The Last Praetorian

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

The sporadic flash 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, which bristled with gun batteries or flight decks. The flotilla of ships was a huge force to be reckoned with, one 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. Almost six feet in height, with dark hair and grey eyes, dressed in the white uniform of the Imperial Navy. With the crossed-swords insignia of his squadron on his lapel, the 58th, the Emperor’s elite Praetorian Guard. At twenty-five he was the youngest Commander in the fleet. Resting at his hip was his ceremonial sword, one of which was worn by all Praetorians to reflect their sworn duty to defend the Emperor.

With the combined roles of personal bodyguards for the Emperor and his immediate family, as well as being his aides-de-camp within the Imperial Navy, the Praetorians represented 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 everywhere, their insignia represented the full power and authority of the Empire.

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

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

Not the slightest bit intimidated, Jon paused for a second or so to draw the guard’s full attention. 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 said in a chilling tone, a fanatical fire burning in his eyes. To emphasis 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-captious nature. Rumours around the fleet suggested he had summarily executed the last officer who had refused a direct order, along with two others who had subsequently intervened. The Commander was a man that nobody crossed twice—few lived past the first encounter!

Jon stared first at one guard and then the other for a few heartbeats longer before striding forward. The doors silently slid open to permit his entry.

Once past the guards, the doors having slid shut behind him, 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 one he felt now after the encounter that had just taken place. Unfamiliar faces, unexpected confrontations and a general sense of distrust and resentment that suffused the ship. Over time Jon had come to recognise fewer and fewer friendly faces, and trying to maintain a constant level of alertness was beginning to take its toll. Jon often found himself considering taking his concerns to Commodore Harkov, who was in charge of the task force the Imperial Star was currently attached to and had final say in all fleet-wide decisions.

Jon had quickly discounted this for several reasons. After all, what was he going to say to express his concerns—that he felt uneasy about the atmosphere on the ship? He would be laughed off the Commodore’s bridge. It didn’t 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 the taskforce from complete annihilation but also resulted in Harkov’s demotion and caused bad blood between them. Hence, 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 though 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 anti-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 ran one full-length width of the room. The Emperor liked to use this room for meetings, as the star-scape reminded his guests of the size and power of the Empire…and the Emperor. Having little interest in staring out of windows, Jon looked 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 making sure 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 question 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 he had faced daily since being given command of the Praetorian Guard, Jon was struck by how much older the other 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.

The Emperor, Marcus Aurelius inquired, “I understand there was a confrontation yesterday evening, involving my daughter and one of the senators’ sons. Explain to me what took place.” 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 officers and their respective partners had congregated for a meal and drink before dispersing to their various 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 a rich, spoiled, conceited, arrogant and far too used to getting her own way. 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, occasional clinking of wine glasses and clatter of cutlery, Jon struggled to push through the thick crowd to locate the princess. Finally making it through into the dining area, Jon spotted her. Sofia was surrounded by her usual group of followers, mostly the younger and easily impressed daughters of some of the senior officers and politicians. There was also a straggle of male admirers following the group at a distance, and Jon noticed with deep irritation a couple had swords belted at their waist. This was the result of one of the princess’s 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 were 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. The quick glances in his direction and snickers from the young woman did little to improve Jon’s already foul mood.

Biting back a scowl, he looked around for somewhere to sit out the evening. However, as usual, the officers’ lounge was packed and there were no free tables in sight. This was quickly remedied by a vicious glare at one of the younger officers and his partner, who quickly decided 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 upon looking up to be staring into the emerald-green eyes of Sofia Aurelius. The princess was wearing an ivory colour evening dress that matched her pale, white skin, which was offset by her bright red hair, obviously inherited from her mother’s side of the family. Taking a moment to let his gaze linger on her, he noted the dress showed off enough leg to be completely unseemly and the only thing hiding the tiny straps was a gauzy white shawl she had wrapped around her shoulders. No matter how exasperating Jon found Sofia, he would have to confess, but only under torture, 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’s question seemed to pop out of thin air.

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

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

Then why the hell am I being invited? However, one did not turn down dinner invitations from the ruler of almost thirty 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 a threat lingering in the air.

“Just fantastic,” Jon said aloud, sighing. What does one wear 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. He had absolutely no interest in finding out what happened to an officer that turned up late for a private dinner with the Emperor.

He had absolutely no idea what to expect when the door slid open, and 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 he kept his eyes focused on her face and didn’t glance down to confirm this observation. The eyes of a lowly Commander in the Imperial Navy did not unabashedly rove over an Imperial Princess.

Instead he bowed his head slightly in greeting and, knowing full well that he was exactly on time, inquired, “I hope I am not late princess?”

“Not at all, Jon. Although my father apologises and says 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 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 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 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 Jon had imagined. The conversation flowed easily around the table. Jon was amazed at how quickly conversation between father and daughter could easily move between topics, one minute discussing progress on the negotiations earlier in the day, the next progress of the princess’s studies. Jon was relieved to be, in the most part, excluded from the conversation, although the two did occasionally ask 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 with a certain amount of trepidation.

For a small, family dinner Jon was certain they ate better than ninety-nine percent 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 last 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, planning to head 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 apologies, then he noticed the princess’s despondent expression. Having intimate knowledge of her father’s agenda, he knew these meals with her father must be few and far between. Looking at the miserable young woman, something stirring inside him he hadn’t felt in a long time. Glancing around at the opulent, and empty, surroundings he couldn’t help feel some sympathy for her.

Therefore, he retook the seat that only moments before he was more than happy to vacate, and gazed thoughtfully at the young princess, who was staring dejectedly 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…”

Jon sighed sadly. He knew 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 the emperor had loved his late wife, her loss leaving a huge void in his life.

“I know,” Jon replied. “I know how much 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 to take the easy paths in life, so he turned his back to the door and 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 she wore, he suppressed a triumphant smile at his earlier observation having indeed been correct. Stopping a few feet from the princess he ran his gaze up from the sandals to her ankles, her thighs, then observed her narrow waist elegantly wrapped in an evening dress of sapphire blue. His eyes next lingered on the pale skin below her neck, peeking out from beneath her fiery red mane. Raising his eyes farther he stared into her eyes, which were reflected in the pane of the window.

Noticing his hands had risen unconsciously to embrace her, he carefully lowered them to his sides. Nobody touched a member of the Imperial family, not even the Praetorian Commander. Must be hell on a date, 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, which he kept well hidden inside, to escape through his expression. “So I do understand how you feel, I miss her. Every day.”

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. “May I see?” he inquired politely, motioning towards the object.

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 it, 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, a hint of embarrassment in her tone. “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 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 him that since Sofia was the Emperor’s only child, if he 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 who encouraged me to join the Navy.” Jon decided he did not want to consider the future, not when the present looked so dazzling.

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

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

“Really?” Sofia’s smile broadened.

“Really!” Jon insisted. “Although she was only six at the time, she thought I was a prince and told me 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, her eyes warm and understanding.

“I don’t know.” Jon teased her, liking the feel of her hand in his and assuming 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. With a grin, she finally settled on, “I’ll buy you a coffee.”

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

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

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

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

Now, realising 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 giggles coming from behind her 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.”

“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 that of your guests. I would suggest you go find some other poor creature to intimidate.” With that Jon turned his back on the princess and her entourage. Then 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. But, aware of his surroundings, instead Jon’s gaze followed the hand back to its owner—one of the princess’s 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 and fulfil her request.”

Unfortunately, in that very instant, a couple in the next table knocked over a glass. As often happens in these situations all conversation stopped, and hence the young man’s words rang clearly across the room. All became deathly still and the young man paled slightly when he realised that all eyes were 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 the young man was one who 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 hope her royal pain-in-the-ass learned from it.

Turning his smouldering gaze from the young man back toward the princess, Jon gave a nasty sneer and stated, “It would seem you will, indeed, have an opportunity to see a Valerian sword.” With a firm movement of his shoulder, Jon shook the hand resting there loose 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 on Jon’s hip.

“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?”

The young man glanced around desperately for someone to assist him, but finding nobody would meet his gaze, he finally turned beseechingly to the princess. She took a step forward to intervene but froze 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, who was 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. Seeing the point of the sword rest on the floor in front of him, Jon took a few steps forward until his feet were almost touched it.

“Higher,” Jon insisted, motioning to the sword in front of him, his hands still at his side, his own 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 growled, until the sword now hovered 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, and 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 end 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 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. With a resounding crack, Jon slammed his forehead into the young man’s nose, the sharp sound reverberated around the room. The youngster dropped his sword and fell to his knees, hands grasping his broken nose. Kicking the useless weapon aside Jon stepped alongside the youth and drew his own weapon. The Valerian-steel 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 any cause to question this.

As the edge was deadly sharp, Jon held the blade a few inches above the young man’s neck and, cast his gaze around the room. No one had uttered a word and every eye in the room was fixed on the blade; the sword of Damocles ready to fall. Finally Jon’s gaze fell upon Princess Aurelius, gazing unflinching at the scene in front of her. He was suddenly consumed by an all-encompassing fury that this foolish young man had to die because of the princess’s 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 toward her throat. For a brief moment Jon allowed himself to be completely immersed by her gaze. 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, but 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 neatly cut the shawl 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 young man’s bowed face.

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 gratitude for defending their honour. I think, in this case, you justify the reward.”

Surprised, the young man raised his head to look 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.

Sheathing his sword the Commander offered his hand to the younger man. “You showed an uncommon amount of courage, boy, something that seems to be lacking in the fleet these days.” Jon looked around the room, but nobody would meet his eyes. “Those qualities would make you a fine officer, one day.”

With that as way of an explanation, Jon helped pull the younger man to his feet and started 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 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 officers’ lounge slid shut, Jon glanced back at Princess Aurelius, standing alone in the space left by their exit, a faint smile on her face.

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

“Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” Jon cursed aloud. “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-flagellation, as somebody requested 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 in a louder voice. As the door slid open a figure quickly glided into the room and the door slid smoothly shut behind. The visitor was shorter than Jon and wearing a white cloak that masked their 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 in mute shock at the sight of the Imperial Princess sneaking into his personal quarters at three o’clock in the morning.

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’ve 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 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 put it on, buttoning 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, he instead fell back on 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 at first frowned at his formal response and then, with an impish smile, replied, “I think I preferred you without the shirt. Anyway, as to why I am here. I wanted to understand your decision earlier this evening.”

Thinking back to the events in the officer lounge Jon tried to figure out which particular event she was referring to. Remembering his anger directed toward her, that it was through her actions that young man had to suffer, and his slashing the sword toward her, “Princess Aurelius, I would never have harmed…if my actions frightened you…” Jon stuttered.

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 the garment on.

“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 no one 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 this topic of conversation was getting too personal, Jon instead asked, “You want 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—“ With a grin, Jon continued, “I am not so old I can’t 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 gently on the cheek.

“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 removed his arm, which seemed to have moved around her waist of its own volition when she kissed him.

As she stepped through the door, Sofia looked back and, with a smirk, commented, “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,” Jon said. “He assured me 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 decision 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, unblinking, 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 spies within the Imperial Fleet.

Breaking the silence, the Emperor suddenly announced, “Shortly after the incident I had a visit from the foolish boy’s mother. You might know her…Senator Rione of the Callas Republic?” 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 explained. “I forgot to inquire which she wanted first,” he added drolly. Jon was about to reply, 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 say.”

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. He must be, 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.” He said with a glint in his eyes.

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 I want delivered to Eden Prime. This cargo is priceless and I want it delivered unharmed.” Jon raised an eyebrow at these unusual orders, since 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. While he had flown the Eternal Light on numerous occasions it was the twin ship of the Endless Light, the emperor’s personal shuttle. As far as he was aware only the Emperor and his family ever travelled on those ships, which raised the interesting question of who, or what, the cargo was. Jon had a terrible premonition…

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

“Is my 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 completely engulfing him. “And she has a great personality,” Jon was quick to add. “And I find her company to be very…” he faltered.

“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 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. Now my little girl is growing up and 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 materialised. 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 that thought aloud.

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

Jon was taken aback for an instant at the abrupt departure, but promptly 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 distinctly annoyed when, upon exiting the Emperor’s apartments, he came face-to-face with the last person that he wanted to meet—Commodore Harkov.

Harkov was a thin man whom, upon first seeing him, Jon thought look sleep-deprived and erratic. He 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 and the Commodore had struck him. Jon considered Harkov overbearing, inflexible more interested in personal gain than the ideals under which the Empire had been incorporated, embodying everything wrong with the Imperial Fleet.

“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.

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

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, 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 the 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 toward the flight deck.

“Screw 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 once more to face the Commodore, Jon put his hand on the hilt of his sword and, in a biting tone of voice, replied, “On second thoughts Commodore I can probably spare a few minutes now.”

Harkov 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 out of sight. On the way back 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 belong 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.

“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 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 into the small mountain of cargo, as if by sheer force of will he could make it disappear.

“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’ 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, afore-mentioned 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, just a strand falling against her neck, which Jon had to suppress the urge to brush back, and a long, red, flowing 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, “Chief, why is my luggage not loaded? I’ve been informed—” she huffed at the word “—we will be departing immediately.”

The Chief looked beseechingly toward Jon and, taking pity on the deck chief, who 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 ringed 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 and she 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 men a stunning smile before following the boarding ramp up into the shuttle.

It was only with her back turned Jon realised what he originally thought was a very demure gown, possessed no back. Bare skin showed from her neck, though miles of expansive back and 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. Like most he had dismissed them as fantasy but, well, you could power a reactor with the sort of sparks those two were emitting. He cleared his throat—which suddenly felt very dry.

“Not a word, chief” 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 lay in a course for the nearest FTL jump point for Eden Prime. With the course laid in, a communication window superimposed on the cockpit 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 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, she was not Sofia’s favourite either. He had long been varying the Praetorian’s schedule to ensure 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’s cheeks, 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 realised Elsie’s bad attitude to Sofia coincided with the increasing amount of time that he had been forced into spending with the princess. Eyes narrowing in sudden suspicion, Jon came to the conclusion Elsie was jealous of Sofia. What with the increasing rumours spreading through the fleet about the princess and himself, Jon realised 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 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 the fleet had been orbiting.

Jon was roused from his thoughts by a chime 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 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 a communication to the flagship the Imperial Star but 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 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 communication loss. However, Jon’s demand for an explanation died in his throat when the grim face of Commodore Harkov appeared.

“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 ashen and she wavered on her feet for an instant. Grabbing her arm in a firm grip he helped lower her towards the empty co-pilot 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 instructions, 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 the Emperor 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 though somebody had clamped a fist around it. Staring into the face of the Commodore, who was unsuccessfully trying to supress a smirk, the face of somebody extremely self-satisfied. Jon knew with absolute certainty the Commodore was behind this plot. Jon had always known the man was a liar and cheat who hungered for power, but to move against the Emperor himself! Treason! Jon gripped the hilt of his sword until his hand turned white. He should have cut off this serpent’s head when he had the opportunity. Glancing at Sofia’s dazed face, he knew he was too late, and she now had to live with the consequences of his mistake.

Knowing that he would never give Sofia up 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 now 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 hand Princess Aurelius over into my personal protection.”

Jon almost had to laugh at the order. Hand Sofia over 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 teary-eyed 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, 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 desperately launched herself 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 and he just held her in his arms until her tremors began to subside.

The tender moment was abruptly interrupted by a chime 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 toward 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 telling. 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 nodding 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.” She saluted and 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 he understood the salute had not been directed at him, but the Princess—no, Empress Aurelius. Realising 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 okay?”

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.”

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

“Not unless you wish me to.” Jon replied truthfully, but inside a little piece of his heart died. Upon her arrival Sofia would be crowned Empress and 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, he shifted his sight to the flight controls and, after ensuring Sofia was seated comfortably in the co-pilot seat, confirmed the correct course was laid in and prepared to resume their journey.

But as his fingers hovered over the controls something stopped him. Ever since the communication from the Commodore, something had been nagging at the back of his subconscious. Initially he just thought it the shock of the Emperor’s death, or 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 Jon 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 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 confused. 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 that success 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?

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 force himself 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 flicker of light, a star illuminated directly ahead before vanishing 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 into asteroids in places, due to gravitational instability, but 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 units, barely a hair’s width. Jon knew with absolute certainty that would be where the ambush was waiting.

The Praetorians were trapped. With a fighter-ambush ahead and a hostile fleet behind, they had run out of options.