The Last Praetorian

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 of the flight computer roused Jon from his contemplation of their fate. The ship’s self-diagnostic 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 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 looked over 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 just escaped one trap 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 and 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 called Transcendence. Hoping he was not taking them out of the frying pan 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, only having just received his wings. Eventually she gave up, 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 into 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 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 crash 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 on one of the outer-docking rings. After ensuring all the docking clamps were security attached, Jon powered down the ’Light before, with a concerned expression, glancing at Sofia. She had once again ‘spaced-out’

“Sofia,” Jon said softly, giving her arm a gentle shake. He realised he was getting far too comfortable using her name, but what was the alternative? He could not walk around the station continually referring to her as ‘Princess.’ Once he noticed her expression had focused on him again, he suggested, “Let’s find somewhere for you to rest while I oversee the repairs to the ’Light.” Noticing 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. Those they did come across paid the couple little attention, obviously used to seeing fleet officers with opulently dressed escorts hanging off their arms. Jon thought it probably best to not inform Sofia how most of the stations occupants were viewing her, lust showing from the male admirers, jealously from their female companions. Arriving at one of the guest quarters he had chosen at random from the station computer, he faced their first challenge, as the clerk looked up, 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 him. “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 there was no reservation, seeing as 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 impatient rapping on the desk.

Trying to time the exact moment, Jon finally interjected. “Blast it man! Find the damn booking on your own time, I have more important things to be getting on with.” Directing a lascivious look at Sofia, he knew from her inquiring look back she was going to demand an explanation at a later date.

“Yes sir, sorry sir,” the poor clerk mumbled, still 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 deer trapped in the headlights that was about to hit by an oncoming shuttle, then 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 in relief into the nearest chair. While it had been less than a day since their departure from the Imperial Star; Jon felt as though 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 plausible 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, separated from him only by a thin wall. With a groan of anguish he let his head fall back against the chair.

Sometime 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 as though 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, ‘Loveseat’. Letting her head rest lightly against his shoulder, she let out a gentle yawn, before seemingly to bury herself in his arm to get more comfortable.

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

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

”Hmm” Jon responded, distracted by her smell.

“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 inspired, he replied, “I wanted to distract him from who you were, so I implied you were my consort.”

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

This was the first that Jon had heard about the incident and suddenly just breaking the boys 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 he needed to move and get repairs started on the Eternal Light.

A few more minutes will not hurt, letting his eyes drift closed.

When Sofia opened her eyes some time 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. Desperately looking around, she tried to recognise something, anything, but the darkness was all-consuming.

“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. Then she heard the sound, halfway between a sigh and a breath of wind. At first she thought she had imagined it, 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 brush, against her cheek.

Sofia let out a squeal 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, except 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 continued to brush against her—her arm, cheek, and stomach.

“Jon, Jon, where are you? I need you.” Sofia cried out in terror.

A light appeared, dimly in the distance. Very weak at first, so she thought she was imagining it. She tried to move toward it, but she was immobilised. 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 though a match had suddenly been struck and dropped into a pool of gasoline, a bright blue spark appeared. 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 a 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 flame.

With a sudden gasp of breath, she opened her eyes.

She realised she was back in the small apartment where she had fallen asleep on the seat lying against Jon. 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 she did not recognise. Not the misty grey eyes of the person that filled her thoughts and dreams.

Opening her mouth to utter a scream, a rough, coarse hand clamped over her mouth. Suffocating her.

Jon was tired. The bone-weary tiredness that seeped into one’s bones. With barely enough energy to put one step in front of the other, Jon finally arrived at his destination. Trying to supress a yawn, he 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 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 hit him had sure done a number on him. Trying to reach up and rub his jaw Jon quickly discovered he could not move his hands. Trying to focus, the next thing he noticed was his hands were tied together by some sort of rigid metallic bar. Flexing his hands, he found he still had movement with his fingers but his two hands were tightly bound. Realising he was lying on the floor Jon next tried to get to his feet, but soon found 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 look the sheets were pristine and glancing around the room other items were subtly out of place. So a different room, Jon determined, the same style as their apartment so obviously 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. The man was short, stocky, with powerful muscles bulging underneath the tan tunic that he was wearing, he had shoulder-length, greasy brown hair and dull brown eyes. However, it was none of these things that drew Jon’s attention. Instead it was the blade resting in the other man’s 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 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 he seethed at the thought of anybody touching his blade. Nobody, absolutely nobody else held that weapon but him.

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

Deciding 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 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 such 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’s far shorter. Therefore Jon had long before 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 as 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 who would listen, he could get to her in time. Thinking desperately for something he could say to anger his captor, he finally threw the man’s own words back at him.

“So that’s why you are here? Instead of entertaining the princess with the rest?” Jon spat. “The rest of the men worried you were not enough of a man to entertain her? You 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 turned angry. Deciding he needed to push harder, Jon continued. “What are they worried about? That your dick is too small and would not satisfy a real princess?”

With a roar of rage the mercenary swung the blade back in the air in preparation to strike and spat out. “I’ll show you 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 Commanders unprotected head.

As if time had slowed, 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 he felt the blade touch him for the first time it was 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 that 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. Idly, 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 thing he could. He lifted his hands, which, still bound, had been resting on the floor in front of him, 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, with a shower of sparks, the blade cut cleanly through the thick metallic bar immobilising 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 the blade had cleanly cut through almost three inches of solid metallic restraint.

Jon meanwhile had no time to contemplate the truly miraculous event. Instead, he struck out at the nearest vulnerable spot on the mercenary, slamming his clenched fist into the man’s groin. The mercenary collapsed to the floor with barely a whimper, stunned senseless at the pain. Quickly, before he lost the initiative, although still bound at the feet, Jon wrapped himself around the fallen man like a python ensnaring its prey. Gripping him 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 completely certain he was dead.

Praying he would strike lucky, Jon quickly searched 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 mercenary’s grip. Examining the blade carefully, Jon could see no sign of the slightest bit of damage, nothing to indicate 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 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 against Sofia’s cheek, the blow stunning her and propelled 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. The part of her mind that could still process rational thought felt detached, as though it were separate from her body, watching events from a distance. Sofia had heard of this happening to others, where, under extreme stress, the mind detached itself from its surroundings to help protect the consciousness. However Sofia had never thought 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 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 no sword was going to appear and save her. Wishing for escape from reality into blissful unconsciousness, Sofia managed to open her one good eye, the other being swollen shut, and 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 or summoned by her final thought, she saw Jon slip into the room past the man blocking the door. 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 he just folded to the floor. Sofia could see a pool of blood start to spread over the floor, from a red line bisecting his throat.

The room erupted into complete pandemonium—her captors suddenly shouting in alarm, reaching for weapons, knives, anything within reach they could use to defend themselves, but all to no avail.

Jon flew through them like an apparition, a wraith, slashing and thrusting. One mercenary, quicker than the rest, managed to draw his pistol and fire but Jon had long since twisted away and, like the others, that 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, only fear and adrenaline fuelling him, Jon dispassionately stared at the scene before him. He had no sympathy for those lying dead at his feet. They would not have spared any sympathy for him, or Sofia.

Sofia!

His thoughts, so focused on the battle, he had not spared an instant to consider her or her condition. Reluctantly he let his gaze fall upon her, where she lay spread over the bed on her back. His sight took in her torn dress, exposed breasts, but he did not let his gaze linger, instead focusing his entire being on her face, her eyes. Keeping his sword firmly in the grasp of his hand, he swiftly crossed the room to the side of her bed, continuing 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 touched her pale cheek with his fingertips he said 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 her response, guessing 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 tried to turn her head to look at the bodies, dead on the floor, but Jon would not permit 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, seemingly afraid that if she let him go he would disappear, Sofia broke down in tears. In between 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 he had been dreading, but desperate to know the answer to.

“Sofia, did they, did…” Jon was trying to utter the word rape, but he just could 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, not knowing who else knew 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 on her face, with one eye swollen shut. The two made a visible impression, stumbling their way back to the shuttle.

Jon had never been so overjoyed as he was upon reaching the ’Light. Helping Sofia up the entry ramp, Jon ensured the entrance was firmly sealed once they were back on board. Lowering Sofia into the co-pilot 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, Jon noticed the communication system light up. In his exhaustion and haste he had completely forgotten to request clearance from docking control to depart. He didn’t really care, since even if they had denied him permission to depart he would have left anyway. Once they were a safe distance from the station Jon engaged the FTL engines, not really caring what destination was programmed in. Anywhere else was better than here. 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 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 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 off his own filthy uniform, 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 terrifying encounter. Changing into a clean flight-suit, and using some cloth to wipe 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, the scratches and bruises that dotted her face and neck. Sofia had seemly aged ten years in the span of a few days. Her luscious 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, and 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 feigning indignation.

“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 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.