, before being stripped of that rank by the Emperor after his desertion during the battle of Rigel. The Commodore, the entire 4th fleet, including the star-carrier Imperial Star vanished soon after the assassination of the Emperor and my escape with Sofia. The Commodore and the fleet were never seen again, although I followed up on several rumours. Sofia and I speculated at the time that the original plan was that the Empire was meant to have disintegrated after the death of Emperor Aurelius’, as there was no clear line of succession, no chain of command for the Imperial Fleet…”

“But it didn’t happen that way…” Paul interjected.

“No,” Jon replied. “When Sofia and I finally arrived at Eden Prime, she made the decision to abdicate, and the Empire to become a true Confederation. Sofia’s final command was for the remaining fleet Admirals all to sign the Confederation Charter, thereby forever placing the Imperial Fleet under the direct command of the Senate. As you all know the Senate soon disbanded the Imperial Fleet, I assume because they still did not trust the military leadership and replaced it with the Confederation Navy. Hence the Empire never disintegrated, it transformed instead into the Confederation that we have today. There was never the civil war that we assume the Commodore was hoping for, to allow him to seize power.”

“So you and Sofia disrupted the Commodore’s plan,” Paul observed insightfully.

Jon just shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps… this was all just speculation on our part during one evening.” Jon fell silent, preoccupied by the good memories of that time. Sofia and him, still entwined by the sheets from their last bout of lovemaking, her head resting gently on his bare chest as he brushed away a sweaty strand of hair from her neck that had interrupted his prior journey of kisses downwards… Realising that Paul had been asking him a question, Jon shook his head to banish the pleasant daydream.

“I said does this change anything?” Paul repeated the question.

Jon let the thought lull around in his head for a few moments. Did it change anything? The tactical situation remained unchanged; they still had a fleet of hostile ships on the way, which could arrive at any minute. At least they now had some idea of how many ships to expect, assuming even a detachment of the 4th fleet arriving, far more than they could possibly ever hope to fight. Yet, this changed nothing…and everything.

While the situation was still hopeless, Jon had no intention of running away, not now. Jon had spoken truthfully when he told this crew that he had sworn an oath to find this man and stop him. He had spent years futilely searching, following down every possible lead, all to no avail. Now the object of his search was coming here, to him! No, Jon had no intention of leaving; finally he would be able to have his revenge for all the loved ones that this man had taken, all the lives that he had destroyed, everything he had lost…

With growing concern, Paul recognised a fanatical gleam in Jon’s eyes, one that he had not seen in many years. Like many of the senior staff Paul had first met Jon during their time in the Imperial Fleet, their paths had crossed frequently, mostly while on clandestine operations ordered by the Emperor. However, even before meeting Jon in person, Paul had heard the whispers in the fleet about the new Commander of the Praetorian Guards. The word fanatical was the one Paul had most heard used to describe the young Commander, and he could understand how most people had mistakenly assumed so.

Upon first meeting Jon, Paul had braced himself for the worst. Hearing the rumours he had assumed he would be dealing with a raving fanatical zealot, suicidally intent on carrying out the Emperors wishes, whatever the cost. Instead Paul found himself dealing with a smart, determined officer. Paul discovered that the fanaticism, that most people labelled the Commander with, was instead a passionate belief in the underlying principles of the Empire, and its leader… the Emperor. Furthermore Paul was astonished to discover that the Commander had a unique ability to use that belief and to inspire those around him, to share in it and as a result those around him trusted in him, completely, to the point that Paul knew that they would follow him into hell; because they trusted him that he would bring them all back.

During his time with Jon, through some of the darkest times of his life, Paul came to understand the source of this man’s belief. For what perhaps even Jon did not realise, was that he had come to love the Emperor. A person whom half the Empire detested as a dictating tyrant, with the other half only tolerating, as the alternative was even worse to contemplate, Jon had come to love him as a father. Paul could never comprehend how, or why, though he had made some educated guesses over the years; a beautiful Princess with flaming red hair and emerald green eyes came first to mind…

Anyway for whatever reason Jon believed in those ideals, and was determined that they would succeed. Hence the fall of the Empire shook those beliefs and ideals to his core. With each successive corruption or bribery charge laid at the Confederation Senate, a little piece of Jon’s faith and spirit was chipped away, until all that was left, was a shadow of his former self.

As far as Paul was aware there were only two reasons why Jon still fought for his belief and ideals. The first was the love that Paul knew Jon still retained in his heart for Sofia. Occasionally he would still see the spark in his old friend’s eyes, and a sad smile grace his face and he knew that Jon was still thinking about her, fighting to make the galaxy just a slightly better place for her, and maybe one day her children. The other reason…well Paul did not need to see the hate smouldering in Jon’s eyes across the table to guess the second reason…

“Jon?” Paul prompted again.

“Nothing changes,” Jon replied ominously.

“And the no suicidal final stand edict?” Paul inquired, gave Jon a sceptical look.

“The discussion is finished. Dismissed,” Jon ordered to the stunned officers.

“What about…”

“I said dismissed!” Jon growled, chopping his hand thought air to make it clear that the subject was now closed.

The senior staff all gazed towards Paul with various concerned expressions, a moment later Paul gave the staff a nod, to acknowledge the order and slowly, one by one, the senior officers filed out of the meeting room, until finally only Paul and Jon remained.

“I said dismissed, Captain,” Jon ordered focusing his angry stare at Paul.

“I’m no longer a Captain, and I resigned from the Navy, don’t you remember?” Paul replied mildly. “It means that you can’t go ordering me about.”

Evidently Jon had forgotten that technicality, as instead he ground his teeth together in frustration, that they were going to have to have this conversation.

“Jon, we have known each other a long time, I have never questioned your decisions,”

Until now…

“This is not our fight any more, call the Confederation Navy, call the Senate, hell, call Sofia. It was not so long ago. A lot of them still remember you, and they respect you. They will listen to you! The Emperor is dead Jon, this personal crusade of yours is not necessary…”

“NO!” Screamed Jon, slamming his fist’s into the table with such force that the table trembled. “It was my fault! I knew that Harkov was a snake and did nothing! My fault! I swore an oath to defend the Emperor and failed! My fault! I swore that I would protect Sofia…”

“And you did, you have!”

“No! You do not know how many times I came close to losing her! All because of Harkov! All because I failed in my duty. Well, I am going to make sure that bastard does not harm…anybody else. I’ll send him back to the deepest, darkest pit of hell, from where he crawled out! My only regret is that I’ll not have the pleasure to gut him first, and watch him drown in his own bile!”

“Marcus would not have wanted this for you, or Sofia…” Paul suggested quietly.

“That’s the first thing that you have said that I happen to agree with. No, I’m almost certain that this is not what Marcus was planning…” Jon replied bitterly. “The man has been dead for almost five years and I still cannot seem to escape from his shadow.”

Paul eyed the younger man speculatively, wondering what Jon meant by that comment. “That’s why you left Sofia? Because of something Marcus said or did before he died?” Paul speculated aloud. He had been telling Miranda the truth that he had no real idea why Jon left Sofia, but if it was something Marcus had said or did, that would make some sense. Except Marcus had been dead for months when Jon finally turned his back on Sofia, after the signing of the Confederation Charter on Eden Prime. Soon after Jon disappeared on his self imposed exile, only reappearing a few years ago to accept Paul’s offer of leading Vanguard. It just didn’t make any sense…and it was obvious that Jon was not going to enlighten him, as he simply averted his eyes, muttering about history being left in the past.

“And what of all the others on the station, Jon?” Paul threw back in his face. “Remember that there are almost 300 lives at risk here. I will not put them at risk? What happened to that lofty goal?”

Jon stared at Paul furiously before replying. “I’ll deal with Harkov myself, nobody will be ordered to stand at my side when that fleet arrives.” With that final word, Jon pushed back his seat and stormed out of the briefing room, his anger a palpable cloud, swirling around behind him.

Paul watched with a worried expression as the door slid shut in his wake. Unfortunately the rest of the crew did not share Jon’s little self-worth. Paul knew with absolute certainty that not one member of the crew was going to leave if Jon insisted on remaining behind to face the fleet alone. Paul remained in the briefing room long after Jon’s departure facing some very unpalatable decisions.

*****

It was late into the night, station time, with his wife and children long since retired to bed; Paul tiredly sat down at his desk, his hand hovering over the communication console.

Paul had never knowingly betrayed Jon, except for that one time when emotion had overcome reason. However, Paul had long since come to terms with that mistake, viewing that the years of self-regret and guilt surely was punishment enough for the act. Anyway, Paul recognised that one day he would have to face Jon with the truth, that encounter alone was likely to repay any remaining debt, with interest. Paul vowed that when that day came, he would ensure that Jon was nowhere within reach of his sword… Jon was dangerous enough on an average day, however with that blade in his hand, Jon was the epitome of death. Even Paul, no stranger to death, had been horrified at the sight of Jon, blade in hand scything through enemy troops as if they were simply blades of grass falling in the wind…no, Paul was going to make absolutely certain that Jon was nowhere near that weapon when he told him.

It did not help Paul’s conscience much to realise that he was not disobeying a direct order, as such. Jon had ordered him not to involve the Confederation Navy, well that did not preclude Paul from informing anybody else, and if they just happened to pass on the message… Well that was out of Paul’s hands. Only slightly mollified by this minor distinction, Paul activated the communications console. The next problem was how to get the message to the intended recipient, Paul was fairly sure that her private channel was not listed in any public database…Therefore Paul accessed a not so private database, the Confederation Navy Data-net. Of course Paul did not have any official access to such a secure system, fortunately budgetary cuts to the Navy meant that the Confederation Navy data-net was simply a rebranded version of the old Imperial Navy data-net, and that…well Paul practically owned that. Accessing the database using one of the old system administrator accounts, Paul quickly looked up the private communication channel for Sofia Aurelius.

Unfortunately that turned out to be the first of many problems. The second was quickly apparent when he tried initiating a call, only to be informed by the software agent monitoring Sofia’s private channel that she was currently unavailable and if he would like to leave a message, this would be passed on at the earliest possible opportunity.

Paul growled in frustration, for all he knew Harkov could be arriving at any moment and people would start dying, rapidly. He had to get a message to Sofia immediately, his eyebrows arched in deep thought. Paul had similar software agents running on his own personal channel, obviously, most people did. While communications technology progressed, the pressing desire of some people, to sell others worthless crap unfortunately had not diminished in the slightest. Hence his personal software agent was only programmed to accept a limited number of calls, from specific people or locations… However, Paul had programmed in certain overrides, certain key words or phrases. Paul assumed that Sofia had done likewise, but what could he use to get her attention? Thinking about the words and phrases Paul had programmed, his wife Carol, kids names, birthdays, Jon… Paul thought back to the last time he had seen Sofia, remembering her devastated expression after Jon had left. No, Paul was sure that Sofia had loved Jon…then the answer hit him like a brick. Re-opening the communication channel, once again the software agent prompted him to leave a message, but this time he did.

“Commander Jonathan Radec, 58th Squadron, Praetorian Guards.”

The software agent immediately vanished from the screen, leaving a blank grey visage. Suddenly the channel connected and Paul was staring into the stunned green eyes of the last Imperial Princess - Sofia Aurelius.

Chapter Fourteen

Present Day

Terra Nova, Zeta Aquilae System

Shocked into silence for a moment, surprised that he had actually managed to reach her in person Paul said the first thing that came into his head. “Sofia, you are not getting enough rest.”

The stunned expression on the Princess’ face slowly gave way to an amused smile, when she replied. “Nice to see you too Paul, and I’m not surprised I look tired as it is three in the morning here local time on Eden Prime.”

Paul winced, as in his rush he had not thought to check the local time on Eden Prime. However, before he could apologise Sofia continued.

“Anyway, what is the reason for the call, and how come you managed to get through my filters…”

Paul could see from her expression that she was studying her own system to work out why the call had gone directly through to her, the comprehension, quickly followed by the sudden sick expression on her face, was enough to clue Paul that she was jumping to erroneous conclusions. “Jon is perfectly fine,” he was quick to add.

“I heard that he was badly hurt a while back,” Sofia explained with a hint of worry. “But I was told that he would make a full recovery with time. When I saw the reason for the call, I just assumed…” her voice trailed off.

Paul could only roll his eyes in disbelief at the antics of this couple. Having, to the best of his knowledge, not seen or spoken to each other for almost half a decade they seemed to be better informed about each other than most married couples. Then again it was not surprising that Sofia was so up-to-date on the latest events on the station, as Sofia was the sole investor and owner of Vanguard. Paul wondered if Jon ever knew that all his activities, all the reports, the financial statements, all were indirectly going to Sofia.

When Paul had first had the idea of starting this venture, after all, his contact list was brimming with exceptionally qualified, unemployed, ex-Navy officers and there seemed a good gap in the market running freight and logistics out on the rim. However, he needed a financial backer. Somebody with the initial seed capital to purchase the necessary ships, equipment and permits that such a company needed. Unfortunately his contact list for fabulously wealthy investors was rather slim; in fact there was only one person on it. A hugely wealthy ex-Imperial Princess, whom he knew via a close family friend. Sofia had immediately jumped at the opportunity, tired of the continuous political infighting. Before Paul knew it, he had the capital he required and via Sofia’s political and military connections the deeds to Terra Nova, the company’s new corporate headquarters. Paul found it ironic that Jon seemed to have spent his life after the Praetorian Guards running away from this striking woman, only to end up unwittingly bound to her. Then again if Jon had ever taken the time to investigate who actually owned Vanguard…

“Jon’s fine,” Paul reassured the young woman. “He seems to be making a good recovery after his injury, even if he constantly refuses to follow Doctor Richardson’s orders to take it easy and rest. You know Jon…”

Sofia offered a weak smile upon this news. Yes, she knew what Paul meant. Jon was never comfortable with sitting around idly, waiting for events to take place, or at least he never used to be… her smile turning sad once again. “How is he really doing Paul? It’s been so long since Jon and I last talked…” she replied sadly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, remembering the harsh words that the two had last exchanged.

Paul could only curse at history, duty, fate, whatever or whoever seemed so intent on keeping these two apart, and both miserable. “He’s doing ok,” Paul replied. “He still thinks about you, he mentions you occasionally,” he added, thinking that was a safe enough comment.

“And what about your newest crew member? I heard that she is now running the company, while Jon is recovering. I saw her picture on the GNN broadcast, she seems very young and beautiful…”

It was only through years of debriefings with her father, Marcus, that allowed Paul’s expression to remain unchanged when he replied nonchalantly. “She is also doing well, it was my idea to promote her temporarily, she needs the experience.” Paul carefully schooled his expression to ensure that none of his more recent observations had a chance to leak. It was not his place to inform the Princess of what seemed to be a budding romance between Jon and Miranda; Sofia had already been hurt enough.

However, perhaps somebody else had already informed Sofia? Or she had already guessed the truth, as she looked away from the view screen sadly. “It’s been so long now…the anger and the pain has mostly faded, it’s the hurt from the not knowing that bothers me now. Why Paul? Why did he do it? Why hurt me like that? Why did he leave me? Was it something I said, something I did…”

Paul averted his eyes, not wanting to see the tears in the other woman’s eyes; cursing Jon for the hundredth time. What was worse, is that Paul still had no answer to any of those questions, years after she first asked him, weeping in his arms. Paul knew that those actions hurt Jon just as badly, perhaps even more, as Jon had left on his self-imposed exile, leaving behind the few people that he knew, and loved.

Now he spent his days shut away in his office, reviewing reports or eating alone, nothing to accompany him except that wide viewport with the stars brightly visible. As far as Paul could understand, Jon felt that he deserved this penance; for the past mistakes that he blamed himself for.

So engrossed in his own internal monologue, Paul failed to notice Sofia dry her eyes and turn back to the view-screen. “Anyway, I’m sorry, I am sure that you did not go to all this trouble of reaching me, to watch me cry my eyes out over a long lost love…How are Carol and the kids?” she asked remembering her manners, that had been drilled into her since a small child in her father’s court.

“They are good thanks,” he said. “The kids are getting older, and more trouble by the day. These days I usually have to threaten to call Gunny before I can get them to sleep…” The station’s kids had been in awe of the Marine Sergeant, ever since Lieutenant Castle’s daughter had recounted the story of how he had wasted the monster that was hiding in her bedroom wardrobe.

Sofia laughed, as obviously the story had also reached her ears on Eden Prime. In some ways Sofia was the last unofficial member of the station crew. As while she resided many light-years away on Eden Prime, all the crew knew the history between her and Jon. Paul pitied what would happen to anybody that hurt Sofia, wondering if that included Jon. Paul had not heard of Sofia being involved with anybody. As the Confederation President, Paul assumed that her private life was pretty much non-existent, and any rumours of her involvement with anyone would make headlines, not the least as she was the last Imperial Princess, last in the Aurelius family line. Paul idly wondered what Jon would do or say if it did become common knowledge that Sofia was involved in somebody.

Probably wish her the best happiness, and go back to his office, dark and alone never to be seen or heard from again…

“And how are you? Aside from tired considering it’s three o’clock in the morning there? Speaking of which why are you still working at three o’clock in the morning?” Paul inquired.

“I’m fine, as for why I am up so-late, I’m beginning to understand why father always looked so tired. There are never enough hours in the day – or night to get everything done. Meetings and conferences all day, reports all evening, at some point I even try and find time to actually get work done.”

“Your father at least had the common sense to delegate some of his work and responsibilities,” Paul replied, noting with concern the dark rings under her eyes.

“My father was surrounded by competent fleet officers, able administrators and strong legislators,” Sofia retorted. “I’ve only got corrupt politicians and incompetent bureaucrats to work with.”

Paul smiled at Sofia’s succinct description of the Confederation government and replied. “Well, your father had an excellent method of motivation, anybody found incompetent was summarily removed, only occasionally with his head still attached.”

Sofia’s eyes brightened at the thought. “I wonder if I could raise a bill before the Senate to introduce such a policy for our bureaucracy. I can think of a half a dozen that could be cut down to size…” Sofia giggled.

Paul smiled, glad that for just a brief moment that he could glimpse the young headstrong Princess, whom he had first met back on Eden Prime soon after their arrival, after fleeing Harkov and the fleet. “What about yourself, Princess,” Paul replied putting his old emphasis on her title, the same one he used for his six year old daughter. “You have not given any thought to settling down and starting your own family?” he asked, in his own oblique way inquiring if there was anybody else in her life.

For just a brief instant Sofia seemed completely taken by surprise by the question, but then realising that Paul was inquiring if she had met anybody and not about children, she replied sadly. “No, to be honest I have not had the time. Anyway, after Jon…” Sofia trailed off despondently.

Briefly Paul considered what he would do if he ever lost Carol. Paul could not even contemplate the thought, and guessed that dating or finding anybody else would be the last thing on his mind. But what could he advise? That she should find somebody else? Move on after Jon? We’ll Jon certainly had not. Paul knew with absolute confidence that before Miranda, Jon had not taken a second look at anybody else. Furthermore Paul knew from the station scuttlebutt that he had more than a couple of offers, from some of the younger female crew who looked on Jon with awe, to some of their more frequent customers, who were strongly attracted to their young, handsome but private leader. So intent was Paul on his response that he almost missed the question asked by Sofia.

“Anyway, while I am sure that my love life, or lack of it, is high on your list of priorities - do you want to let me know the real reason for this call? I doubt that you purposefully tripped almost every flag on my communications agent, just to check on my health?”

As always so captivated by the younger woman and saddened by circumstances, Paul had almost completely forgotten about the purpose of the call. Taking a deep breath, Paul explained, “We have a problem.”

Sofia only gazed at him quizzically for a moment, before she broke out in laughter, the first truly joyful sound that Paul had heard from her since starting the call. Paul could only grin, when he realised to himself how that sounded.

“Only one?” Sofia replied, finally catching her breath. “In that case you must be slipping, as reading your reports usually there are at least half a dozen ongoing crises on the station at one time.”

“Well…this one is a little more serious than most. You are aware of our ongoing conflict with the Syndicate Cartel in this system.”

Sofia’s smile faded and her eyes became more serious when she replied. “Yes, I read the intelligence reports supplied to me by the office of naval intelligence. I could see you, Jon and Sergeant Reynolds fingerprints all over it. Additionally that little disinformation, propaganda campaign seemed to bear all the hallmarks of your Lieutenant Edgar, fortunately Naval intelligence seem to be completely in the dark and I’m stonewalling their investigation as best as I can.”

Paul nodded his head in thanks to Sofia’s selfless actions in protecting them and the company’s involvement in the incident. He went on to recount the story, in depth describing the conspiracy that they had discovered hidden behind the Syndicate cartel. As Paul recounted the investigation, Sofia’s face became more and more furious; by the time that Paul had finished the young woman was livid.

“Why was I not informed of this?” she thundered. “This is the sort of intelligence that should have immediately been brought before the Senate, or at the very least to me.”

Paul looked away, his cheeks flaming from the strong rebuke, and what was worse is that Paul agreed with her. This news should have been brought before the Confederation long before; if it had, then events might have not spiralled so badly out of control, they would not now be in the current predicament. Of course Jon had made it perfectly clear to the senior staff, Paul included, that he would forward this intelligence appropriately. Paul briefly wondered what Jon had done with it, probably stuck it under a file entitled, no action required.

“Jon insisted, that he would act on the intelligence immediately,” Paul responded evasively. “I’m sure that it’s just because of events have overtaken…”

“Bullshit,” Sofia interrupted Paul angrily. “At the very best he has filed it away for future consideration, mostly likely he simply destroyed it, but why?”

Paul ardently hoped that Sofia did not come to the same realisation as him, but the wide-eyed expression that suddenly appeared on her face soon dashed that hope. Paul was reminded that he was not that only person that knew the inner working of Jon’s mind so well. In many ways Sofia knew Jon ever better than he did…

“It’s because of me, isn’t it?” Sofia replied in disbelief. “He purposefully suppressed that information because he didn’t want me finding out about it, as he knew that I would take necessary action to protect the Confederation. He still thinks of me as that young naïve Princess that he pulled off the Imperial Star so long ago, well… I’ll show him,” she seethed.

Uh Oh.

“Before you make any hasty decisions, I think you had better hear the rest of it.”

“There’s more?” Sofia demanded, eyes narrowing in disbelief.

Paul continued to recount the recovered recording between Magistratus Mallart and Commodore Harkov. By the end of the story there was a very pale and shaken Princess, her anger all but forgotten.

“Harkov is on his way to you, with the 4th fleet?” Sofia whispered terrified.

Paul nodded. “This is all about the Commander, Jon. Harkov loathes him, blames him for disrupting his plans, but also I think he fears him. He knows that Jon will stop at nothing to kill him; it’s a personal vendetta between the two of them.

“Harkov hates Jon, even before my father’s death the two of them despised each other. Harkov is going to kill him.”

“Possibly,” Paul shrugged. “I honestly don’t think Jon cares. All he cares about is this personal blood feud that they have. I honestly don’t think Jon cares if he lives or dies, as long as he kills Harkov first.”

“But it doesn’t make sense. Sure, Jon hates Harkov, but not enough to risk all your lives, what is it that you are not telling me Paul?” Sofia demanded intuitively.

“Jon is going to face Harkov and the fleet alone,” Paul sighed. While Jon had never said the words out aloud in the briefing earlier, Paul knew in his heart that it was what Jon had planned. “He will order the crew to abandon the station, he will go up against Harkov alone.”

All the blood drained from Sofia’s face, and for a moment Paul thought that she would faint. “It’s suicide,” she muttered. “He is going to go and get himself killed.”

“I don’t think he cares,” Paul sighed aloud. “Jon seems to view his life as the cost he must pay for his past failures.”

“Well Jon might think his life is not worth much, and does not care if he lives or dies. But I do, and I expressly forbid him to go and get himself needlessly killed.”

Paul had to smile at the statement, as it reminded him so much of the younger Jon and Sofia, when the impossible was just another day for them.

Sofia meanwhile continued on. “While the Confederation fleet is spread very thin these days, damn all these budgetary cuts to the Navy over the years, I tried to argue that it was a bad idea, but they would not listen…Anyway I’ll assemble whatever fleet assets that we have in your sector and send them to you straight away. Meanwhile you keep Jon from rushing off and getting himself killed.”

“Very well, your Empress,” Paul said with a bow of the head.

Sofia looked at Paul suspiciously for a moment, then threw her had back laughing. “Nobody has called me that in years, since Jon half-joking asked me if I wanted to rule the galaxy. At least I think he was joking…” tapping her fingers thoughtfully on her desk for a moment she continued. “Come to think of it, I think it’s time that I paid a personal visit to Terra Nova.”

“Excuse me!” Paul uttered with complete incredulity.

“Pay you a personal visit, you know, take a close look at my investment, make sure that everything and everyone is working properly.”

“Excuse me!” Paul uttered again, completely lost for any other words at the impending disaster.

“Why Paul, have you still not told Jon who the real owner of Vanguard is?” Sofia asked with a knowing smile.

“No, to be honest it has never come up in conversation,” Paul replied embarrassedly.

“Then I think it is high-time for Jon to find out who is really in charge!” Sofia said with a predatory smile.

Paul could only stare in horror at Sofia’s smug look as he thought about the meeting between these two volatile personalities. They were going to either end up killing themselves, or naked and entwined over Jon’s spacious desk, or possibly both! Come to think of it Paul had not seen Jon all evening, ever since their heated words in the briefing room. Paul could only assume that he had retired to his quarters for the evening, alone. Saying that he had also not seen Miranda that evening either, and the two had seemed very close, as they had entered the briefing room together, hand in hand, Miranda laughing at something Jon had said.

Meanwhile Paul felt as if he had swallowed a hot iron ball, the way that his stomach was doing summersaults. After years of encouraging Jon to go out and get a life, he finally had! Only for his old life to materialise in their docking bay! Paul felt sick to the stomach, the only thing that could be worse would be Jon finding out about him and Sofia; the way that his luck was going recently, it seemed a sure bet! Closing his eyes, Paul made a quick prayer that the 4th fleet would turn up and swallow him whole first.

Giving Sofia a sickly smile, he replied. “Obviously we will look forward to your arrival.”

Sofia just laughed and replied. “I just bet you will! I’ll send you whatever fleet assets we have in the area. See you soon!” and with that the communication link terminated. Paul could only stare at the blank screen in dread, wondering how he was going to explain this one to Jon!

*****

Sofia smiled at the sickly expression on Paul’s face as she cut the channel.

Well it served him right, for calling me at three in the morning and scaring me to death about Jon! She thought to herself with a smile that soon turned wistful as she picked up one of the photos on her desk. It was a photo of her and Jon taken many years back and was one of her most prized possessions, along with her mother’s wedding ring and a priceless paperback copy of Aristotle’s Poetics, that had been inscribed to her by her father.

Sofia was certain that Jon would have hated the picture, as he was a very private person and this one had been taken without his knowledge. Sofia remembered the scene well, as it was taken at the reception, soon after the signing of the Confederation Charter. Sofia had been cornered by one of the Senators, whose impenetrable boring discussions on the body of the charter were causing her eyes to glaze over. Suddenly she had felt movement behind her, and before she could react or call out, an arm had whipped around her waist to ensnare her. Almost at the same time she felt the soft stubble of Jon’s whiskers tickle her neck, quickly followed by his tongue. Looking over her shoulder, about to admonish him for the rude interruption, he had whispered into her ear, of where he would much rather be, and much rather be doing! She had flushed a bright scarlet at his heated words and had quickly made her apologies at their sudden departure. The picture showed them entwined, with Sofia peering over her shoulder into Jon’s eyes, dark with arousal and the blush forming on her cheeks from his words.

More than once Sofia had cried herself to sleep, the picture clutched tightly to her breast, but far more often she had instead stared for hours at the picture. Trying to fathom out the reason for Jon’s abrupt change of heart, barely days after the photo had been taken. Others had tried to console her, regarding the fickle nature of men, and their love-em and leave-em nature. But they did not know Jon like she did. In her heart she knew him and knew that he was not like that. She knew deep down that Jon must have had his reasons for doing what he did, but in the intervening years she had never managed to fathom why…

In the early years, soon after Jon’s abrupt and angry departure, Sofia had gone on a couple of dates, mostly to spite Jon more than out of any real interest. However, too many times over dinner or drinks, Sofia had looked up into her date’s eyes, puzzled why they had the wrong eye colour, be it blue, or brown, or some other colour, but not the stormy grey that she had fallen hard for. The few relationships that she had that had progressed beyond dinner or drinks had quickly fizzled out. Most had been too intimidated by her forceful personality, or had tried to mould her into what their expectations of an Imperial Princess should be, devoid of any personality or intellect, a beautiful statuette, who they expected to stand there and look pretty.

Jon had never tried to change her; he had always made it clear that she was perfect as she was. He had enjoyed their discussions, or so he claimed. He had always treated her as an equal, although perhaps one that he placed high on a pedestal - too many times for Sofia’s comfort. No, Sofia compared a number of different men to Jon, and found them all lacking. As for the physical side of their relationships, Sofia shuddered. The few that had reached that stage, kissing was cold and uncomfortable. As if somebody had placed an ice-block along her spine, the only result was goosebumps down her back. Kissing Jon had not left her cold, quite the opposite, with Jon she felt like she was on fire, that she would be burnt alive and the only thing that could extinguish the flames was Jon. So no, she had been telling Paul the truth when she said that there was nobody else in her life, only her work.

Lately her work did not seem to be enough anymore. She remembered when she first had joined the Senate, the desire to do good, to help people… to make a difference. The naïve optimism of youth, Sofia assumed. The only force that ruled the Senate was inertia and public opinion. Sadly Sofia faced the truth that Jon’s actions and his manipulation of the media against the Syndicate cartel, with the resulting Senate rush of activity had achieved more in six weeks than she had realistically achieved in almost half a decade…

Well Jon is not the only one to take drastic measures, in drastic times.

Opening a channel to Fleet Admiral Sterling, she reached one of his very surprised aides, who pointedly informed the Confederation President that at three in the morning New Eden system-time the Admiral was asleep.

“That’s fine,” Sofia replied with a saccharine smile. “I’ll hold while you go and wake him up.”

While she waited on hold for the aides to raise the Admiral, Sofia thought back to her conversation with Paul. She would do whatever was necessary; pay whatever cost that was required to get the Confederation fleet moving out to Terra Nova.

She knew that Harkov hated Jon, hated him with an intensity that was bordering on an obsession. Sofia could still remember that terrifying moment, holding Jon’s broken body to her breast. She still awoke occasionally with a silent scream, covered in sweat, remembering the incident. No, she would do whatever was necessary to protect him from that same fate twice…

Chapter Fifteen

Five Years Previously

Memphis Station, Procyon System

The Eternal Light dropped out of FTL in front of…nothing. Sofia looked out of the cockpit viewport confused. There was nothing outside the ship, no planets, no stations, no ships…only the endless night of interstellar space, surrounded by a hundred million brightly shining stars.

Jon meanwhile was tapping his finger incessantly on the ships console, eyebrows furrowed, obviously deep in thought.

“A problem?” Sofia asked nervously, the last thing she wanted was to spend the rest of eternity floating through deep space, with a pair of malfunctioning engines, with a brooding companion as her only company. Jon had been unusually quiet ever since their departure from Altair. Or at least quieter as Jon was always a man of few words, believing that actions spoke louder than words. Sofia was determined to get to the root of the problem before they arrived.

“Not really, more trying to decide upon a course of action,” Jon explained after a moments thought. “That is Eden ahead,” Jon pointed to one of the brightest stars almost directly ahead. “It’s barely 2.5 light-years away, a few more hours in FTL and we will arrive,” he added biting his lip.

“And that is not a good thing?”

“Perhaps, it all depends on who… or what is waiting for us?”

“You are still worrying about Harkov?” Sofia deduced.

“I’m worrying who else Harkov could be working with. If he has decided to take this course of action alone, then there is no problem. However, for all I know this could be a fleet-wide coup d’état…”

“…So we could be flying directly into a trap?”

“Perhaps.”

“But surely you must know people in the fleet based at Eden Prime, people you could trust?”

“I do, but I have no way of contacting them securely without the risk that the message would be monitored. All fleet communications go via the Tachyon relay stations, heavily encrypted of course, but the transmission could be tracked back to our nearest relay giving away our position. Worse, depending on who else in the fleet could be involved, the encryption could be compromised.”

“What other option do we have?” Sofia asked rhetorically. “We cannot stay here forever.” Although if truth be told, the idea was not so repellent to Sofia, when they arrived at Eden Prime Sofia knew that she would have difficult choices to make, decisions that would affect the lives of millions, maybe billions, of people. Out here however, those decisions seemed a long way away, and Sofia could think of worse things than to spend time, alone, safe on a ship with a man that she realised that she had deep, strong feelings for. If their last kiss was any indication, those feelings were reciprocated by Jon. “I’m sorry what did you say?” Sofia apologised, lost in contemplation she did not catch Jon’s reply.

Bringing up the navigation computers star-map of the surrounding space, Jon highlighted one destination that the computer had labelled as Memphis. “The Eden system is surrounded by a number of massive arcologys, entire floating cities in space. I know somebody on this one, somebody that is well informed about the military and political situation in the Eden system -somebody that we can trust.”

“Sounds good, so what’s the problem?”

“The problem, as you so eloquently put it, is that if I can think of this so can Harkov, he will probably have informants on the station, probably also mercenaries and bounty hunters looking for us.”

“You mean like on Transcendence?” Sofia asked softly, looking away. She still had nightmares about the attack, although the worst of them seemed to be kept at bay by Jon’s constant reassuring presence.

“Like on Transcendence,” Jon agreed solemnly.

“Then we do it,” Sofia replied firmly. “Better the devil that we know; we have no idea what could be waiting for us on Eden Prime.” As she spent more time with Jon, Sofia had come to realise that fear could be a person’s own worst enemy, paralysing, introducing paranoia, self-doubt and second-guessing everything and everyone. With Jon’s help Sofia promised herself that she would get over her own fears and doubts, to try and be the person that Jon seemed to think she was, a better, stronger, more self-confident person; the daughter of the Emperor.

Jon looked at Sofia for a moment surprised, and then nodded his head in approval, as if he saw something new in her, something that he approved of. “Then next stop Memphis,” he added before giving her a sly smile. “This time I do not plan to let you out of my sight for a single instant. You seem to be a magnet for trouble whenever I am not around.”

“Me?” Sofia replied with a laugh. “What about you? All I asked for is a dinner and some dancing, and you start a brawl in the middle of the club. Anyway, if you plan on watching me all the time, where are you going to sleep?” she asked playfully.

“With you,” Jon shot back, with a heated gaze. “I’m not letting you out of my sight for a moment.”

Suddenly the tight knot of fear and worry that had settled in Sofia’s stomach when she agreed that they change course to Memphis vanished. Suddenly she was looking forward to this excursion.

*****

In some ways Memphis reminded Sofia of Transcendence, it seemed that the core hub, with multiple surrounding docking spokes was a universal design. However, that was where the similarity ended, Sofia could just not wrap her head around the sheer size of the station. Dozens and dozens of hubs seemed to exist, and the various docking spokes seemed to have become so intermeshed that Sofia could not see where one started and the other ended. Jon’s description was fairly accurate that it was an entire city floating in space. This point was reinforced when docking control informed them that all the public bays were currently occupied and that if they wished to avoid a wait they would need to pay a fee for one of the private bays. Playing the part of an independent trader, Jon enquired about the docking fees for a private bay. Jon did not need to fake the shock and indignation in his voice when he refused the offer after being told how much they cost.

“I could afford a brand new ship for that much,” Jon told Sofia indignantly after shutting off the channel.

Sofia had to smother a laugh as once again Jon’s simple and relatively poor background began to show through. “I would be happy to chip in to help you afford the docking fee if you would like?” she asked with a brilliant smile.

Jon had no doubt that Sofia could afford to purchase most of the station and still have change left over, but he shook his head, politely declining the request. “We need to stay in character anyway; no independent trader would ever use a private berth. We would destroy any profit that we would make from the venture before we had even arrived. Only wealthy individuals or company owners ever use those berths, or visiting royalty of course…” Jon snickered. “We will wait, we are hardly in a rush.”

“In that case,” Sofia replied stretching, she had been in the copilot seat for many hours and was very uncomfortable. She noticed Jon’s eyes immediately drawn to her bosom, quickly averting his gaze with an endearing blush when he realised that she was watching him. Sofia had to suppress the wicked grin that she could feel threatening to escape. Deciding that now was a good a time as any, especially when she had Jon off balance she stood up, and leaning back on the flight panel she looked Jon straight in the eye.

“So are you going to tell me what has been bothering you since we left Altair?”

“It’s…nothing” Jon replied, averting his gaze from Sofia. Infuriated Sofia stamped her foot in frustration. Perhaps it would just be easier to order him to tell her, Sofia mused. Deciding that she did not want a relationship like that, she instead settled her hand on his chest and softly beseeched him. “Please Jon, we promised that we would talk, no more secrets. What is it that is bothering you? You have been unusually quiet, even for you, ever since you had that private conversation with your parents before we left.” That conversation bothered Sofia almost as much as Jon’s subsequent silence. For the first time since she could remember, she had felt part of a family. Being excluded from the final goodbyes had hurt her painfully.

Recognising the pain and hurt in her eyes, Jon cursed himself; he had been trying to spare her the worry and instead had just made it worse! “I didn’t want to tell you as I didn’t want you worrying,” Jon explained softly, cupping her cheek with his hand.

Leaning into his gentle touch Sofia explained. “It worries me more when you are obviously unhappy and won’t tell me what the cause of the problem is.”

“It’s…my parents.”

“Ryan? Irene?” Sofia asked confused. “They seemed fine when we left.”

“I am more worried about what will happen to them once we have gone,” Jon explained. “Harkov and his thugs are not going to stop looking for us. When your father elevated me to the Praetorians all records of my past were destroyed. It’s standard practice for us, so that nobody can dig into our past and blackmail us against your father, however records do exist. Sooner or later Harkov is going to find my parents and then…”

Sofia gasped, as she had never considered the evil Harkov could stoop to. Sofia could not imagine the anguish that Jon would have to face in choosing between his family and her; his duty to her father versus the obvious love that he had for his family. “What are we going to do?” she asked.

“I have already done it,” Jon replied looking away ashamed. “The reason I wanted to talk to them in private was so that I could warn them. They have agreed to leave the house; they still have friends, colleagues in the old neighbourhood. They will stay there for as long as necessary until I can let them know that it’s safe.”

Sofia could not prise any more information from Jon or his family about their original home, just that it was a small apartment, in one of the more run-down, dangerous areas on Altair. “They will be safe there?” Sofia inquired.

“Yes,” Jon replied firmly. “They still observe the old codes there, blood, loyalty, silence. They will be safe there, protected and if Harkov sends forces in after them…well, “ Jon shrugged. “There will be a dozen more unclaimed bodies that will turn up the next morning. Harkov would need to send an entire division to fight their way in to get them, he will not spare the forces for that.”

“So what’s the real problem?” Sofia asked perceptively.

“That I spent my life trying to get them out of that hell-hole, now my actions have resulted in them having to go back there. They deserve better,” Jon insisted.

“Then you should never have taken me there.”

“No!” Jon replied vehemently. “It was the only place that I could be absolutely sure that was safe, and we needed to get the Eternal Light repaired. Anyway,” Jon replied with an embarrassed smile. “I wanted them to meet you.”

Leaning forward, Sofia easily slipped her arms around his neck, touching forehead to forehead. It was so easy to forget how traditional Jon was, his firm sense of honour and intimate sense of right; of course Jon would want his parents to meet her… “And I am glad that I had the chance to meet them,” Sofia insisted. “Having met them I think I am beginning to understand you a bit better,” she added.

“Really?”

“Really,” Sofia added leaning an inch closer so that their lips could gently touch, almost immediately Sofia could feel the fire spreading though her body. Kissing Jon was like nothing she had ever experienced before.

Meanwhile Sofia promised herself that she would address the problem with Jon’s parents. No matter what happened to her, what decisions she made that might affect the entire Empire, she would not forget that an empire only consisted of its people. Jon was right about one thing, his parents deserved better; Sofia vowed to herself that they would get it.

*****

Walking along the grey, featureless, corridor of Memphis, Sofia wondered if all these stations had the same interior decorator. Her own apartments on the Imperial Star had been richly decorated with thick carpets, rugs, and pictures. The stark, regular strip lighting of this corridor replaced with subtle shades and chandeliers. Sofia even pointed this out to Jon who only laughed.

“Not everybody is as rich as your father! Who would pay for all those fixtures here and who would pay to maintain them? No, the rest of the Empire consists of the functional minimum.”

Sofia assumed that insight also extended to her clothes. Not that there was anything wrong with them, the tan coloured blouse, jeans and ankle length boots that she wore, almost a spitting image of Jon’s own clothes. While functional, Sofia secretly missed some of her old dresses, bright colours, made from the finest silks of the Empire, tailored by the finest designers in the Empire… It occurred to Sofia that what she probably missed more was Jon’s reaction to her appearing in such clothes. Whenever she appeared, she could see the shock in Jon’s expression, his sudden indrawn breath, followed soon after by his grim expression, his disapproval plain for all to see. However, Sofia would have had to be blind to ignore his blistering gaze that would follow her everywhere. Then again maybe they were unnecessary after all, as when she appeared from the washroom having changed into these casual clothes, the heated gaze was still present in his eyes when he raked them over her body. However, this time instead of the disapproval that she was used to seeing, his expression turned to a warm smile and he nodded his approval, with a simple “I like it.”

Sofia decided that she liked this reaction almost as much. She decided in the future that she would just have to alternate, to keep him guessing.

At least, unlike on Transcendence and Altair, she was not attracting so many stares. With the casual clothes, and her hair in a neat braid reaching her lower back she did not stand out as much. Well, at least not too much, as a person would have to be blind not to notice the stunningly attractive woman. Although Jon’s possessive grasp of her hand as he lead her though the station made it obvious to everybody that she was currently unavailable.

“Where are we going?” she finally inquired, long since totally lost by all the twists and turns of the different corridors.

“We are going to meet my contact on the station,” Jon explained. “We are just taking a more roundabout route as I want to ensure that we are not being followed.” Jon was only too aware of how vulnerable the two of them were on this station. At any minute, any turn, an ambush could spring its trap on the pair. However, the other part of Jon’s nervousness was from having to leave his Valerian sword on the ‘Light. It would have completely destroyed the façade that they were trying to project of a married pair of young, independent traders. No trader would ever wear such a thing. Instead he had holstered at his side a standard pulse pistol, but Jon still felt naked without his sword. Jon knew that is was just superstitious nonsense but he honestly felt that the blade protected him; Jon secretly feared that the day he died, the weapon would be out of his reach…

Eventually they came to an unmarked office door, in the middle of the commercial district. Jon pressed the announcer and waited patiently.

“What happens if he or she is not here?” Sofia whispered, self-consciously.

Jon just shrugged. “Albert works longer hours than I do, as far as I know he does not take holidays or any breaks. If he is not here, then I assume it is because he is dead.”

The statement was prophetic, as only moments after he had finished, a high pitched, suspicious voice blared out of a small speaker above the announcer button. “Go away, I am not interested in buying anything, or converting to this week’s latest religion.”

With a smirk at Sofia, Jon replied. “Albert let us in, it’s me, Jon and…” Jon looked helplessly at Sofia trying to think of a suitable label, shrugging again he simply added, “a friend.”

The voice from behind the grill was silent for a moment, then the door slid silently open, darkness beckoning from within. Giving Sofia an unladylike shove from behind, he quickly ushered her into the room before stepping inside, the door quickly sliding shut behind them. The lights suddenly illuminated, blinding both of them. When they could eventually see once more, they both stared at the barrel of the gun pointing at them!

Jon stepped in front of Sofia, worried that Albert could end up shooting her simply because he didn’t recognise her. A healthy amount of paranoia in his job went a long way to avoiding a lengthy jail sentence or a quick execution from a competitor. “Albert it’s me, Jon, put the pistol away.”

The barrel wavered for a moment. Then the owner lowered the weapon onto the table. Sofia was astonished to see that the owner’s head barely came above the table. He was a child! However, on closer observation, the unshaven face, weathered skin, distrustful blue eyes that Sofia realised that the man was far older; probably some years older than Jon, and that the man was a midget!

“Before you make some insulting comment,” Albert interjected. “I am fully aware that I am shorter in stature than others…” It was obviously a sore topic for him. “I come from Kessler IV, where the gravity is much stronger, hence we don’t grow as tall. However, it has its advantages,” Albert added, effortlessly lifting the table that he was sitting behind into the air with one hand.

“Just ignore Albert,” Jon replied. “He is very self-conscious.”

“As you would be, if everywhere you went, you were followed by sniggers and terrible jokes behind your back…” came the indignant reply.

Taking a few steps forward Jon reached the short little man and with apparently little effort picked him up enfolding him the most almighty hug. “It’s good to see you again Albert,” he said.

“Put me down, put me down,” Albert squealed, pounding futilely on Jon’s back.

Jon lowered him gently to the floor, and Sofia thought she recognised a softening in the man’s eyes as he glared at Jon.

“For a dead man, you certainly still seem to be very much alive,” Albert chuckled.

“Dead man?”

“The news channel’s have been broadcasting nothing but unsubstantiated rumours of the Emperor’s death, your death and even yours Princess,” Albert addressed Sofia.

“You know who I am?” Sofia asked, shocked.

“Of course, I know who you are,” Albert sniffed. “I would not be very successful in my job if I did not recognise the Imperial Princess, Sofia Aurelius, daughter of the Emperor.”

“And what exactly is your job?” she asked curiously.

“Albert is an information broker,” Jon explained. “If Albert doesn’t know about it, it’s not worth knowing.”

“And how much would you charge Harkov for our location and our lives?” Sofia demanded scornfully, less than impressed with the man’s chosen profession.

“Everything has a price Princess,” Albert hedged. “However, somethings have a price that nobody could afford, not even with all your family’s wealth. Everybody looks down on me, just because I am short, but not Jon. He has never treated me any differently than everybody else.”

“I don’t like big people picking on smaller people,” Jon interjected firmly.

Albert looked fondly at Jon, nodding his head in thanks. “Which is why this information is free. You need to get off Memphis immediately. Harkov has spies, and assassins throughout the station. They have even approached me with offers for your location,” the man sniffed disdainfully. “As if I would even contemplate divulging that information for their paltry sums. You need to make it to the Eden system, the Imperial forces there are still loyal to Fleet Admiral Sterling. He was one of your father’s oldest and most trusted admirals, he is still loyal to the Empire and will offer you sanctuary. Harkov’s forces will not be able to reach you there. You will be safe there, but you must go now!”

A red light started to chime incessantly on the small console that was embedded into Albert’s desk. “They have found you already!” Albert hissed, touching another control on the panel. A panel on the rear-wall slid open to reveal a previously hidden passage. “In my profession a backdoor is always advisable, it is not on any of the station schematics, it will take you out near the docking port; now GO!”

“Thank you Albert,” Jon uttered sincerely, grabbing Sofia by the hand and pulling her in the direction of the newly revealed exit.

“What about you?” Sofia asked in a concerned voice, remembering the warning that Jon had conveyed about his own parents. It was unlikely that Harkov’s men would treat this little man any better.

“Don’t worry about me,” Albert insisted, pulling an assault rifle that was almost taller than he was from behind his desk. “You look after Jon, there are not enough people left like him in the Empire, trust me I should know.”

With that Sofia allowed Jon to pull her through the hidden passage, which shut quickly behind them. Sofia could hear a muffled explosion from the other side of the door, followed by Albert’s high-pitched yell, “Just come and try and get me you bastards!” Whatever else was said was quickly drowned out by the booming sound of an assault rifle being fired on full automatic. Sofia, however, had no way to telling if this was Albert’s or Harkov’s men as Jon continued to pull her along the pitch black corridor, the sound becoming fainter and fainter as they hurried away.

Suddenly a bright light appeared ahead; as another hidden door slid quietly open. Sofia had no idea if this had been triggered automatically by their approach, or Albert had activated it from his office. Silently Sofia hoped that Albert was safe, as in the short time that she had meet him she had grown fond of the man.

Stepping out into the bright naked lights of a corridor, Sofia had to blink rapidly to adjust her eyes to the sudden piercing light. Looking around cautiously, Sofia was glad to see that nobody else was in sight. It could be difficult to explain to a stranger how come you just stepped out of a solid wall!

Meanwhile Jon was quickly looking around to reorientate himself. “Good,” he stated. “We are not far from our docking bay and the ‘Light, the sooner that we get off this station and to the Eden system, the better I will feel!” Jon pushed Sofia on ahead of him, urging her to hurry.

For many years later the gunshot that echoed down the corridor would haunt Sofia. Unlike the high-pitched whine of an energy pistol or rifle, this was more a resounding crack, like the first bolt of lightning in a storm. Before the sound even registered with Sofia she went sprawling to the ground as a huge weight slammed into her back. Time seemed to suddenly slow down to a crawl. For an instant she thought that she had been paralysed, as she was unable to move from the neck down. It took a few moments for her thought process to catch-up and realise that it was not her body that was frozen, but a large weight bearing down on her, pressing her into the corridor floor, she could barely breathe, let alone move!

A damp wetness started to spread across her blouse, and for a moment she thought that she had fallen in a puddle of water. It was only when she finally managed to get her hand free and bring it up to her face that she realised the awful truth, it was not water, it was blood! The rapidly expanding pool of blood seemed to spread everywhere! Sofia thought that she must have been going into shock, as she could not seem to hear or feel anything, her ears still resounding from the earlier gunshot.

Taking a deep lungful of oxygen, time suddenly sped up as a racking cough sounded from above her. Twisting around Sofia looked into Jon’s eyes, which were glazed over in pain. A froth of blood appeared from between his lips, which started to trickle down his cheek. Suddenly Sofia realised the awful truth, the blood was not hers! It was from Jon!

“Jon!” she cried, trying to twist around to get a better view. However, Jon was a dead weight lying across her back. She dared not push him away, worried that it could cause him more harm. However, from the corner or her eye she saw something far more terrifying approaching. The sandy haired man was wearing a crumpled jumpsuit, almost faded through in some patches from constant wear. However, it was not that which drew her attention but the large rifle that he carried in his hands, firmly pointed in their direction!

“I told Franklin that there was no point in chasing you across half the station, that sooner or later you would have to return here, but no! He insisted on trying to barge his way inside, after your little friend. Well, he took half a dozen shots in the stomach as thanks,” he laughed. “So this is the infamous Commander Radec, I hear that you took out Marcel and his entire crew back on Transcendence,” he muttered with grudging respect. “Lucky I brought Betty here with me,” he stroked the rifle fondly. “I don’t particularly want to end up like Marcel.”

With a prod from his toe he pushed Jon off Sofia, rolling him onto his back so Jon’s eyes stared up sightlessly. Another bout of coughing, and a gurgle of blood caused the sandy-haired gunman to step back in surprise. For the first time since his approach a look of doubt replaced his cocky expression. “That’s not possible,” he muttered taking a closer look at Jon. “I hit you with a high explosive round, most of your chest should be spread across this corridor. No way man, can you still be drawing breath.” He moved closer to investigate.

Sofia meanwhile looked around frantically for something that she could use to defend them, but there was nothing! Then she remembered the pistol Jon was carrying. Now he was no longer lying across her she could move! As the assassin’s attention seemed focused solely on Jon, she reached down to Jon’s side, where the pistol was holstered…to find that it was missing! Her movement must have drawn the attention of the sandy-haired youth, as he swung his rifle in her direction.

“Now, you don’t go anywhere poppet!” he urged. “I’ve got a nice fat bonus lined up for bringing you in alive. Let me just check on the Commander here… he should have been dead by now…” With that he turned away from Sofia, leaning down to peer closer at Jon.

Something gleamed out of the corner of Sofia’s eye; turning her head she finally saw the pistol. It was several feet away, obviously having fallen from Jon when he had been hit. Sofia started to crawl in the direction of the weapon.

“I’ll be with you in just another moment poppet,” he said leaning down peering at the bloody remains of Jon’s shirt and chest. “How come you are still alive?” he murmured, amazed.

Sofia continued crawling on her hands and knees in the direction of the pistol, seven feet, six, five… she desperately reached out trying to get to the weapon in time, but was interrupted by the shout of surprise from behind her.

“Tactical armour! You’re wearing tactical armour? Underneath civvies! Who the hell walks around all day wearing tactical armour? Well I’ll put another round through your skull, let’s see if you can survive that…Hey, what the hell!” he exclaimed as out of the corner of his eye he saw Sofia reaching for something in the corner.

Sofia made a desperate dive for the pistol as soon as she heard his shout, knowing that she only had this one opportunity, otherwise both she and Jon were going to die. Scooping up the weapon she twisted, landing on her back, pointing the pistol in the direction of the sandy haired man, who meanwhile had started to swing his own rife in her direction.

He never made it. Unbeknown to Sofia, the pistol was set to its highest setting. As soon as she pressed the firing stud, the bolt discharged from the pistol, hitting the youth squarely in the chest. The worn jumpsuit offered no protection and with a startled cry he collapsed to the floor, his chest a blackened, smoking char. Sofia looked at his body in startled incomprehension for a moment, expecting him to suddenly get-up and reach for his weapon once again. However, after he remained motionless a while longer the thought suddenly hit her, she had killed him! For a moment Sofia did not know what to think, did not know how to feel, but a racking cough from Jon drew her attention back to him!

Jon! He was badly hurt!

Slipping and sliding to his side, Sofia looked at his chest, and then quickly looked away. His shirt was mangled, what remained was a bloody mess. Sofia could not tell where the shirt ended and torn flesh commenced.

“Sofia!” His voice whispered hoarsely, blood covering his mouth. “You must go. Take the ‘Light. She will respond to you. ‘Course is already plotted. Go!” he choked.

“Quiet! Don’t speak!” Sofia ordered. “Everything will be fine,” but even as she spoke the words she knew them to be a lie. Everything was most definitely not going to be fine. Sofia did not need to be a doctor to know that Jon was hurt, badly.

“Sofia! You must go…leave me!”

Sofia stared incomprehensibly at Jon, her hand unconsciously brushing back a lock of bloody hair from his cheek. Leave him? How? Jon was all that she had left! Her mother had been taken from her when she was barely a child. Her father had been dead barely a few weeks. Jon was all that she had left from her old life. Staring into his unfocused eyes, Sofia could picture her life stretching out before her eyes. No family, no friends, nobody to come home to in the evening, nobody to love. Alone…

“No!” she insisted firmly. “I am not going to leave you.” She would not accept that future for herself. Better to stay here and die together with the man she had fallen in love with, than accept that future. “If you want me to go, then you have to come with me. Otherwise I am going to stay here, with you, together,” she insisted.

Jon caught her hand in his, and for a moment Sofia thought that he was going to push her hand away, when she suddenly felt his grip tighten on her wrist. “You will have to help me up, then,” he said.

Nodding, she pulled him to his feet. After Jon took a few shaky steps, almost collapsing she ducked her head under his arm, supporting his weight. Half carrying him, half dragging him, they headed in the direction of the shuttle, arm-in-arm, together.

*****

Lowering Jon gently into the copilot seat of the Eternal Light, Sofia hurried away to find the emergency first-aid kit. The journey back to the ship had been a nightmare. Jon had gone more and more pale with every step. Near the end of the journey Sofia thought that it was only sheer determination that was keeping him on his feet. The couple attracted unwanted attention the moment they had stepped onto the docking ring. Jon was a torn mess, trailing blood behind him. Sofia was little better, being covered in blood from when Jon had bled over her.

Tossing open the first aid box Sofia rummaged around, finally sighing with relief when she found the emergency analgesic, thanking both Jon and her father for insisting that she attend the same emergency medical training that was mandatory for all the ship’s crew. At the time she had vehemently fought against it; she was an Imperial Princess – what did she need to know about medicine? The ship had dozens of trained medical personnel for that! As she injected the opiate directly into the blood stream in Jon’s neck Sofia shook her head in disbelief, amazed at her previous arrogance.

“No more…” Jon moaned, pushing the injector away from his neck, barely half used.

“But the pain…” Sofia stammered.

“Any more and it will leave me unconscious, I’ll cope with the pain. You must start the engines, Harkov’s men could be right behind us…”

Nodding, Sofia took the pilot seat for the first time. Her father had taught her to fly the shuttle at a young age, although Sofia had shown little interest. Once again she wished now that she had paid more attention… Keying the emergency engine start, Sofia watched, biting her lip anxiously as the engines quickly powered up. Noticing that Jon now barely seemed lucid, she transferred power to the engines and piloted the ship out of the docking berth.

While the Emperor had taught her basic piloting skills, unfortunately this did not extend to docking etiquette, specifically the need to request permission prior to departure. Hence her first flight was almost cut dramatically short as the Eternal Light shot out of the docking bay, directly into the path of a docking freighter. It was only due to quick reflexes and a scream of pure terror that she pulled up and missing the freighter with barely meters to spare.

Of the two dark fighters that launched immediately after the shuttle in pursuit, one was not so fortunate. The shuttle was rocked by the explosion as the heavily armed fighter slammed into the side of the freighter, its missiles and ammunition exploding in a massive fireball behind the shuttle. The second fighter however managed to avoid the freighter at the last moment, quickly accelerating to catch-up with the fleeing shuttle. It did not look like they were going to make such an easy escape as they had from Transcendence.

The alarms on the ‘Light warned Sofia of the approaching fighter as its targeting scanners tried to lock onto the ship. Unfortunately Sofia was no combat pilot, unlike Jon and had absolutely no idea what to do, hence she did the only thing she could think of; she accelerated. Throwing full power to the engines she was pushed back hard into the pilot’s seat as the shuttle’s internal dampeners struggled to compensate. Taken by surprise, from the sudden acceleration, the fighter in pursuit fell behind, until it too accelerated to match speed, before slowly, inch by inch it started to close the gap.

The warning chime of a missile starting to target them had Sofia urgently trying to shake Jon awake. The chime suddenly changed to a scream to indicate a missile launch!

“Jon! Jon! Please wake up!” Sofia urgently shook him. “I don’t know what to do, help me. Please!” Whether it was her words, the rough shaking or the scream of the missile alarm, but finally Jon’s eyes seemed to focus on her own.

“Top right,” he wheezed. “Ship’s tactical computer… code Alpha, Gamma, 2… 3. Automatic,” he stuttered, before another tremor shook his body.

Sofia quickly hurried to follow his instructions, finding the correct panel on the flight controls and quickly entered the correct code. As if the ship had just been waiting for permission to slip its leash the moment she finished entering the code, the ship’s computer deployed the guns into their firing position, the rail-guns’ barrels spinning up to speed, calculating speed and trajectory of the incoming missiles. The minute the missiles came within range, the ship unleashed a barrage of gunfire. Targeting the closest missile first, the guns tracked the trajectory spitting out their lethal load, tearing into the first missile before seamlessly switching to the next. The second missile detonated barely one hundred meters from the shuttle. Meanwhile the guns swivelled to face the oncoming fighter; were they not controlled by an emotionless computer, an observer might think that the operator was anxiously waiting for the target to come within range.

However, before the fighter could reach weapons range the Eternal Light reached minimum safe distance from the station for the FTL engines to engage and the ship jumped to light speed, leaving the final fighter to turn back in frustration, its quarry having escaped.

*****

It was barely a thirty-minute jump to the Eden system. Sofia spent the time in increasing desperation trying to keep Jon conscious and trying to stem the increasing flow of blood.

The minute that the Eternal Light dropped out of FTL, Sofia activated the emergency distress beacon on the shuttle, uncaring about the attention that it might draw, knowing that if Jon did not receive emergency medical attention soon, it would not matter.

“Jon,” she cried cradling his head on her lap on the floor of the shuttle. She had guessed that lying him flat on the floor might help stem the flow of blood from his chest. Unfortunately it only had limited effect and she could feel each beat of his heart, slowly getting weaker as the precious lifeblood drained from his body. “Look we finally made it, we’ve arrived, we are at Eden!”

Jon’s eyes opened for an instant, focusing on the blue green orb that was floating outside, the two moons orbiting the planet unmistakably marking it as Eden Prime, political centre of the Empire and home of the Senate. Jon took one final breath before his eyes closed for good. Sofia bowed her head against his, her own tears mingling with his blood.

*****

Captain Turner, of the System Patrol Craft SPC Intrepid, had only started his shift barely twenty minutes, previously and was still on his first cup of coffee in the morning when the distress call arrived.

“Sir, we are receiving an automated distress call,” the communications officer reported.

“Location?” Turner asked in surprise. As the home of the Imperial Senate, the Eden system was one of the most heavily defended in the Empire, hence nothing of any interest ever happened.

“Seems to be coming from out near the heliopause. Looks like the ship has just dropped out of FTL.”

“OK, Helm, lay in a course,” Turner ordered, before turning back to the communications officer. “Try and raise them on a channel, find out who they are and what’s the nature of the emergency.”

“The automated distress signal is broadcast ship identification and registry,” his Executive officer reported. “I’m running it through the ship registry on Eden Prime, we should have a match in a few moments…” Turner acknowledged his bridge officers, turning back to his coffee cup.

“Sir,” the communications officer reported hesitantly. “I am in contact with a young woman on the ship. Sir, she claims that she is Princess Sofia Aurelius, daughter of…”

“I know who Sofia Aurelius is,” Turner stated rolling his eyes with a smile. “This must be a prank! You remind this woman the penalty of wasting Imperial Navy time…”

“Sir,” the communications officer reported. “The woman claims that she is accompanied by Commander Jonathan Radec, that he is badly injured and needs immediate medical attention.”

Turner spitted out a mouthful of hot coffee over his immaculate white uniform. “Confirm that last communication, now!” he ordered. While Sofia Aurelius was a name known throughout the Empire, Commander Radec was not. Shunning the media spotlight he was never far from the Imperial family, intelligence reported that the Commander should have arrived weeks before, with the Praetorians escorting the Princess. If it was true that the Commander was on-board, then maybe that really was the Imperial Princess, and if Radec was badly hurt…Turner broke out in a cold sweat. It was well known throughout the fleet that the Emperor was fond of the head of the Praetorians. If Radec died on his watch…

His executive officer wordlessly handing him a data pad with the ship’s registry had him jumping from his seat moving swiftly towards his helm officer. “Flank speed! Now!” he ordered. “I want to be alongside that shuttle five minutes ago.” Hitting the communications button on the flight controls he opened a channel to the medical bay. “Doctor,” he ordered. “We have two patients that will be arriving shortly, I have been informed that the Commander is badly injured. Get a medical team down to the docking bay immediately, and Doctor…” The captain thought for a moment how best to phrase the next instruction. “I expect both patients to make a full recovery, or so help us God…”

The SPC Intrepid accelerated towards the smaller shuttle at flank speed, desperate to assist the occupants.

Chapter Sixteen

Present Day

Terra Nova, Zeta Aquilae System

It was a very uncomfortable, sickly looking, Paul Harrington that arrived late for the Senior Staff meeting, early the following morning. Paul had stayed up late, long after his conversation with Sofia had ended, his guilty conscience waging war with the obligation that he felt towards Jon. His stomach was not much helped by the bombshell that Sofia had dropped during the call, that she would be paying the station a personal visit. Paul knew that it was his duty to inform Jon and the senior staff of the visit, but how the hell do you drop a visit from the Confederation President into a conversation? Not to say the least that it immediately begged the next question, how do you know of an impending visit by the Confederation President?

No, Paul felt distinctly sick, and his mood was not helped by the fact that eventually he fell into a restless sleep, dreams full of escaping down deserted station corridors, fleeing flaming swords and women with auburn hair and green eyes. Having overslept, Paul was disgruntled to find that Jon had called a further senior staff meeting at short notice, for first thing in the morning, and he was already running late! Paul could not decide which thought was most appealing at the moment – Harkov and his fleet arriving and blowing them all to hell, or Sofia arriving and she and Jon killing each other. Either option would put Paul out of his misery… The final icing on the cake, having rushed to the briefing room, as if the flames of hell were lapping at his heels, Paul arrived to find that Jon…was not there. Neither was any coffee.

Today was NOT starting off to be a good day, Paul grouched to himself silently. Quietly asking around the room to see if anybody had any clue of why Jon had called the meeting. Perhaps it was to charge their Operations Chief with treason and his public execution? After all Marcus had been known to indulge in such public spectacles, and Jon was by far his most adept pupil. Still lost morosely in thought, he looked up as the doors slid open and he observed Jon practically skip into the room.

Well at least somebody had a good night, Paul thought sourly. Suddenly realising what that thought could possibly imply, and bearing in mind the imminent arrival of a particular Princess, Paul frantically looked around the room. He was only partly relieved to see Miranda present, fully clothed, seated and staring at Jon with a worried expression.

Well at least that is one less thing to worry about.

Once Jon was sure that he had everybody’s attention, he activated the holoprojector, which rendered a three-dimensional tactical map of Terra Nova and the surrounding space. The image hovered ghostly only inches above the briefing room table for all to see. “Following the meeting yesterday, I had a number of visitors last night, all of whom made their personal views on the imminent attack blatantly clear,” Jon racked the faces of his senior officers with his penetrating gaze one-by-one. Many of them had the decency to cast their gaze away to avoid his piercing stare. “However, I have always made it clear that I value my senior officer’s opinions and insights, that has not changed. I confess that my original plan had been to order the evacuation of the station; I would have remained behind to ensure that Terra Nova did not fall into Syndicate or Harkov’s hands.”

Paul could only guess the half of it. Somehow he doubted that the original plan had entailed Jon simply overloading the fusion reactor and making a clean escape…well not unless Harkov was sitting on the reactor at the time…

“Numerous members of the senior staff made it plainly clear that they had no intention of following such orders. Therefore as it is not practical to charge my entire complement of senior staff, with the exception of Paul…”

All eyes in the room turned to face Paul, who just shrugged nonchalantly. “I was putting the kids to sleep, I would have got around to doing it.”

“…with failing to follow a direct order and treason. It looks like we will have to go with the alternative plan, demonstrating to the Commodore why the people sitting around this table are the elite of the old Imperial Navy. Harkov has ruined enough lives, caused the deaths of too many innocents; I say we draw the line here. No more. If it’s a fight that Harkov wants, then it’s a fight that he will have, and if we fail? Then perhaps it will send a message to the Confederation, that there are still some people left that will stand and fight for what is right, that the strong cannot always intimidate the weak. That threats, intimidation and violence do not hold sway over all…” Jon cast his eye across the occupants of the room, proud that he had known them, proud that he had the opportunity to serve with them.

“I will not make this an order,” Jon insisted firmly. “Some of you have family, loved ones, both here on the station and across the system. Nobody would think less of you if you wanted to leave, I will be extending that offer to all occupants of the station both crew and families. This is not your fight, but if you want to stay, then I will be honoured to fight at your side.” Glancing once more at the occupants of the room, none of whom had said a word, none of whom had moved an inch. “Very well then…” Jon said, turning towards the holographic tactical display floating above the briefing table, “then here’s the plan…”

For the next few hours Jon walked through the plan in exacting detail. By the end of the first hour, Paul’s jaw was sore from his mouth being agape in astonishment. Having known Jon for so long, it was easy to take his casual style of command for granted. However, he was reminded during the briefing why Jon had made Commander in the Imperial Fleet, the youngest Commander in the history of the Imperial Navy. Jon had one of the best tactical minds of his generation. Effortlessly balancing response times, ship speeds, capabilities and weapon ranges, Jon had overnight produced a plan that was worthy of any fleet admiral, equal parts genius and reckless folly. In summary it was a plan uniquely of Jon’s devising and possibly, just maybe, it could work.

At the end of the briefing, Paul raised the only concern that he could foresee. “What about the Imperial Star?” he said, referring to the old flagship of the Imperial Navy. “I see no mention of it during this plan, that ship alone has the armaments and firepower to tear our ships and station apart.”

“Leave the Imperial Star to me,” Jon insisted.

“And you’re going to deal with it alone, how?” Paul inquired.

“That’s on a need to know basis, and you don’t need to know.”

Which was Jon’s way of saying that he was not going to tell him, as he would not like the answer. In turn this meant that the plan was dangerous, highly risky and most likely going to fail. Then again the entire plan was the same - too many assumptions, too many estimates, educated guesses about manoeuvres, positioning… Then again as Jon would remind him, no plan survives first contact with the enemy. They had both had that quote drilled into them at the fleet academy, and how many subsequent engagements had they been in together where the plan had gone out the window even before the first shots were fired. Paul sighed despondently, there was nothing that either Jon or he could do about that.

With no further questions, a lot of preparation’s to make, and an uncertain timeframe, as they had no idea if the fleet would arrive in the next few hours, days or weeks, the meeting quickly broke up, with the senior officers preparing to brief their departments.

“You’ve been very quiet,” Jon mentioned after the rest of the officers had left the room, leaving just the two of them, alone.

“I still think we should inform the Confederation Navy, this is their problem. If you had only forwarded the intelligence on that data-chip that you obtained on Transcendence…”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Jon had the decency to look aside, ashamed. “Sofia, she would have…” his voice trailed off, “I couldn’t put her in that danger,” he tried to justify.

“But you think that it is fine to put my family at risk, my wife, my children?” Paul demanded angrily banging his fist on the table in frustration.

“They still have time to leave…” Jon pointed out reasonably, “but what would happen if we all just pack-up and leave? You think Harkov would stop looking? No, he would just find us another time, another place, possibly next time without any forewarning.” Leaning forward, Jon insisted intensely “I care about them too, after all. I have helped you read them stories before bed, put them to sleep… I’ll do everything in my power to keep them safe, even if it costs me my life,” Jon stated earnestly.

Paul nodded his head in understanding; deep down he knew that Jon would never put them purposely at risk, not even for his own desire for revenge. His anger was just born out of frustration and his own gnawing guilt about his own recent actions.

“But I cannot do this alone,” Jon continued seriously. “I’ve always been able to count on you and your support, this is no exception, and so what do you say? One final time into the breach?”

“You know that your plan is completely insane don’t you?”

“Of course it is; all my plans are completely crazy. What you mean is that maybe it’s crazy enough that we might just be able to pull it off?”

“Remember when Carol asks, it’s all your idea.”

“Yeah, like she will ever believe that,” Jon teased slapping his oldest friend on the back.

*****

The next few days saw frantic activity throughout the station as key systems were tested and re-tested; the refit of the final freighter into a warship was hurriedly completed. Jon spent a lot of time personally checking the systems on the Eternal Light, ensuring that all of the weapons were fully loaded and ready.

As he promised to his senior officers however, Jon took the time out to brief the crew. Explaining in great deal the threat to the station and the inherent risks they faced in staying. He repeated his earlier promise, that nobody would be forced to stay, anybody who wished to leave could do so, with no stain on their honour. Gunny made a short speech thereafter, assuring all the inhabitants of the station that while the crew was fending off the fleet, David, himself, Security and the Marines on the station would be guaranteeing their personal safety.

The quiet confidence of the two senior officers made a big impression on the civilians of the station and after some brief discussion, the decision was unanimous, they were all staying. Even the children present; while they did not understand the seriousness of the situation, they agreed that they were all better staying on the station with their parents. If the imposing Marine sergeant promised them that they would be safe, who were they to doubt him? After all, they had all heard what Gunny had done to the monster that was hiding in Lieutenant Castle’s daughter’s wardrobe… Any bad people trying to get onto their station were going to be in big trouble!

It was with quiet, determined, military efficiency that all the systems were checked, refits completed in record time and weapons prepared… that just left the waiting. As nerves became strained, tempers frayed and tension raised, it was with some relief that the gravimetric sensors, seeded around the station many years before, chimed their alert reporting a large body of incoming ships dropping out of FTL.

Paul in C&C was waiting to find out who the ships exiting FTL belonged to, unsure what was the worst evil - Harkov and the 4th fleet arriving to wreck their destruction, or the Confederation reinforcements that Sofia had promised, along with the explanation of their presence. However, that question was quickly answered as the mighty Star Carrier, the Imperial Star, flagship of the old Imperial fleet, exited FTL with its escorts in tow. There seemed little point alerting the station to the fleet’s arrival as everybody was already on knife-edge and had been for the last 72 hours, when Jon had announced to the station that the fleet that was en-route.

“Incoming communication from the Imperial Star, sir,” the communications officer reported needlessly as Jon had been expecting the call for days. Bracing himself, in preparation to face his past, Jon nodded his head in acknowledgement. Taking a deep breath, Jon faced the view screen in preparation… Act One

As the view screen came to life, Jon leaned forward in his chair and before Harkov could say a word, pre-empted. “You’re late Commodore, we expected you several days ago. Did you get lost on the way?” he smirked. The key to Jon’s entire plan was that they needed to keep the initiative, to stay one step ahead of the Imperial Fleet, for if they did not, then they would be crushed by their superior number of ships and sheer firepower.

Time had not been kind to Commodore Harkov. When Jon had seen him last, many years ago, poor exercise and an even worse diet had left him pale and sickly looking. If anything the man looked even worse, having obviously put on several pounds, his hair, once streaked with grey, was now thin and blanched almost white, and with thin beady eyes, that looked out over his hooked nose. He stared at Jon with poorly concealed surprise, mixed with disgust and distaste. However, Jon noticed something else lurking in his eyes, was that a trace of fear? Their last encounter several years before had not ended well for the Commodore. Then Jon only had a squadron of fighters at his command, with the element of surprise firmly on the Commodore’s side. Jon expected that the Commodore would have much preferred the element of surprise once again.

“Still splashing around like the small fish that you are Radec,” Harkov sneered at him. “You were always a small fish, swimming in a sea of sharks, but this time it looks like you are swimming alone. I don’t see any of your precious Praetorians that you can hide behind this time. No running away this time, with your tail between your legs and leaving them to die in your place.”

Jon gripped the armrests of his chair, until they were white with the strain, forcing himself not to let the Commodore bait him, as he knew that was exactly what he was trying to do. “What do you want Harkov?” Jon spat out.

“Want?” Harkov asked in surprise. “I want lots of things, but I guess we can start with you. I could guarantee your safety, but let’s be honest; we both know that I would by lying. You’ve been a thorn in my side for too long. I promised myself your head on a platter and I have been waiting a long time…It would almost be worthwhile keeping you alive long enough for you to see what I am going to do to Marcus’s daughter. A shame, I had such great plans for her, but alas they are all worthless now. I’ll just have to suffice with using her in another way, almost enjoyable, but then I hear it’s nothing that you have not already done? I must confess that I am surprised at you Commander, really what would Marcus think?”

“I think Marcus would wonder why I have not already taken your head off and stuck it on a pike, for the rest of the Imperium to see what happened to those officers that commit treason,” Jon retorted angrily. “Then again maybe I will just give your bloated corpse to Sofia, so she could have you stuffed and hung on the wall. It’s not the usual sort of present that she likes, but in your case I think she would be happy to make an exception.”

“Enough of this crap!” Harkov exclaimed angrily. “Will you surrender yourself to my forces?”

“You know, if for a moment I thought that you would actually take me and leave, I would consider it, but you will destroy this station and everybody on it the moment I surrender to you, so I think I’ll decline the generous offer, Commodore.”

Harkov just shrugged, obviously not expecting that Jon would simply roll over and die. Without much surprise, Jon observed on the tactical display that the Imperial Star had commenced launching its full complement of fighters. Obviously the Commodore planned to use these as the fleet’s hammer, and then the rest of the fleet would mop-up any remaining defenders. It was the first page of tactical doctrine drilled into the lowest officer; as a result it was totally predictable. Jon meanwhile had long since torn all the pages out of the book of tactical doctrine and was busy writing an entirely new book.

“We have civilians on this station Commodore; women and children that have nothing to do with this,” Jon quickly interjected while Harkov was still willing to talk.

“Their loss,” Harkov shrugged. “The station is a military objective, therefore anyone remaining on it is a valid target.”

“Understood, but what if they left in shuttles under a flag of truce?” Jon proposed, desperate to get the women and children out of the way before the firefight that was soon going to get underway.

The Commodore seemed to think about it for a moment, before he nodded in agreement. “Very well, I give my word as an officer of the Imperial Fleet that the shuttles will be able to leave unharmed, as long as you give me your word that they are unarmed.”

“You have my word Commodore,” Jon promised.

“Very well,” Harkov replied ending the communication.

“Launch the shuttles, and give Eagles one, two and three the green light to engage the Imperial forces as soon as the shuttles are clear,” Jon ordered Paul. “I’ll be in the Eternal Light, call me if you need me.”

“You’d better be sure about this,” Paul replied. “Remember it’s my family you’re putting at risk.”

“Don’t worry, I know exactly what I am doing.”

“That’s what worries me,” Paul complained, carrying out the orders regardless.

*****

Meanwhile on the bridge of the Imperial Star, Harkov took his seat in the middle of the command deck, observing the eager young officer at this side. Over the years he had come to the conclusion that he much preferred to remain seated and be giving orders, let the others scurry around following his command, much better to remain seated… in charge.

“Any thoughts Captain?” he addressed the young officer at his side who was standing ramrod straight next to his seat.

“No Admiral,” the young captain replied, his expression unwavering.

“Excellent, then carry on.” Harkov glanced around the bridge with quiet confidence. Over the years he had replaced many of the older officers, with younger, more compliant, members of crew. Looking fondly at his new captain, a big improvement over Captain Pendleton, whom he had dismissed for his gross incompetence, over the escape of Commander Radec and Princess Aurelius years previously. The Admiral could not tolerate such failure on his flagship. Following the change in command, Harkov had promoted himself back to fleet Admiral, to recognise his superior experience and tactical knowledge. A well deserved reward in recognition of my achievements, Harkov thought to himself.

“Once the shuttles are at a safe distance from the station, order the fighters to close and destroy them,” Harkov ordered coldly.

“Sir?” Captain Maxwell asked surprised.

“I gave an order, Captain, I expect it to be followed unquestioningly. There are to be no survivors from this engagement,” he went on more quietly. “Anyway, I want Radec to feel some pain and anguish before he dies. Hopefully watching the death of the people that he cares about will compensate for the fact that I won’t be able to have his head delivered to me.”

“Sir,” Maxwell replied, turning and barking orders to the flight controllers.

Leaning back in his chair, Harkov sighed contently. He had been looking forward to this day for a long time…

*****

“Sir, gravimetric sensors are picking up additional ships exiting FTL,” Lieutenant Patterson reported from the tactical station.

Jon looked up in surprise, as he was just about to leave the C&C for the Eternal Light. “More reinforcements?” he asked incredulously. “I know we have a certain reputation, but this is ridiculous. We must be out gunned at least 50-1, and Harkov has called in additional reinforcements? Frankly this is getting silly.”

“Looks like a reinforced squadron, sir,” the Lieutenant replied. “I am counting one destroyer, two light cruisers and half a dozen frigates.”

“Well this is turning into a fairly sizable, skirmish,” Paul exclaimed.

“We’re being hailed by the captain of the destroyer, sir.”

“We are?” Jon replied surprised. “Then by all means; perhaps he wants his turn to gloat before blowing us to kingdom come too?”

However, as soon as the Captain appeared on the view-screen it was immediately apparent to all that blowing them to kingdom come was the last thing on his mind, after all the Captain was wearing the uniform of the Confederation Navy…

“Sir,” the Captain started saluting Jon formally.

“Sir?” Paul mouthed silently towards Jon, who just shook his head in equal surprise.

“Captain, I must confess that you are an unexpected sight.”

“I’m here under direct orders from Fleet Admiral Sterling,” the captain replied uncomfortably. “His orders come directly from the President.”

“Sofia?” Paul asked leaping in quickly. “How did she know about events taking place here?” he asked in an outraged tone of voice.

“A very interesting question,” Jon replied staring intently at his friend for a long moment, before turning his gaze back on the Captain Maxwell. “One I don’t suppose that you could enlighten us on?”

“My orders dictate that I am to inform you that following a declaration of emergency, in this system, you have received a battlefield commission back to your original rank of Commander.” Jon looked at the Captain, stunned, not sure what to say. However, before he could reply the Captain continued in a strangled tone of voice. “In addition, I am ordered to immediately place my forces under your command. Sir.”

Jon could tell exactly what the Captain thought of those orders, to travel to a remote system, inform some civilian that he now outranked him and then to give him command of his forces. Jon had no idea of how Sofia knew about events taking place at Terra Nova. In another time and place he might have been outraged at her impulsive intrusion back into this life. However, this was not the time or the place to look such a gift-horse in the mouth. He would deal with Sofia another day, probably by pushing her against a bulkhead, professing his thanks and then kissing her senseless… assuming he lived through today. “Understood Captain, please hold your forces there and await further orders. You are expressly not to engage the Imperial forces until so ordered.” With a nod of understanding the channel closed, leaving the stunned occupants in the C&C on Terra Nova.

“How in hell did the President get the Senate to approve those fleet orders?” Lieutenant Patterson asked aloud in amazement.

Stroking his day’s stubble thoughtfully, Jon replied. “I would hazard a guess that she did not, you notice how Captain Maxwell insisted that a state of emergency had been declared in this system? With a state of emergency the President can bypass Senate approval for fleet deployments, it’s written directly into the Confederation Charter. It should be… I wrote that paragraph.”

“But who determines if a state of emergency exists?” Miranda asked, confused.

“Not a clue,” Jon replied. “I guess that it is at the discretion of the Confederation President,” he said with a laugh. “Paul, update the poor Captain on the order of battle and make sure that he completely understands that he is not to engage the Imperial Fleet. They still significantly outgun is, even with the Confederation squadron now on our side…”

“Sir,” Patterson interrupted. “Imperial fighters are peeling away from the body of the fleet, they are on a direct intercept course with the shuttles.”

“What a surprise,” Jon replied, obviously unsurprised. “Paul, once the Imperial forces are committed engaging the shuttles, position the Confederation squadron between our shuttles and the body of the Imperial forces, we wouldn’t want any of their fighters escaping now would we? Miranda, are you coming?”

Tearing her eyes from the tactical display, that showed the Imperial fighters fast approaching the fleeing shuttles, like a pack of jackals descending on their defenceless prey. “But what about that?” she asked in an anxious tone of voice, motioning towards the tactical display. “It’s going to be a massacre!”

“Not my problem,” Jon replied unconcerned, not even looking back at the unfolding tactical disaster. Instead he took Miranda by the arm, escorting her to the exit. “After all,” he continued, “you would have thought that after five years, Harkov would have learnt to be somewhat less predictable.”

*****

Strapped tightly into the seat of his Tiger interceptor, Lieutenant-Commander Stanford observed the fleeing shuttles through his tactical scopes with a wolfish grin. The fleeing shuttles had obviously just spotted the Imperial fighters as they suddenly broke formation, accelerating away. However, it was a futile gesture of last resort, as the rapidly approaching fighters had a far greater intercept speed than the slower, sluggish shuttles. There would be no escape for any of the shuttles, their fate had been determined the minute that Imperial fighters were ordered to engage.

“Continue at maximum thrust, prepare to engage,” Stanford ordered the other fighters in his squadron, noticing the other squadrons, like his own rushing forward. Stanford increased the power to his engines a further notch, at this rate it was possible none of the shuttles would still be intact by the time his squadron was in weapons range.

Once again checking his tactical scopes, Stanford was surprised to observe that what he had originally taken as the shuttles’ desperate last attempt at escape, he now observed that the shuttles had now regained a tight formation, but this time on a direct intercept course! Stanford had to blink twice, to make sure that his eyes were not deceiving him! However, by then his combat computer was already desperately warbling a warning that his fighter was being targeted. An instant later the warble turned to a frantic alarm, missiles incoming!

As one of the lead fighters, Stanford was still desperately trying to alter the heading for his Tiger interceptor, when the first missile impacted his right engine, which instantly disintegrated into a lethal ball of shrapnel, tearing through his frail fighter. Fortunately the second missile scored a direct hit, vaporising both ship and pilot, long before the shrapnel could have reached the cockpit.

In similar fashion, dozens of additional fireballs illuminated the intervening space as more and more missiles found their targets. Barely seconds later the squadron of shuttles shot through the rapidly expanding debris fields, missiles and high speed rail guns splitting their deadly payload. The tight formation of shuttles, combined with their overlapping fields of fire shredded any Imperial fighter unwise enough to stray within a few hundred meters. The fighters that turned to flee fared little better against the battery of missiles launched every few seconds. Within a few minutes the bulk of the Imperial fighter forces lay in ruins, while those still alive found their avenue of escape now blocked by a Confederation task force that was only just launching fighters of their own…

*****

For the second time in his long, undistinguished career Harkov was forced to watch as a much inferior force tore his fleet’s fighter complement to shreds. Pounding his fist in frustration, Harkov cursed the day that Radec was born! This was the second time, the second time! That Radec had made him look like a fool. Looking at the unfolding tactical disaster on his display, a bead of sweat broke out on Harkov’s forehead that he was quick to brush aside. While the tactical situation now looked far less promising, with the bulk of his fleet’s fighter complement now destroyed or in complete retreat, cut of from his own forces by that damn Confederation task force, and where had they suddenly appeared from? Harkov had the sudden uncomfortable thought that his trap, was starting to backfire badly. He needed to make a decision and quickly, but what to do? Ultimately the decision was made for him…

“Sir, we have unidentified ships departing from the station, on a direct intercept course with the fleet, what are your orders?” the young Captain at his side interrupted his thoughts.

“How many?”

“Sensors are reporting three ships, in a close formation. We cannot detect any external weapon mounts. Tactical have tentatively identified them as freighters. What are your orders?”

Well that’s an easy enough decision to make, Harkov thought. “Destroy them!” he growled.

“Flank speed!” the Captain ordered the fellow bridge officers. “Bring the fleet into weapons range of the advancing ships. Weapons are free when within range.”

“’Belay that order!” Harkov shouted, examining the tactical display. Radec would never send three unarmed ships to take-on the bulk of his fleet; he was obviously up to something, but what? Licking his lips nervously Harkov ordered. “The picket line is to advance and engage the approaching ships. Remaining ships of the fleet are to hold position here and await further orders.”

His captain looked surprised at the change of orders for an instant, before nodding sharply acknowledging the new orders. He quickly relayed the orders to his bridge officers. A few moments later, the fleet’s picket line, the dozen or so smaller frigates, currently the fleet’s outer-ring of defence, accelerated away from the bulk of the fleet, weapons orientating in the direction of the oncoming freighters.

As Harkov observed his picket line accelerating towards the oncoming freighters, something jogged his memory. A similar scene he had observed recently, but where? The thought suddenly hit him like a thunderbolt. The attack on the Syndicate outpost a few weeks back! Harkov had reviewed the tactical recordings from the station; near the end of the battle Syndicate ships had approached to engage a fleeing freighter, but the freighter hadn’t been so defenceless after all… Suddenly Harkov realised what was happening! Just like the shuttles, this was just a ruse to draw out his forces, and to use the element of surprise to engage them, but this time Harkov would not make the same mistake!

“Captain!” he ordered. “Picket forces are to expect hidden gun and missile batteries on the approaching ships. The ships are to be engaged and destroyed at maximum range.”

“Sir!” the captain saluted, acknowledging the new orders hurrying to pass them on to the rest of the fleet.

Harkov leaned back in his chair, with a confident expression, observing on his tactical display as the two groups of ships approached one another. Radec was not going to be able to pull the same stunt twice, this time they would be ready for them. After this Harkov was going to deploy his remaining ships to tear the station apart, compartment-by-compartment if necessary.

*****

“Where are we going?” Miranda finally asked exasperated by Jon’s sudden silence. She had initially assumed that Jon simply wanted a copilot for the Eternal Light, but they were going in the wrong direction, as she knew that the ship was docked on the outer docking ring…

“Keep your panties on!” Jon replied with a roguish smile. Rolling her eyes, Miranda would swear that Jon was actually skipping down the corridor! “Are you abusing some illegal substance or something?” she asked suspiciously, seriously she had never seen Jon look and act so…energised!

“Not at all!” Jon insisted with an innocent, who me? Look. “But don’t you feel it?”

“Feel what?” Miranda continued to look at him suspiciously.

“How crisp the air is? How bright the lights are! How good it feels to simply be alive!” he exclaimed, his eyes twinkling with delight. “There is a fleet out there, dozens and dozens of ships, tens of thousands of people, all with a single purpose, to end our lives, abruptly. Doesn’t that make you feel…anything?” he inquired curiously.

“Terrified?” Miranda replied, unsure if it was a statement or a question, but even as she said it she questioned if that was true. Having been on the station for almost six months, having worked with these people, eaten with them, laughed with them and cried with them, something inside her had changed.

Sure, when she had first been told of the fleet’s arrival she had been terrified, but upon seeing the reaction of those around her: determination, confidence, belief in themselves, their training and most importantly in Jon and Paul, the stories that she had been told over the past few days! Impossible situations! Suicide missions! Hopeless last stands, but always, every single time, Jon or Paul had pulled them though. Everybody she had talked to had at least one story of how Jon or Paul had saved his or her life, usually more than once! She began to understand the confidence, no, the belief that this crew had in their leaders and even she had started to think that maybe, just maybe they would make it through this.

Finally arriving at their destination, one of the many pressurised docking bays that literally littered the station, Jon turned back to face her with a knowing smile. “Then perhaps this will help you change your mind.” With that the door slid quietly open to reveal a dark unlit hangar, Jon motioned with his hand for her to enter. “After all what is a pilot without a ship?”

Frowning at the strange question, Miranda entered the large hangar, letting her eyes slowly adjust to the darkness. Something was inside the hangar, a large patch of darkness, a shadow darker than the surrounding air. As Jon slowly raised the light level, Miranda stopped breathing as she began to make out more and more details. A hooked nose, above which sat a raised cockpit, resting above a pair of massive sub-light engines. As the light level continued to increase Miranda could make out wide, swept back wings. Slung underneath these wings were large weapons mounts; missile pods, pulse cannons, rail guns… Suddenly something clicked in Miranda’s head. “It’s a Wraith!” she breathed out in stunned delight.

“An Imperial heavy attack fighter,” Jon clarified, but at a glance from Miranda he added. “Yes, a Wraith. When ownership of the station was transferred to us, we found the ship here, abandoned, in need of major repairs… I have no idea why we did repair it; we had no plans for her. Perhaps we repaired her simply because we couldn’t bear for such a thing of beauty to sit in such a state of disrepair…” Jon let his voice trail off as he gently ran his fingers along one of the now pristine flight control surfaces. “Anyway she belongs to you now,” Jon added addressing Miranda.

“Me?”

“Yes, you. And I don’t mean temporarily or as a loan. She has been registered with the central ship registry on Eden Prime, as having one owner - Miranda Sun of Zeta Aquilae. You.”

“You finally learned my last name?” Miranda replied with a pleased smile.

“Yep, it took Jason long enough, but he finally found it. I don’t know why you didn’t just put the poor boy out of his misery and tell him…” he laughed.

“A girl needs to have some secrets…” she replied, laughter dancing in her eyes. “By the way what is her name?”

“Her name?” Jon asked momentarily confused.

“The ship.”

“Oh, we haven’t given her a name, just her registry number. As her owner it’s up to you to name her…”

With a distant expression in her eyes, Miranda turned her back on the ship and approached Jon, who was still looking at her with a grin on his lips. Stepping well into his private space, almost touching him, eyes dark with emotion she looked up into his deep grey eyes.

“You like it?” Jon inquired, his lips quirking up, eyes dancing with mirth.

“I like it,” she replied, catching his jacket in her hands, to pull his lips to hers. She swallowed a moan as his warm tongue caressed her sensitive flesh. He took his time, teasing her with a half kiss that made her legs shake.

If this was what he did to the women he liked, she was astonished that he seemed to spend so much of his time alone. “I think I’ll name her The Praetorian,” Miranda murmured, her breath mingling with his. “No,” Miranda changed her mind, “The Last Praetorian.”

“I think,” Jon went quiet and pinched her bottom lip between his teeth, “it’s a good name.” A deep groan rumbled in his chest when her legs jumped in response to the mind-blowing sensation he was inducing in her.

A traitorous moan, loud and throaty, escaped from her as he dragged his tongue across her lower lip. Tiny, passion fuelled fires erupted inside each cell in her body as those lips touched her skin. Her heart pounded a frantic rhythm in her ears. She couldn’t stop her eyes from fluttering closed as waves of warmth coursed through her. It was the most pleasurable sensation she’d ever felt. The most erotic moment she’d ever experienced.

But the most delicious taste came when his tongue plunged into her mouth, sliding sinuously over hers. He tasted exactly like he smelled. Tangy but sweet. Smoky and earthy. All combined to make a scent that was uniquely… Jon. The way a man should taste, but more primal, somehow.

Lost in the tantalising friction of Jon’s tongue tangling with hers, Miranda didn’t realise he’d released her hands until his warm hands slid down her back to pull her firmly against his solid chest.

The thrust of his tongue, the maddening back and forth motion was all she could focus on as he lifted her up. Wrapping both legs around his hips, she broke from his hungry mouth to moan as he pressed her back against the entrance. The cold steel of the corridor door bit into her skin at the same moment he ground his hard body against her.

Needing to get to his skin, to feel the heat of him against her, she slid her hands under his shirt. He laughed a husky sound at the brazenness of her manoeuvre. She smiled at the sensation of his bare chest, rippling, alive at her touch.

“It was only fair,” he laughed as he nipped at her lips. “After all I did kind of trash your last one.”

Lost in a sea of swirling emotion, she replied confused. “What last one?”

“Your last ship,” Jon replied with a laugh as she tipped her head back, as he trailed a searing line of kisses up to her neck, she slid her hands down his chest, delighting in every drip and curve of lean, sculpted muscle on the way down to the deep grooves between his ribs.

He had a body to die for, nothing but firm skin and hard lines. Miranda shivered as Jon’s teeth scraped her throat. Her entire body was on fire, burning hotter everywhere his mouth touched her. His deep moan vibrated against her throat, urging her on.

The man definitely knew what he was doing, but as quickly as the feelings had risen, they began to ebb and then recede as Jon’s touch began to cool, placing gentle kisses and the occasional playful nip on her neck.

“There is no reason for you to stay,” Jon commented hesitantly, his voice muffled by her throat. “I know why the others refuse to leave, this is the only life they have known since the Imperial Navy. But you, you are younger, you have your entire life ahead of you, the ship is yours, take it and leave.”

Jon’s words were like a bucket of cold water on her body and she stepped back, out of his embrace, shocked. “You want me to leave?” she demanded, incredulously.

Gazing at the young woman in front of him, cheeks rosy, lips swollen from their earlier kisses. “Honestly?” Jon asked hesitantly.

Miranda nodded.

“No, I have no wish for you to go,” he replied sadly, “but I have found that people around me, that I care about, get hurt, or worse. I don’t want to see that happen to you.”

“I’m not going to leave.”

Jon nodded in understanding, seeming unsurprised at her decision. Reaching forward he pushed a strand of hair back behind her ear, staring deeply into her eyes for a moment, as if he was trying to freeze the scene in his memory, he gently kissed her lips one last time, a parting goodbye. “Then I wish you a good life, Miranda Sun. My advice, find somebody to share it with, otherwise you will find it very lonely.” With that Jon turned his back on Miranda and made for the exit.

“Is that why you left her?”

“Left who?”

“Your Princess, Sofia Aurelius. Did you leave her because you did not want to see her hurt?”

Jon stopped, barely a foot from the door, cocking his head to one-side in thought. “Partly,” he replied, still facing the door. “But the knight errant only wins the heart of the fair Princess in fairy tales, we both know that does not happen in real life.” With that parting comment he stepped through the door, it sliding shut behind him.

Miranda stared thoughtfully at the door, many minutes after Jon had departed, before bringing a finger to her still swollen lips. She could still taste Jon on the tip of her tongue.

As she turned away from the door, to approach the powerful warship that was waiting patiently for her, she wondered if she would ever see Jon again. His parting words sounded far too much like a final goodbye. She wondered if it were she, Jon, or both of them that Jon thought would not live through the next few hours. That depressing thought stayed with her for a very long time.

*****

Meanwhile the battle, swirling outside the station, had started to turn against the combined Vanguard and Confederation forces. With the superior number of ships on their side and the Confederation forces ordered not to engage the Imperial Fleet directly, the three Vanguard freighters were taking a heavy pounding.

Under orders from Harkov, the dozen Imperial frigates, which composed the outer ring of defences for the Imperial fleet opened fire at maximum range. Caught by surprise, the heavily reinforced freighters started to buckle under the concentrated fire of missiles, particle beams and pulse fire. By the time that the freighters came within range of their own hidden weapons, one freighter was already badly listing to one side, with major damage to its engines, the other two fared little better, having taken major external hull damage.

Even with the warning from Harkov, the Imperial frigates were taken by some surprise, when the three freighters finally got within range to reveal their hidden batteries of rail-guns and missiles. With concerted fire, the three freighters managed to disable two Imperial frigates and destroy a third before the Imperial frigates, recognising the heavy armour on the ships, shifted their aim towards the now exposed freighters’ gun and missile batteries. With the combined fire from the remaining nine frigates, explosions peppered the hulls of the freighters as one by one the gun batteries were hit and went dark.

With atmosphere venting from multiple hull breaches in the freighters and their weapons all but disabled the remaining Imperial frigates moved in for the kill.

*****

With all the systems on the Eternal Light in stand-by mode, it only took moments for the ship to completely power-up when Jon hurried into the cockpit. As he was waiting for final checks to finish, Jon keyed open a communications channel to Terra Nova.

“How are things going?” Jon asked.

“Not good,” Paul replied, Jon could hear the strain in his voice. “While we have the threat from the fighters pretty much contained, our armed freighters are taking a pounding. Looks like Harkov did not fall for the same ruse twice.”

Knowing that Paul could not see him, but shrugging anyway, Jon replied. “Well it was a long shot anyway to hope that Harkov would not know about the armed freighters. You can only pull the same trick so many times before it becomes old. How far away is the Imperial Fleet from the freighters?”

“Three kilometres and closing, but Jon…”

“Yes?”

“We only drew out the frigates, the rest of the fleet has not engaged our forces.”

Jon cursed silently, careful to ensure that it was not broadcast over the communications channel. Jon knew the importance of keeping morale up among the crew. The plan had called for the majority of the Imperial forces to be drawn out by the freighters, yet another inviting target for Harkov. But it did not look like he had taken the bait twice.

Unfortunately it was absolutely essential to the plan, that all the Imperial forces engaged those ships. As usual, the battle had barely started and the plan was already screwed. Well there was nothing else for it, as there was no other plan.

“Understood,” Jon replied with a confidence that he no longer felt. “Launching now.” With one final check to ensure that the docking stations clamps were retracted Jon threw full power to the engines, quickly accelerating away from the station. “Miranda, where are you?” Jon inquired over their tactical communications channel.

Suddenly the large fighter, almost as large as the shuttle itself, swooped down and formed up in formation, wingtip-to-wingtip.

“Here,” Miranda replied.

“How are you doing?”

“Good, this baby is not as manoeuvrable as my old Hawk fighter, but boy does it make up for it in the offensive department!”

Smiling, Jon thought that Miranda sounded like a young girl that had just been given the keys to the candy shop. “Understood, now remember the plan. Whatever happens you must stay exactly on my tail, and stay close!” Jon did not need a view-screen to picture the younger woman rolling her eyes.

“Yes boss.”

“So why are you still on my wing tip?” he demanded.

“I’m not,” Miranda replied, laughing.

Jon cast a quick glance out of his cockpit windows and could no longer see the large fighter. Shaking his head in disbelief at her excellent piloting skills, Jon thought that in another life Miranda would have made an excellent Praetorian.

“Paul, where are the Frigates now?”

“Now holding at two kilometres… Jon I don’t think the freighters are going to hold up much longer, they are taking a real beating, even with all that extra armour that we installed.”

“Very well, I guess the frigates are already as close-in as they are going to get. Let’s move to the next stage of the plan.” With that Jon adjusted the course of the shuttle to put it on a direct intercept course with the Imperial Fleet, still many tens of kilometres away. The warring frigates and freighters were lying directly ahead, almost a dozen kilometres away. At this distance, in the darkness of space Jon could not make out the ships except for the odd spark of pulse cannon fire. The ships tactical sensors however could clearly ‘see’ the melee-taking place ahead of the shuttle, with the frigates and freighters locked in an intimate life or death struggle.

“Ok, on my mark then,” Paul replied, rising from his command seat in the C&C on the station to approach one of the command consoles ringing the room.

“Three,” Paul stated, flicking open a cover on one of the consoles.

“Two.” Paul entered a short code into the adjoining command console.

“One.” The button hidden under the cover started to flash an urgent red warning.

Act Two, Paul thought to himself. “Mark,” Paul stated, depressing the button.

*****

For an instant, nothing seemed to happen, as if something had gone wrong, the command failed. Then a bright spark of light lit-up the space in front of Jon’s shuttle, rapidly joined by another, then another. The three pinpricks of light rapidly grew in size, and intensity until the light coming from ahead of the shuttle dwarfed even the light from the surrounding stars.

The high explosive charges that had been installed throughout the three freighters days earlier had detonated exactly according to plan, causing the three freighters to disintegrate into balls of rapidly expanding debris. The well placed charges, caused the debris from the ships to expand outward in the direction of the encircled Imperial Frigates. Being warships, the frigates were heavily armoured and therefore the debris posed little threat to these ships. While the debris posed little threat to the warships, the 3000 odd magnetic anti-ship mines, secreted deep within the freighters’ holds was an entirely different matter.

The mines, which had been obtained by Jon and Miranda several days earlier from the Erebus weapons dump, had been tightly packed into the hold of the three freighters. Meanwhile flight controls on the freighters had been adjusted to allow for the remote piloting of the ships. Pilotless drones, the ships had become nothing more than flying bombs, awaiting the arrival of the Imperial forces…

As the expanding debris cloud enfolded the nearest frigate, a dozen of these mines impacted the ship. A blossom of explosions ripped along the length of the hull of the frigate, decimating armour, hull, weapons, engines… everything. Within seconds the ship was a drifting lifeless, derelict, split into dozens of pieces. As the debris cloud continued to expand, to encompass the remaining frigates, the same scene was repeated time and time again. The massive ships attracted the mines like mosquitoes to blood, and over and over again the resultant outcome was devastating. Within the space of a few minutes of the nine frigates remaining, six were completely destroyed; the remaining three had all suffered catastrophic damage and were adrift, powerless…

Checking the ship’s sensors, Jon observed the destruction ahead. Where previously the sensors were reporting the three freighters and almost a dozen frigates, now all the ship could identify was three remaining frigates. All three were emitting low power signatures, adrift; obviously their engines and power plants had taken heavy damage. Suddenly what had initially appeared as a strong Imperial task force blocking the shuttle from the remaining Imperial fleet had vanished, like rain clouds following a storm. The ship’s sensors now reported a clear path for the shuttle to the remaining Imperial fleet…and the Imperial Star.

“The enemy’s gate is down,” Jon breathed.

*****

“The gate is down,” Paul uttered. He had followed the outcome of the mined freighters just as closely as Jon with the station’s sensors.

“I’m sorry sir?” Lieutenant Patterson inquired, not catching what Paul had just quietly uttered.

“Sorry Chris, I didn’t mean to speak aloud,” Paul apologised. “It was something that Jon stated when he originally presented the plan. “How do you go about slaying the devil when he is surrounded on all sides by the walls of hell?”

At the confused look from the Lieutenant, Paul answered the question for him. “You fight your way into the depths of hell and when you finally reach the gate, well, you kick it down. That’s what we have done,” Paul motioned towards the tactical display. “We have eliminated the Imperial fleet’s fighter cover, now we have just taken down their outer defensive ring, Jon now has a clear run to the Imperial Star.” Paul drew a line with his finger on the tactical display from the Eternal Light to the Imperial Star.

“I don’t understand sir, I thought the plan was to destroy the Imperial Fleet?”

“Destroy the fleet?” Paul looked surprised, as if he had never considered the thought. “Of course not, we cannot destroy it, they have far too many ships, too much firepower, and we would never even get close to them. No the plan was always to give Jon one shot, one Hail Mary pass at the Imperial Star.”

“And what is the Commander going to do now he has the chance?” Patterson asked curiously.

“I have absolutely no idea, he would not tell me,” Paul replied in a worried voice, as the tactical display showed the Eternal Light passing through the gap recently made in the Imperial fleet defences, accelerating through the gates of Hell…

******

“What the hell was that?” Harkov yelled, as the distant horizon lit-up with three bright stars, before they rapidly started to die away.

“Sir, we have lost communication with the frigate squadron!” the communications officer called out.

“What the hell is going on?” Harkov shouted, red faced at his deck officers.

“Ships sensors reported that the three Vanguard ships exploded,” the Captain reported checking the ship’s sensor history with a frown.

“We destroyed them?”

“It seems unlikely,” the Captain replied frowning deeply in thought. “According to the sensors the ships exploded within the space of a few seconds of each other. It would seem far more likely that they self-destructed.”

“Radec destroyed his own ships, killing his own crew?” Harkov stated, impressed. Frankly he did not think that Radec had it in him to order the deaths of his own people. Obviously he had underestimated the man. “But what about our own ships? They were destroyed when the Vanguard ships exploded?”

“Unlikely,” the Captain replied. “They were too far away…”

“I don’t want to know what is unlikely!” Harkov turned around, yelling at the Captain. “I want to know how Radec destroyed those frigates!”

“This is the last sensor reading that we received from the squadron,” the Captain stated, passing a data-pad to the Admiral. “Look at the image of the Harbinger,” he explained, pointing towards the numerous detonations running the length of the hull of the frigate.

“What are these?” Harkov breathed. “Some new weapon that Radec has deployed?”

“Unlike…” this time the Captain stopped mid-word at the furious look from the Admiral. “They look like mine impacts to me.”

“Radec has mined the system?” he asked, aghast.

“No, we did a full scan of the surrounding space when we first exited FTL. Sensors did not detect any mines. I think those freighters were seeding the mines, they either detonated prematurely or one of our frigates hit one and set-off a chain reaction.”

Falling back into his seat, ashen faced at the thought that it was only last minute caution that stopped him sending the whole fleet. If the Imperial Star had been close to those minelayers when they detonated…

“Incoming ship!” the tactical officer called out, interrupting Harkov’s thoughts.

“One of ours?”

“Negative sir, it’s not broadcasting any recognition signals, either Imperial or Confederation. It looks to be a Vanguard ship. Strange… the computer has this ship on file. It’s registering as the Eternal Light, ship registry has the owner as…Marcus Aurelius,” the bridge went deathly still at the announcement.

Looking around at the pale, frightened faces of the young officers surrounding him, Harkov growled. “For god sake, get a grip on yourselves men! Marcus is dead! The Emperor is not flying that ship, it’s Radec!”

“He’s on a direct intercept course sir! Continuing to accelerate, at this rate, time to intercept is five minutes and decreasing.”

Harkov narrowed his eyes, in anticipation. Perhaps he would have his opportunity to deal with Radec, once and for all, personally… “Hail the ship!” he ordered.

*****

As the Eternal Light rapidly accelerated towards the remnants of the Imperial Fleet, Jon double-checked that the shuttle was still broadcasting the detonation code for the mines. The one major risk for the plan was unexploded mines released from the destroyed freighters…

After the freighters exploded any control that they had over the mines was immediately lost. Therefore there was a real risk that unexploded mines could impact the Eternal Light or any of the other Vanguard or Confederation ships in the area. Hence David had proposed the idea of a self-destruct code, upon receiving the code any mines in the vicinity would detonate. The idea was quickly approved and the mines reprogrammed. Now all Vanguard ships were broadcasting the signal at low power, the theory being that this created an invisible shield around the ships, protecting them… in theory.

However, there had been no time to program the code into Miranda’s Wraith or the Confederation ships. Hence Jon’s explicit orders for the Confederation ships, and why Miranda’s ship was tucked in tightly behind the Eternal Light.

Unfortunately the plan had also assumed that Harkov would commit the entire Imperial Fleet to the attack. Checking the sensor’s display, Jon unhappily identified two heavy cruisers and a light destroyer still in formation around the Imperial Star. Fortunately all were large warships, possessing heavy guns, designed for engaging and destroying similar sized warships. None of the ships were specifically suited to the engagement of fast moving fighters or bombers. That was the purpose of the fleet frigates and fighters, both of which now had been decimated. One bomber, with the heavy torpedoes that it carried had a chance, a small chance none the less, to make it through to the massive capital ship and fire its deadly payload.

Of course Vanguard did not have any bombers, and as for torpedoes, well Vanguard possessed only a single one, currently nestled safely, deep in the womb of the Eternal Light. Then again Jon assumed they would only need one, after all, there was not going to be a second chance. As the Eternal Light breached the fifty-kilometre barrier from the Imperial Star, Jon pushed the engines harder; they had to go faster, faster…

Jon was taken aback for a moment by the chime of an incoming communication from the Imperial Star, so intent was he on the shuttle’s rapid approach towards the fleet. Deciding what the hell, after all one or both of them was almost certain to die within the next few minutes.

“So I see that once again, it finally comes down to this, you and I, Commander,” Harkov’s gloating voice filled the cockpit of the shuttle.

“Doesn’t seem like that from where I am sitting,” Jon retorted. “You seem to be the one on a Star Carrier, surrounded by cruisers and destroyers. However, if you want to face me personally, feel free, get in a shuttle!”

“I am quite comfortable where I am Commander, I just wanted to wish you a goodbye. I would like to be able to say that is has been nice knowing you, but frankly it hasn’t. I told you that you were a nonentity when you were last on this ship. An irritating pest, that just constantly refuses to die, and what have you achieved? Your precious Emperor dead. Your fellow Praetorians gone. Your glorious Empire now just a footnote in history. So please enlighten me, while you still have a few breaths remaining. Just what have you achieved?”

“I plan on fulfilling an oath that I made after the Praetorians gave their lives to allow Sofia and me to escape; to preserve the Empire. What you could never understand was that the Empire was not a thing, an object for you to smash and destroy, in a childish temper tantrum. It was an ideal, and if just one person lives, holding that ideal true, then the Empire lives on through them.”

“Then your Empire dies with you!”

“No, the Empire will continue long after I am dead, it’s ideals of peace and justice will continue, but I’m going to do what I swore an oath in front of all that I would do. I am going to defend the Empire from those that would seek to destroy it…Even if that costs me my life. I’ll look forward to seeing you in hell, Harkov!” With that Jon closed the communication channel.

*****

Growling in frustration - once again Radec had the final word! He turned to his Captain and grinding his teeth ordered. “Captain, you know what happened to your predecessor for failing to destroy that ship. I expect you to succeed where he failed. Kill Him. Now!”

“All missiles have long since been reprogrammed Admiral, that same trick will not work twice.”

“Then fire!” Harkov hissed.

“All ships, commence firing!” the Captain ordered

*****

As the Eternal Light breached the thirty-kilometre barrier the first missile lock warnings sounded. Moments later the missile lock’s shrill warning, changed to a shriek, as the first missiles left their launch railings from the Imperial Fleet.

“Would it have been too much to ask for them not to have fixed that problem?” Jon asked rhetorically, activating the shuttles own active countermeasures.

Within a few moments, additional missiles had been launched from the cruisers and destroyers. In total the ships sensors reported almost thirty incoming missiles! While the cruisers and destroyers guns were ineffective against the small, fast moving target of the shuttle, the missiles were just as deadly. Unfortunately Jon had no plan, no surprise, no white rabbit to pull out of his hat this time. The minute that Harkov had failed to commit the entire fleet Jon had known that the plan was doomed to failure, but what other option was there?

Suddenly, the light from outside the cockpit was blocked as a dark shadow loomed over the Eternal Light. So intent was Jon in reaching weapons range of the Imperial Star that he had completely forgotten about Miranda trailing behind in her Wraith.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jon demanded, unconsciously emulating Harkov’s very words only minutes before.

“Helping you!” came the terse reply.

“You are only going to get us both killed!”

“Who was it said, ‘better to die with honour than live the rest of your life as a coward’?”

Jon narrowed his eyes angrily. “Somebody has been telling stories that they should not be! Anyway I was far younger back then, I had no common sense whatever!”

Miranda laughed heartily over the communication channel. “In that case you have not changed one little bit!”

Jon was distracted momentarily by her laughter, trying to remember who it reminded him of… Suddenly he remembered Elsie’s last words, before she had turned her ship back around to face the incoming Imperial fighters. Jon thought that Elsie probably would have liked Miranda, in some ways they were very similar. It was only then that it occurred to Jon how similar the situation was, once again he was speeding towards the Imperial fleet, towards the Imperial Star and Harkov. Jon wondered if people who said that life came full circle were possibly correct. But looking at the empty copilot seat next to him reminded him that this time things were very different. This time there was no Princess seated next to him, no duty to get her to safety. No, this time escape was the very last thing on his mind…

Jon’s thoughts were interrupted by the bright light of a missile igniting, underneath the wing of Miranda’s Wraith and rapidly accelerating ahead of the two ships, another missile followed another missile, until the entire missile complement of her ship was expended. With the missiles gone, Miranda began to manoeuvre her fighter away from the shuttle, to give her own guns clear fields of fire against the incoming missiles.

Checking his sensors for the incoming missiles Jon was surprised to note that they had now formed two distinct groups, puzzled by this strange behaviour, until he realised that one group was heading slightly off-course. It was only then that he realised that the missiles had split their targets, when launched Jon and Miranda had been so close that the missiles had mistaken them for one target, now that they were closer and the two ships had manoeuvred apart, the missiles had locked on, one or the other ships. Already Miranda had diverted 50% of the incoming missiles! Unfortunately that did not bode well for her, as by doing so she had placed her ship and herself in extreme peril!

A string of bright explosions ahead, demonstrated that at least some of the missiles launched by Miranda had reached their target. Checking the sensors, Jon was faintly surprised to note that a further ten missiles had been destroyed, this of course still left twenty incoming missiles, split fairly evenly between the two ships. Still too many, too many by far…

Having been accelerating constantly since departing the station, the ‘Light was traveling at almost three kilometres per second, the incoming missiles travelling almost twice that speed. Hence the combined intercept time was measured in seconds, and before Jon realised it, the ships computer had already locked the shuttles rail-guns on the closest missile and the ship shuddered as the shells were ejected at a rate of almost a hundred rounds per minute. With the first incoming missile quickly vaporised, the guns were turned onto the second missile, then the third. Meanwhile Jon kept a anxious eye on the ship’s ammunition level, that was being depleted at an alarming rate, unsure what would happen first - that the guns would run out of ammunition, or all the incoming missiles would be destroyed. The answer soon became apparent when the ships guns fell silent, their magazines spent…

A quick glance at the sensors, was enough to confirm the truth, the guns did not get them all, for three missiles remained, on-course for the ‘Light. With an impact time of less than a few seconds, there was no time for regret, no time to reflect on a wasted youth, no time even to curse Harkov one final time. Instead the ‘Light was totally consumed by the bright light of the exploding missiles…

…As the ‘Light glided through the exploding missiles, intact, unharmed. To say that Jon was stunned would be an understatement. What had happened, had they all malfunctioned? Impossible…

An exuberant laugh, and the sight of Miranda’s Wraith once again forming up on his wing, gun-barrel’s still spinning, solved the puzzle. “I told you this ship excelled in the offensive department,” Miranda quipped. “You should think about upgrading.”

“The ‘Light and I have been together a very long time, we’re both too old to upgrade. Miranda?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks for staying.”

The channel was silent for a moment, as the two ships sped onwards together, barely a metre apart. Finally Miranda replied, “You’re welcome.” The silence over the channel lengthened until Miranda shattered it with the question that she had been dreading. “So you’re really going to do this? You’re really going to take on Harkov, by yourself?”

“Yes,” Jon replied softly. “But not for the reasons that you think. I will be the first to confess that nothing would give me greater pleasure than sending that bastard on a one-way ticket back to hell. But that is not the main reason. We don’t have the forces to take on the ‘Star directly. It could destroy every ship we possess, Vanguard and Confederation before we even got within weapons range. It would tear Terra Nova apart, bulkhead-by-bulkhead and there is nothing we could do about it. If I don’t stop Harkov now, here, then he is going to destroy everything, everyone that we care about, if for no other reason than to spite me. I cannot let that happen, I will not, not while I still draw breath.”

Miranda nodded her head sadly, having known that it would finally come down to this. Brushing away the tears from her eyes, she gasped. “Jon I…I…I’ll miss you…” At the same time cursing her own weakness, that she could not even confess her true feelings, not even now, when presented with her last chance.

“I’m proud to have known you Miranda Sun. You would have made a fine Praetorian - proud, courageous… fearless. Now I’m going to give you one last order, and I want you to follow it. Not because I am your boss, or your superior, but as your… friend. Turn back now, please.”

Miranda took a deep breath and gave the ‘Light one final look; her original opinion had been correct, she was a fine ship. With that she turned her own ship around, leaving the ‘Light to make its final journey… alone.

Pleased that Miranda had changed course, away from the guns of the approaching Imperial Star, Jon looked down to his own solitary missile. While his ship might not have the guns, or missiles or fighters of the huge capital ship ahead, deep within the belly of the shuttle was a weapon that was far more deadly.

“You’ve had your shot Harkov!” Jon muttered aloud in the cockpit, referring to the barrage of missiles that they had just flown through. “Now it’s my turn.” With that he tried arming the sole missile carried by the ship; however the weapon stubbornly refused to activate. Instead the following simple warning was displayed on the console.

“Deployment of this Weapon System requires joint Fleet Admiral or Higher Authorisation.”

Which ordinarily would be quite a problem, as there was only one Admiral currently in the vicinity and Jon was absolutely certain that he would not authorise this. However, Jon was no lowly foot soldier, in his past he had ordered Fleet Admirals with the ease that another would order drinks. Jon had spent over five years at the right hand of the Emperor, first as a soldier, then as a trusted confidant, and finally? As a friend or something more? Jon’s feelings towards the Emperor were confused; the man had given him a purpose in life at a time he had none. However, Marcus had also taken the most precious thing in his life from him and Jon had no idea how to forgive him for that.

As if it had only been yesterday, Jon could recall with crystal clarity kneeling in front of his Emperor, late one night, his words still ringing through his head.

“My Praetorian, sometimes you have to sacrifice a few, to save the many. You know this painful fact, better than most. You are my right hand, the sword of the Empire! But sometimes even your sword will not be sufficient. Hence I bequeath to you a gift, something that few know exist - A sword unlike any other. A sword that will set the heavens alight, a sword made from the very essence of the creator himself. Take note my Praetorian, and remember…”

How could Jon ever have forgotten? For that secret, shared in confidence, so long ago, was seared across his consciousness, like words of fire. Unseeing, lost in the past, Jon entered the code bestowed upon him by the Emperor, a code that he promised himself that he would most certainly never, ever use. Upon entering the code, the computer wavered for an agonising long moment, as if the computer itself was contemplating the destruction about to be unleashed. However, eventually the warning message vanished from the console and the symbol representing the sole weapon remaining on the ship blinked from a safe green, to an angry blinking red. The red box now encasing the symbol with the word ‘ARMED’ seemed superfluous. Jon took a moment to gaze at the symbol, surprised. If he had been ever been completely honest with himself, he doubted that it would ever actually work.

The alarms that suddenly commenced to sound across the ship dispelled that thought quickly enough.

*****

Harkov could only stare at the tactical display in complete, utter, disbelief.

What does it take to kill this man?

Harkov remembered back in the days of the Imperial Fleet, that this man’s name was only spoken in hushed whispers. Even back then, people spoke of the Praetorian Commander as being… different, somebody that the Creator had plucked out of obscurity and personally blessed. At the time Harkov had dismissed the rumours as childish superstition, but how many times could one man cheat death?

“I’m not impressed Captain,” Harkov uttered in a chilling voice. “One man, a single ship, which the combined might of this entire fleet seems incapable of crushing.” Harkov was already drawing up a mental list of replacement captains, how was it possible that he was continually surrounded by incompetents?

“It’s a minor setback, nothing more Admiral,” the Captain said stiffly. “There was a second ship in close proximity to Radec’s ship, their combined point defence weapons simply overwhelmed our missiles. The second ship has now retreated and our computers estimate that his ship’s ammunition magazines are now empty.” The captain shrugged unconcerned, “a second salvo will finish the job.”

“And what of the threat that Radec poses to this ship?” the Admiral demanded, furious by his captain’s flippant tone. Wondering if cutting out his tongue would improve the situation.

“What threat? It’s a single shuttle. This is the Imperial Star - your flagship is invulnerable. Our own point defence guns would annihilate any missile or torpedo that it could launch, long before it could risk the ship. It’s just a question of what will take out the shuttle first, our guns or the next missile salvo; Radec is already as good as dead, he has only bought himself a few more minutes of life…”

“Sir!” the tactical officer called across the bridge. “I am picking up some strange energy signatures from the shuttle.”

“Define strange?” Harkov demanded crossly, seriously it was long past time for another reshuffle of his command staff…

“Ugh, I’m not sure Admiral, there was a sudden energy spike from the shuttle, as if some system suddenly went active. The energy spike has disappeared now, but the shuttle is now emitting some strange high-energy particles…. Oh great Maker….” The officer shouted, stumbling away from his console as if it suddenly had become red hot. “It’s a nuke! He’s got a god damn nuke on that shuttle and Radec somehow JUST ARMED IT!”

Every head turned to face the tactical officer, every eye focused on the screaming officer, a deathly silence fell across the bridge, as nobody knew what to do or say. However, the silence only lasted for a moment before complete pandemonium erupted on the bridge. Everybody was shouting at once, some demanding confirmation, others shouting for orders. Furthermore some of the officers just closed their eyes and started praying to their own personal deity.

“SILENCE!!!” screamed Harkov across the large bridge. “The next person to say a word I will have shot on the spot!” The room went deathly silent again as everybody turned to face Harkov, his threat momentarily more terrifying than the approaching ship.

The only sound that could be heard above the slim whisper of the ship’s environmental system was the mumbling from the Captain. “No…No…No…it’s just not possible… Even if Radec obtained such a weapon, nuclear release requires joint authorisation from at least two fleet Admirals, Radec couldn’t have… it’s just not possible…”

Harkov wheeled on the Captain furiously, the man had gone as white as a sheet and looked like a strong breeze would blow him over. “I hold you personally responsible for this situation Captain! It is due to your constant underestimation of this man that you have led this fleet to the brink of destruction. How many times do I need to remind everybody? This was a man chosen by the Emperor to personally lead his own elite squadron. Marcus and Radec were always as thick as thieves, always plotting against the fleet, against the entire Empire! What secrets do you think Marcus gave to this man before his death? The ship’s rumour mill even suggested that Radec was involved with his own daughter, with Marcus’s approval! I tell you all, if not for my heroic action in the defence of the fleet, the very Empire, we would all be bowing and scraping to Radec by now.”

Turning back to the Captain, Harkov continued. “I warned you that you would share the same fate as your predecessor if you failed me.” In the blink of an eye Harkov had a pulse pistol in his hand, firmly aimed at the Captain’s chest. “I do not tolerate failure,” Harkov insisted, depressing the firing stud on the pistol. With a high-pitched whine and a scream, the Captain fell to the floor, a smoking ruin, all that remained of his chest.

Once again turning his attention back to his command staff he threatened. “Everybody resume your positions, it is time for us to stop Radec, once and for all. Unless of course you wish to join your former commanding officer?” Harkov eyed his officers one-by-one as they shrank away, back into their chairs. “I didn’t think so,” Harkov replied with a self-satisfied smile slipping his pulse pistol back in the folds of his uniform. “At least that fool had one thing right,” Harkov stated, casting a glance at the body now lying prostrate on the floor. “The point defence guns on the Imperial Star will take out any missile or torpedo within range. We will take out Radec’s forlorn hope the second he launches it, and then? Well unlike Radec, we have many, many more missiles.”

“Tactical!” Harkov shouted. “Target the ship and open fire with all guns as soon as it is within range. Let me know when the missiles are reloaded.”

*****

Jon muted the radiation alarm that sounded its warning throughout the ship the minute that he had activated the warhead. He had to remind himself that the Eternal Light was not a warship, she was never designed to carry such payloads, hence the alarm. The nuclear warhead that he had procured from Erebus depot should have been loaded in a heavily shielded launch system, which would have absorbed the radiation from the now active weapon. Not actually having the launch system resulted in the warhead being secured firmly within the belly of the shuttle in one of the interior cargo holds. This had the resultant affect that lethal radiation was now leaking into the cargo hold, and eventually throughout the ship. Fortunately the dose of radiation at the moment was very small and would take at least twenty minutes to spread through the ship, before inflicting a lethal dose to Jon. On the bright side Jon had little expectation that he was going to live that long, as the shuttle’s navigation computer was reporting that only a few more minutes remained until the shuttle intercepted the Imperial Star.

The other effect resulting from having the warhead firmly embedded into the shuttle was that Jon actually had no way to release the warhead. He had known from the moment that he stepped aboard the ‘Light that this would be a one-way trip. Even if Vanguard had the time and specifications to manufacture such a launch system it would not have changed anything. The Imperial Star was too heavily protected with point defence guns and close-in weapons systems to launch the warhead. It would have been destroyed almost immediately, hence the plan that Jon had devised – the ‘Light was the delivery system, the heavily armoured shuttle would hopefully survive long enough to deliver the warhead protected deep in its belly to the target.

A beeping from the ship’s tactical computer warned Jon that the ‘Light was getting within weapons range of the Imperial Star. As Jon started jinking, making minor flight alterations to the shuttle, he realised that it was mostly a futile gesture. The last time that these two ships faced off, the ‘Light took a hit to one of its engines. That was while flying in the midst of the other Praetorian fighters, along with many dozens of missiles to distract the guns. This time there would be no such protection, a quick blink of light from ahead indicated that the Imperial Star’s guns had commenced firing…

*****

“Ten kilometres and still closing…” the Imperial Star’s tactical officer stated aloud while wiping away a bead of sweat that was running down his forehead. “All guns are tracking and weapons free,” he added fairly superfluously as they could feel the vibration of the firing guns through the deck plates. “Time to impact…thirty seconds.”

“Keep firing!” Harkov insisted. “What is the status of the missile batteries?”

“Still not finished loading yet, Admiral.”

“Do I have to assume from that response that some missiles have finished loading then?”

The tactical officer blinked. “Yes Admiral, some of the missiles have finished loading.”

“Then by the maker, FIRE THEM!” Harkov bellowed.

*****

By now, the area of space surrounding the Eternal Light was a maelstrom of shells, high-energy bolts and exploding shrapnel. While Jon was flying the Eternal Light at the absolute edge of his piloting skills there was just too much incoming fire and the ship’s armour was already taking damage from glancing impacts and shrapnel. It would only be a matter of time until one of the rounds hit the intended target. Over the various chimes, bells and alarms that were now ringing out across the bridge a new alarm joined the fray – missile launch!

“Fantastic,” Jon stated gritting his teeth furiously; corkscrewing the shuttle around a particularly dense stream of incoming pulse cannon fire.

Twenty seconds remaining until impact…

*****

“Missiles away and tracking…” the Imperial Star’s Tactical shouted across the bridge, for the first time a real sense of fear in his voice. “All guns are now firing on full automatic! Time to impact…Ten seconds.”

“Keeping firing!” Harkov urged.

*****

The dense rail gun round impacting the ship was enough to throw Jon painfully against the seat restraints. Were it not for the restraints Jon would have been thrown violently across the cockpit and badly injured; as it was, Jon’s vision went black for an instant from the impact. A quick glance at the damage control computer was enough to confirm that the ‘Light had been badly damaged. The entire portside engine and a good majority of the wing were…gone, vaporised by the kinetic energy of the impacting projectile. Jon immediately conducted an emergency shutdown of the remaining starboard engine, to enable him to remain in control of the shuttle. Otherwise the ship would have gone into an unrecoverable spin. It was a testament to his outstanding piloting skills that he was able to quickly regain control, if not somewhat sluggishly from the now damaged flight control surfaces. Jon could immediately feel the loss of acceleration, but, without gravity to slow the ship, it continued on at its previous velocity.

Travelling at approximately 300 meters per second, now barely three kilometres away from the Imperial flagship it was going to make little difference to the end result.

Less than ten seconds to impact…

*****

“Ten seconds until impact!” the Imperial Star’s tactical officer screamed, any sense of professionalism or duty long since gone, now replaced by absolute terror as the armed nuclear warhead streaked towards the ship, now only a few kilometres away.

The shuttle seemed to have taken a taken a major hit, had wavered for an instant, and then had resumed a direct collision course with the flagship.

“Nine, eight, seven…” The bridge officer’s voice, filled with dread, was the only sound that could be heard on the bridge. He slowly started to back away from his terminal, as if he could physically increase the distance between himself and approaching oblivion…

The tactical officer closed his eyes and started to pray.

*****

The heads-up display on the Eternal Light started to flash a collision alert warning as the ship streaked through the depths of space, explosions causing it to shake violently, hull breach alerts sounding throughout the ship as projectiles and pulse cannons had finally stripped the shuttles external armour breaching the hull in numerous places.

However Jon’s eyes were glued to the rapidly decreasing distance readout to the Imperial Star, as it rapidly approached zero.

Jon had known that he would not survive this final flight, it felt… right doing it in this ship, one of the last links to his old life. Jon had spent many hours wondering what would go through his mind in the final few seconds; in the end it was simply relief. Relief that against the impossible odds, he and the ‘Light had managed to make it this far, relief that by this action he was going to save the lives of everybody on the station. Relief that by stopping this madman that many thousands, possibly millions of people’s lives would be spared…

With a final few deft touches of the flight controls, Jon angled the ship towards one of the massive flight decks that comprised the Imperial Star that now filled the front viewport of the shuttle. With all the other alarms drowned out by the collision alert, Jon closed his eyes one final time. Suddenly the sight of Sofia, smiling, appeared in his mind’s eye. Desperately, Jon took a tight hold of the apparition for, one last time; this time to sustain him for an eternity.

*****

The Eternal Light slammed into the energy barrier that protected the hanger deck of the Imperial Star. Designed only to keep the hanger deck pressurised and to hold back the emptiness of space, it disintegrated under the impact of a shuttle travelling so fast.

Amazingly the Eternal Light mostly survived the impact, due to its heavy armour and the superb engineering that went into its construction. The ship somersaulted, over and over again, before finally coming to a rest at the far end of the hanger deck.

For a single moment in time everything was suddenly still, as if the universe had paused for a breath; the wreckage of the Eternal Light barely recognisable from the weapons fire and subsequent collision.

However, deep within the belly of the ship a sleeping dragon awoke.

The Eternal Light vanished in a white light that was a million times brighter than the sun. Within a second the temperature on the flight deck, increased to that only found within the heart of a star. Heat, light, and pressure, combined to create a force of unimaginable power, and it started to grow.

Within a few heartbeats the flight deck had been consumed, barely a second later the entire deck of the once mighty flagship had been devoured. Meanwhile the mighty explosion continued to grow in strength… and size. Section-by-section, deck-by-deck the huge warship was consumed from within. A nuclear fireball racing down the corridor that Commander Radec once had strode down disappeared. The Emperor’s quarters; where he had once held court over the entire Empire, vanished. The senior officers’ lounge, where Jon had once wielded his sword over a young man’s head, exploded, turned to ash in a nuclear fireball.

In a few seconds the explosion had grown to such a size as to encompass the massive flagship. The heavy external armour of the ship fought a losing battle to contain the massive forces unleashed within. But nothing could contain these forces and like a balloon, over inflated – it burst! Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the armour, growing and growing until the entire hull disappeared within the blinding light. For a while it seemed as if these great forces would grow and grow until everything was consumed. However, finally the light started to dim, to shrink, to collapse within itself. Finally the light vanished completely, to leave… nothing.

All activity within the vicinity stopped, everybody stunned by the almighty forces unleashed, as if the creator had picked up the Imperial Star and crushed it as if it were a toy.

The remaining Imperial forces offered their unconditional surrender minutes later.

Epilogue

Present Day

Terra Nova, Zeta Aquilae System

It was barely 18 hours later, when the Confederation 12th fleet arrived in the Zeta Aquilae system, commanded by Fleet Admiral Sterling. On board, the Imperial Princess Sofia Aurelius, President of the Confederation Senate, who, on arrival, immediately requested transport across to the station.

“I don’t recommend it Madame President,” Admiral Sterling said. “You are safer aboard the Protector. We still have not accounted for all the Imperial ships, and there could still be unexploded ordinance out there. Frankly it’s a real mess here at the moment and we’re still trying to sort through it.”

“I appreciate your concern Admiral,” Sofia replied. “However it was not a request; inform me when transport is ready.”

With that she spun around, heading for the exit from the bridge, and what Sterling could only assume, on her way to the flight deck. Sterling sighed in frustration. He had known her father; the Emperor and he had been equally as stubborn, always refusing to heed advice from his senior officers. He wondered if it was something that ran in the family. He hurriedly ordered a transport shuttle to be made available to the Princess. Her father had a terrible temper and Sterling had no desire to find out if his daughter also shared the same trait.

*****

On arriving at Terra Nova, Sofia was confronted with the sight of what seemed like the entire crew assembled on the flight deck, in full uniform, in parade formation. The scene facing her so stunned her that for a moment she was rooted to the spot. How many times had she disembarked from a ship at the side of her father, to face such a scene? However, it had been many, many years since the fall of the Empire that she had last received such a reception. Sofia was curious to understand why the formal reception. Casting her gaze around she was unable to locate Jon, however she recognised Paul and a number of the senior officers, as she walked down the ramp of the transport and angled in their direction.

“Attention! Officer on deck!” a voice called out from the ranks and the entire crew snapped to attention as she strode past. It was obvious that military discipline had not suffered in the intervening years, as Sofia could not remember a better-presented, better-turned out crew. Approaching Paul and the senior officers, Sofia was desperate to inquire where Jon was as they had a lot to discuss.

Paul could not fail to be amazed by Sofia’s arrival. Realising that he had not seen her in person in almost five years, Paul was amazed at the transformation. When he had last seen her, she had been a young, beautiful woman who had just had her heart broken. The woman stepping off the transport seemed to bear only a passing resemblance, while Paul considered her still beautiful; her face had matured into that of a confident woman, confident in herself and comfortable with the mantle of leadership. Her gaze took in the entire scene in a single glance, her expression thoughtful until she caught sight of him and started in his direction.

Paul was taken aback by how similar the scene was to the Emperor’s arrival, the white flowing robes of the office of the President identical to those worn by her father, except his were black. Paul wondered if Sofia was aware how similar she was to her father, the same aura of quiet confidence, and authority. In a way Paul wished that it was her father that he was breaking this news to. Paul had dealt with the Emperor enough times to recognise his anger and knew how to deal with it. Paul was certain that Marcus would not have taken the loss of Jon well; he could almost imagine that blast of his furious white-hot anger. Unfortunately Paul well knew that Sofia’s feelings for Jon went far beyond her now dead father’s, and the reaction was likely to be far, far worse.

Glancing at his assembled crew Paul felt the occasion fitting. His senior staff had approached him with the idea soon after they found out about Sofia’s arrival. It was their way to pay their final respects to Jon… and Sofia. After all it was Gunny that pointed out that technically she was still their commanding officer, as Marcus’s only child. A part of Paul wished that Sofia had found somebody else over the intervening years; perhaps it would make the news that he had to break to her somewhat easier. Somebody for her to share the pain with…

Sighing to himself, Paul snapped to attention as Sofia stood in front of him, before executing a flawless salute. “Madame President,” he greeted her.

Sofia stared quizzically at Paul for a moment before returning the salute. On anybody else the gesture would have appeared… insulting; from Sofia it seemed, respectful. “Captain Harrington, it’s good to see you.” Sofia was unsure if their earlier communication was public knowledge, so for the moment decided not to mention it. “Where is Jon?”

The sharp intake of breath from the group of officers, suggested that the question was not unexpected and the answer was not going to be liked.

“I’m so sorry Sofia…” Paul tried to put his feelings into words, failing miserably. “Jon was killed yesterday in the battle with Harkov’s fleet.” He glanced away, not able to cope with the expression of utter despair that appeared on Sofia’s face. Knowing that it would not ease her pain, but feeling that it needed to be said, he added. “He sacrificed his life for us. If he hadn’t stopped Harkov and his fleet many, many more lives would have been lost. I doubt that any of us would be standing here today.” Paul’s shoulders slumped, the misery threatening to overwhelm him. Realising that his pain was barely a fraction of what Sofia must be feeling, he looked up at Sofia who had gone a deathly pale. For a moment Paul was worried that she was going to faint, instead her head fell onto her chest, tears running down her face.

“I thought, I thought, Jon and I could finally talk, put the past behind us…” Sofia gave a mournful wail, “but it seems like our past finally caught up with Jon first.”

Protocol be damned, Paul thought enfolding her in a tight embrace. He could feel her tears staining his uniform, but it did not matter as his own tears joined hers.

Not a word was spoken on the flight deck, the only sound the occasional cry from Sofia as the crew stood at attention saluting a man that they had all respected, and loved. A man who had made the ultimate sacrifice in order to ensure their lives.

*****

Many hours later, after the ceremony on the flight deck had broken up and the crew had dispersed, each to remember, and mourn Jon in their own way, Miranda found herself in his office staring out of the massive opening. Miranda was not sure how long she had been staring out into space, when the chime to the office interrupted her thoughts.

“Come!” Miranda called, wondering who would be looking for her. She was taken aback at the sight of Sofia Aurelius stepping curiously into the office. She still looked pale and withdrawn after being broken the news of Jon’s death hours earlier, but at least it looked like she was coping. Miranda meanwhile had absolutely no idea what to say or do. How did one even address this woman? Sofia? Miss. Aurelius? Madame President? Princess?

Her hesitation must have shown as Sofia offered her a weak smile stating. “Please, you can call me Sofia. Paul told me that you were most likely to be here…”

“I didn’t know where else to go…” Miranda replied hesitantly. “Jon spent so much time here, staring out of this viewport. I thought it would help me feel closer to him…”

“Paul mentioned that you and Jon were close,” Sofia replied sympathetically.

“Not as close as you and Jon were…” Miranda was quick to add, glancing away so that the elder woman could not see her flaming cheeks.

Sofia looked at Miranda with surprise. “The thought never crossed my mind…”

“He loved you, you know? Even at the very end.”

“I just wish that I knew why he left in the first-place,” Sofia replied wistfully. “But I guess that I will never know. There will never be another Jon Radec, everybody I have ever met since, I compared to him and found them all lacking.”

Miranda had no response to that statement, instead choosing to look back at the starscape outside, wondering if she would become like Sofia, always alone, always comparing any other man against Jon. Looking at the stars Miranda wondered what it was about this view that drew Jon’s attention time and time again, sometimes for hours at an end. Noticing her own reflection being projected back at herself, Miranda wondered if Jon had ever actually been looking outside, or instead contemplating his own, internal, demons.

As the two women stared out, separated by only a few feet, but from backgrounds light-years apart, both women’s thoughts were fixed on the same man. One reflecting on a past that would now forever remain lost. The other reflecting on a future that now could never be.

*****

The stars shone brightly, a pure cleansing white light that briefly banished the dark and cold space surrounding the station. The search and rescue vessels that continued to search the surrounding space for any remaining survivors interrupted the light only briefly.

Further out, a brief flash of light briefly illuminated a darker patch of space. It was an intermittent flash of light, this not from the surrounding stars, but the failing emergency beacon on the escape pod as it tumbled and fell though the darkness of space.

End of Book One.

The Redemption Trilogy continues with Book Two “The Sunfire” available Spring 2013.

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Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue