The Last Praetorian

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.

Late at night station time, almost eight weeks after the attack on the Syndicate facility, Jon was working in his office, reviewing the last status reports. It was therefore, with only little surprise, 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, no longer holding back the deep emptiness of space.

Jon’s breath froze, waiting for the chill of vacuum to consume him, his eyes frozen wide in expectation. But it did not happen. Moving slowly, Jon hit the communication key in his desk to but 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 stations 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 were going to add something else, but was 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 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 en-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 just 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, only for 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 with 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 wrapped firmly in his hand, the office door slid shut and sealed itself behind him.

“Status report,” Jon demanded stepping into C&C, seeing it a hive of activity, fully staffed even through 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 three-hundred 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 in.

“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 he had signed off on a few weeks before. “I want the teams sweeping the station, from medical and engineering towards docking bay fifteen. We are almost certain one of those will be their target, if not both. Ensure that, as each section is cleared, it is secured to ensure no force can out-flank the sweeper teams,” Jon ordered.

“I’ll let the sweeper teams know sir.”

“Tell them I’ll meet them en-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 having anyone wasting precious resources and time, better spent searching the station, babysitting me,” Jon said angrily. “Let them know 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 for it, knowing he would never order them into a situation 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 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 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 whether there was a round chambered and the weapon’s safety was firmly on. “You are not taking a second gun?” Miranda asked in surprise, noticing 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 Miranda only now noticed strapped at his waist.

“You’re taking an overgrown knife to a gun-fight?” she asked incredulously.

“It’s called a sword. In this case a Valerian sword,” Jon exclaimed, rolling his eyes. “Look it up in the ship’s 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 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 ship-board 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 over skulking around the darkened station in the early morning when she could instead be in her quarters fast asleep, she was so engrossed in the injustice of the entire event, she stepped out into the next corridor without checking first.

It was only Jon’s quick action, 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, before 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 three, corridor thirty-two,” 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.

“We?” she replied in a doubtful voice. “But there is 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 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, 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 and, 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. The two were already standing very close so as to be heard so, impulsively, he learned forward slightly 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 dead 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 who 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 meeting any resistance passing 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 soldier’s 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’s hand and rise up into 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 ribs 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 the heavy body of the syndicate soldier off of him. Staring in horror at the hilt of the knife sticking out from his back, with a quickly spreading red patch radiating out, 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 in his own blood.

“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 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, 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 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 re-orientate the lasers on the asteroids, at will.

Hence, as the Santa Maria tried to desperately escape the station, the nearest asteroid began to slowly re-orientate 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 failing completely and 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.

Paul stood up to leave, needing 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 some time. Certainly he will not be running the station in the short-term.”

“I assume you will take over 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 you would take over 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?”

“Well 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 Praetorian’s was like having a royal flush in poker, it’s sort of an unbeatable hand. Nobody outranked the Commander of the Praetorians, 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.”

“Okay 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 hand over?” Paul replied, surprised 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 degrees 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, missing 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 who 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, the paperwork was enough to kill him!

Paul noticed Miranda’s yawn and, taking pity on her since 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 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 firmly, stopping at the threshold of the door, determined to defend his friend from such accusations.

“I never said 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 composed. 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. I think part of the reason he puts himself in these dangerous situations is to avoid 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, his purpose for being.”

Paul tried desperately to convey the intensity of Jon’s feelings. Remembering him when they first met, being taken aback by the intensity and fervour in the younger man, a man who honestly believed in the Empire, its ideals, and totally devoted to its leader – Marcus Aurelius. It was a passion that bordered on fanaticism, but how to convey that to this young woman for whom the Emperor was something she read about in novels and 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, in whispers, from the crew?”

“Not even I know the full story,” Paul confessed. “I know 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 else, had watched the news, reading about their mad-dash 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 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 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 man’s face stopping him. No physical hurt he could inflict on Jon would come anywhere close to the anguish 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 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 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 I 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 I, 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 he had never answered the original question. While Paul was emphatic Jon was not a risk to anybody else on the station, he purposefully did not mention the fact Jon was not a danger to himself…