The Last Praetorian

Present Day

Terra Nova, Zeta Aquilae System

It was a very uncomfortable, sickly looking Paul Harrington who arrived late for the Senior Staff meeting, early the following morning. Paul had stayed up late, long after his conversation with Sofia had ended, his guilty conscience waging war with the obligation he felt towards Jon. His stomach was not much helped by the bombshell Sofia had dropped during the call, that she would be paying the station a personal visit. Paul knew it was his duty to inform Jon and the senior staff of the visit, but how the hell do you drop a visit from the Confederation President into a conversation? Not to mention it immediately begs the next question, how do you know of an impending visit by the Confederation President?

No. Paul felt distinctly sick, and his mood was not helped by the fact that when eventually he fell into a restless sleep, his dreams were full of escaping down deserted station corridors, fleeing flaming swords and women with auburn hair and green eyes. Having overslept, Paul was disgruntled to find Jon had called a further senior staff meeting at short notice, for first thing in the morning, and he was already running late! Paul could not decide which thought was most appealing at the moment—Harkov and his fleet arriving and blowing them all to hell, or Sofia arriving and she and Jon killing each other. Either option would put Paul out of his misery. The final icing on the cake, having rushed to the briefing room, as if the flames of hell were lapping at his heels, Paul arrived to find Jon was not there. Neither was there any coffee.

Today is not starting off to be a good day, Paul grouched silently to himself. Quietly he asked around the room to see if anybody had any clue of why Jon had called the meeting. Perhaps it was to charge their Operations Chief with treason and order his public execution? After all, Marcus had been known to indulge in such public spectacles, and Jon was by far his most adept pupil. Still morosely lost in thought, he looked up as the doors slid open and he observed Jon practically skip into the room.

Well at least somebody had a good night, Paul thought sourly. Suddenly realising what that could possibly imply, and bearing in mind the imminent arrival of a particular princess, Paul frantically looked around the room. He was only partly relieved to see Miranda present, fully clothed, seated and staring at Jon with a worried expression.

Well at least that is one less thing to worry about.

Once Jon was sure he had everybody’s attention, he activated the holoprojector, which rendered a three-dimensional tactical map of Terra Nova and the surrounding space. The ghostly image hovered only inches above the briefing room table for all to see. “Following the meeting yesterday, I had a number of visitors last night, all of whom made their personal views on the imminent attack blatantly clear,” Jon raked the faces of his senior officers with his penetrating gaze, one-by-one. Many of them had the decency to cast their gaze away to avoid his piercing stare. “However, I have always made it clear I value my senior officer’s opinions and insights, and that has not changed. I confess my original plan had been to order the evacuation of the station. I would have remained behind to ensure that Terra Nova did not fall into Syndicate or Harkov’s hands.”

Paul could only guess the half of it. Somehow he doubted that the original plan had entailed Jon simply overloading the fusion reactor and making a clean escape. Well, not unless Harkov was tied to the reactor at the time.

“Numerous members of the senior staff made it plainly clear they had no intention of following such orders. Therefore as it is not practical to charge my entire complement of senior staff, with the exception of Paul—”

All eyes in the room turned to Paul, who just shrugged nonchalantly. “I was putting the kids to sleep, I would have got around to doing it.”

“…with failing to follow a direct order and treason. It looks as though we will have to go with the alternative plan, demonstrating to the Commodore why the people sitting around this table are the elite of the old Imperial Navy. Harkov has ruined enough lives, caused the deaths of too many innocents; I say we draw the line here. No more. If it’s a fight Harkov wants, then it’s a fight he will have, and if we fail? Then perhaps it will send a message to the Confederation, that there are still some people left who will stand and fight for what is right, that the strong cannot always intimidate the weak. That threats, intimidation and violence do not hold sway over all.” Jon cast his eyes across the occupants of the room, proud he had known them, proud he had the opportunity to serve with them.

“I will not make this an order,” Jon insisted firmly. “Some of you have families, loved ones, both here on the station and across the system. Nobody would think less of you if you wanted to leave. I will be extending that offer to all occupants of the station both crew and families. This is not your fight, but if you want to stay, then I will be honoured to fight at your side.” Glancing once more at the occupants of the room, none of whom had said a word, none of which had moved an inch. “Very well then,” Jon said, turning towards the holographic tactical display floating above the briefing table. “Here’s the plan…”

For the next few hours Jon walked through the plan in exacting detail. By the end of the first hour, Paul’s jaw was sore from his mouth being agape in astonishment. Having known Jon for so long, it was easy to take his casual style of command for granted. However, he was reminded during the briefing why Jon had made Commander in the Imperial Fleet, the youngest Commander in the history of the Imperial Navy. Jon had one of the best tactical minds of his generation. Effortlessly balancing response times, ship speeds, capabilities and weapon ranges, Jon had overnight produced a plan worthy of any fleet admiral, equal parts genius and reckless folly. In summary it was a plan uniquely of Jon’s devising and possibly, just maybe, it could work.

At the end of the briefing, Paul raised the only concern that he could foresee. “What about the Imperial Star?” he said, referring to the old flagship of the Imperial Navy. “I see no mention of it during this plan, that ship alone has the armaments and fire-power to tear our ships and station apart.”

“Leave the Imperial Star to me,” Jon insisted.

“And you’re going to deal with it alone, how?” Paul inquired.

“That’s on a need to know basis, and you don’t need to know.”

Which was Jon’s way of saying he was not going to tell him, as he would not like the answer. In turn this meant that the plan was dangerous, highly risky and most likely going to fail. Then again the entire plan was the same—too many assumptions, too many estimates, educated guesses about manoeuvres, positioning. Then again, as Jon would remind him, no plan survives first contact with the enemy. They had both had that quote drilled into them at the fleet academy, and how many subsequent engagements had they been in together where the plan had gone out the window even before the first shots were fired? Paul sighed despondently, there was nothing either Jon or he could do about that.

With no further questions, a lot of preparations to make, and an uncertain timeframe, as they had no idea if the fleet would arrive in the next few hours, days or weeks, the meeting quickly broke up, with the senior officers preparing to brief their departments.

“You’ve been very quiet,” Jon mentioned after the rest of the officers had left the room, leaving just the two of them.

“I still think we should inform the Confederation Navy, this is their problem. If you had only forwarded the intelligence on that data-chip that you obtained on Transcendence...”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Jon had the decency to look aside, ashamed. “Sofia, she would have…” his voice trailed off. “I couldn’t put her in that danger,” he tried to justify.

“But you think that it is fine to put my family at risk, my wife, my children?” Paul demanded angrily, banging his fist on the table in frustration.

“They still have time to leave.” Jon pointed out reasonably. “But what would happen if we all just pack up and leave? You think Harkov would stop looking? No, he would just find us another time, another place, possibly next time without any forewarning.” Leaning forward, Jon intensely insisted, “I care about them too, after all. I have helped you read them stories before bed, put them to sleep, I’ll do everything in my power to keep them safe, even if it costs me my life,” Jon stated earnestly.

Paul nodded his head in understanding. Deep down he knew Jon would never purposefully put them at risk, not even for his own desire for revenge. His anger was just born out of frustration and his own gnawing guilt about his own recent actions.

“But I cannot do this alone,” Jon continued seriously. “I’ve always been able to count on you and your support, this is no exception, and so what do you say, one final time unto the breach?”

“You know your plan is completely insane don’t you?”

“Of course it is; all my plans are completely crazy. What you mean is that maybe it’s crazy enough that we might just be able to pull it off?”

“Remember when Carol asks, it’s all your idea.”

“Yeah, like she will ever believe that,” Jon teased, slapping his oldest friend on the back.

The next few days saw frantic activity throughout the station as key systems were tested and re-tested and the refit of the final freighter into a warship was hurriedly completed. Jon spent a lot of time personally checking the systems on the Eternal Light, ensuring all of the weapons were fully loaded and ready.

As he promised to his senior officers, however, Jon took the time out to brief the crew, explaining in great detail the threat to the station and the inherent risks they faced in staying. He repeated his earlier promise, that nobody would be forced to stay, anybody who wished to leave could do so, with no stain on their honour. Gunny made a short speech thereafter, assuring all the inhabitants of the station that while the crew was fending off the fleet, David, himself, security and the marines on the station would be guaranteeing their personal safety.

The quiet confidence of the two senior officers made a big impression on the civilians of the station and after some brief discussion, the decision was unanimous, they were all staying. Even the children present, while they did not understand the seriousness of the situation, agreed they were all better staying on the station with their parents. If the imposing marine sergeant promised them they would be safe, who were they to doubt him? After all, they had all heard what Gunny had done to the monster that was hiding in Lieutenant Castle’s daughters wardrobe. Any bad people trying to get onto their station were going to be in big trouble!

It was with quiet, determined, military efficiency that all the systems were checked, refits completed in record time and weapons prepared. That just left the waiting. As nerves became strained, tempers frayed and tension rose, it was with some relief the gravimetric sensors, seeded around the station many years before, chimed their alert, reporting a large body of incoming ships dropping out of FTL.

Paul in C&C was waiting to find out who the ships exiting FTL belonged to, unsure what was the worst evil—Harkov and the 4th fleet arriving to wreck their destruction, or the Confederation reinforcements that Sofia had promised, along with the explanation of their presence. However, that question was quickly answered as the mighty Star Carrier, the Imperial Star, flagship of the old Imperial fleet, exited FTL with its escorts in tow. There seemed little point alerting the station to the fleet’s arrival as everybody was already on knife-edge and had been for the last seventy-two hours, when Jon announced to the station the fleet was en-route.

“Incoming communication from the Imperial Star, sir,” the communications officer reported needlessly, as Jon had been expecting the call for days. Bracing himself, in preparation of facing his past, Jon nodded his head in acknowledgement. Taking a deep breath, Jon faced the view screen.

Act One

As the view screen came to life, Jon leaned forward in his chair and, before Harkov could say a word, pre-empted. “Your late Commodore, we expected you several days ago. Did you get lost on the way?” he smirked. The key to Jon’s entire plan was that they needed to keep the initiative, to stay one step ahead of the Imperial Fleet, for if they did not, then they would be crushed by the superior number of ships and sheer firepower.

Time had not been kind to Commodore Harkov. When Jon had seen him last, many years ago, poor exercise and an even worse diet had left him pale and sickly looking. If anything the man looked even worse, having obviously put on several pounds, his hair, once streaked with grey, was now thin and blanched almost white, and his thin beady eyes looked out over his hooked nose. He stared at Jon with poorly concealed surprise, mixed in with disgust and distaste. However, Jon noticed something else lurking in his eyes, was that a trace of fear? Their last encounter several years before had not ended well for the Commodore. Then Jon only had a squadron of fighters at his command, with the element of surprise firmly on the Commodore’s side. Jon expected the Commodore would have much preferred the element of surprise once again.

“Still splashing around like the small fish you are, Radec,” Harkov sneered at him. “You were always a small fish, swimming in a sea of sharks, but this time it looks like you are swimming alone. I don’t see any of your precious Praetorians for you to hide behind this time. No running away this time, with your tail between your legs and leaving them to die in your place.”

Jon gripped the armrests of his chair, until they were white with the strain, forcing himself not to let the Commodore bait him, as he knew that was exactly what he was trying to do. “What do you want Harkov?” Jon spat out.

“Want?” Harkov asked in surprise. “I want lots of things, but I guess we can start with you. I could guarantee your safety but, let’s be honest, we both know I would by lying. You’ve been a thorn in my side for too long. I promised myself your head on a platter and I have been waiting a long time. It would almost be worthwhile keeping you alive long enough for you to see what I am going to do to Marcus’s daughter. A shame, I had such great plans for her, but alas they are all worthless now. I’ll just have to suffice with using her in another, enjoyable way, but then I hear it’s nothing that you have not already done? I must confess that I am surprised at you Commander. Really what would Marcus think?”

“I think Marcus would wonder why I have not already taken your head off and stuck it on a pike for the rest of the Imperium to see what happens to those officers who commit treason,” Jon retorted angrily. “Then again, maybe I will just give your bloated corpse to Sofia, so she can have you stuffed and hung on the wall. It’s not the usual sort of present that she likes, but in your case I think she will be happy to make an exception.”

“Enough of this crap!” Harkov exclaimed angrily. “Will you surrender yourself to my forces?”

“You know, if for a moment I thought you would actually take me and leave, I would consider it, but you will destroy this station and everybody on it the moment I surrender to you, so I think I’ll decline the generous offer, Commodore.”

Harkov just shrugged, obviously not expecting that Jon would simply roll over and die. Without much surprise, Jon observed on the tactical display that the Imperial Star had commenced launching its full complement of fighters. Obviously the Commodore planned to use these as the fleet’s hammer, and then the rest of the fleet would mop up any remaining defenders. It was the first page of tactical doctrine drilled into the lowest officer; as a result it was totally predictable. Jon meanwhile had long since torn all the pages out of the book of tactical doctrine and was busy writing an entirely new book.

“We have civilians on this station Commodore; women and children who have nothing to do with this,” Jon quickly interjected, while Harkov was still willing to talk.

“Their loss,” Harkov shrugged. “The station is a military objective, therefore anyone remaining on it is a valid target.”

“Understood, but what if they left in shuttles under a flag of truce?” Jon proposed, desperate to get the women and children out of the way before the fire fight that was soon going to get underway.

The Commodore seemed to think about it for a moment, before he nodded in agreement. “Very well, I give my word as an officer of the Imperial Fleet that the shuttles will be able to leave unharmed, as long as you give me your word that they are unarmed.”

“You have my word Commodore,” Jon promised.

“Very well,” Harkov replied ending the communication.

“Launch the shuttles, and give Eagles one, two and three the green light to engage the Imperial forces as soon as the shuttles are clear,” Jon ordered Paul. “I’ll be in the Eternal Light, call me if you need me.”

“You better be sure about this,” Paul replied. “Remember it’s my family you’re putting at risk.”

“Don’t worry, I know exactly what I am doing.”

“That’s what worries me,” Paul complained, carrying out the orders regardless.

Meanwhile on the bridge of the Imperial Star, Harkov took his seat in the middle of the command deck, observing the eager young officer at his side. Over the years he had come to the conclusion he much preferred to remain seated—in charge—and be giving orders, letting the others scurry around following his command.

“Any thoughts, Captain?” he addressed the young officer who was standing ramrod straight, next to his seat.

“No Admiral,” the young Captain replied, expression unwavering.

“Excellent, then carry on.” Harkov glanced around the bridge with quiet confidence. Over the years he had replaced many of the older officers with younger, more compliant, members of crew. He looked fondly at his new captain, a big improvement over Captain Pendleton, who he had dismissed for his gross incompetence over the escape of Commander Radec and Princess Aurelius years previously. The Admiral could not tolerate such failure on his flagship. Following the change in command, Harkov had promoted himself back to fleet Admiral, to recognise his superior experience and tactical knowledge. A well-deserved reward in recognition of my achievements, Harkov thought to himself.

“Once the shuttles are at a safe distance from the station, order the fighters to close and destroy them,” Harkov ordered coldly.

“Sir?” Captain Maxwell asked surprised.

“I gave an order Captain; I expect it to be followed unquestioningly. There are to be no survivors from this engagement,” he went on more quietly. “Anyway, I want Radec to feel some pain and anguish before he dies. Hopefully watching the death of the people he cares about will compensate for the fact I won’t be able to have his head delivered to me.”

“Sir,” Maxwell replied, turning and barking orders to the flight controllers.

Leaning back in his chair, Harkov sighed contently. He had been looking forward to this day for a long time.

“Sir, gravimetric sensors are picking up additional ships exiting FTL,” Lieutenant Patterson reported from the tactical station.

Jon looked up in surprise, as he was just about to leave the C&C for the Eternal Light. “More reinforcements?” he asked incredulously. “I know we have a certain reputation, but this is ridiculous. We must be out gunned at least fifty-to-one, and Harkov has called in additional reinforcements? Frankly this is getting silly.”

“Looks like a reinforced squadron, sir,” the Lieutenant replied. “I am counting one destroyer, two light cruisers and half a dozen frigates.”

“Well this is turning into a fairly sizable, skirmish,” Paul exclaimed.

“We’re being hailed by the captain of the destroyer, sir.”

“We are?” Jon replied surprised. “Then by all means; perhaps he wants his turn to gloat before blowing us to kingdom come too?”

However, as soon as the Captain appeared on the view-screen it was immediately apparent to all that blowing them to kingdom come was the last thing on his mind, after all the Captain was wearing the uniform of the Confederation Navy.

“Sir,” the Captain started saluting Jon formally.

“Sir?” Paul mouthed silently towards Jon, who just shook his head in equal surprise.

“Captain, I must confess that you are an unexpected sight.”

“I’m here under direct orders from fleet Admiral Sterling,” the captain replied uncomfortably. “His orders come directly from the President.”

“Sofia?” Paul asked leaping in quickly. “How did she know about events taking place here?” he asked in an outraged tone of voice.

“A very interesting question,” Jon replied staring intently at his friend for a long moment, before turning his gaze back on the Captain. “One I don’t suppose that you could enlighten us on?”

“My orders dictate that I am to inform you that, following a declaration of emergency in this system, you have received a battlefield commission back to your original rank of Commander.” Jon looked at the Captain, stunned, not sure what to say. However, before he could reply the Captain continued in a strangled tone of voice. “In addition, I am ordered to immediately place my forces under your command, sir.”

Jon could tell exactly what the Captain thought of those orders, to travel to a remote system, inform some civilian that he now outranked him and then to give him command of his forces. Jon had no idea of how Sofia knew about events taking place at Terra Nova. In another time and place he might have been outraged at her impulsive intrusion back into his life. However, this was not the time or the place to look such a gift horse in the mouth. He would deal with Sofia another day, probably by pushing her against a bulkhead, professing his thanks and then kissing her senseless… assuming he lived through today. “Understood Captain, please hold your forces there and await further orders. You are expressly not to engage the Imperial forces until so ordered.” With a nod of understanding the channel closed, leaving the stunned occupants in the C&C on Terra Nova.

“How in hell did the President get the Senate to approve those fleet orders?” Lieutenant Patterson asked aloud, in amazement.

Stroking his day’s stubble thoughtfully, Jon replied. “I would hazard a guess that she did not. Did you notice how Captain Maxwell insisted a state of emergency had been declared in this system? With a state of emergency the President can bypass Senate approval for fleet deployments, it’s written directly into the Confederation charter. I should know, I wrote that paragraph.”

“But who determines if a state of emergency exists?” Miranda asked, confused.

“Not a clue,” Jon replied. “I guess it is at the discretion of the Confederation President,” he said with a laugh. “Paul, update the poor Captain on the order of battle and make sure he completely understands he is not to engage the Imperial Fleet. They still significantly outgun us, even with the Confederation squadron now on our side.”

“Sir,” Patterson interrupted. “Imperial fighters are peeling away from the body of the fleet, they are on a direct intercept course with the shuttles.”

“What a surprise,” Jon replied, obviously unsurprised. “Paul, once the Imperial forces are committed engaging the shuttles, position the Confederation squadron between our shuttles and the body of the Imperial forces, we wouldn’t want any of their fighters escaping now would we? Miranda, are you coming?”

Tearing her eyes from the tactical display, which showed the Imperial fighters fast approaching the fleeing shuttles, like a pack of jackals descending on their defenceless prey, she turned to him. “But what about that?” she asked, in an anxious tone of voice, motioning towards the tactical display. “It’s going to be a massacre!”

“Not my problem,” Jon replied unconcerned, not even looking back at the unfolding tactical disaster. Instead he took Miranda by the arm, escorting her to the exit. “After all,” he continued, “you would have thought that after five years, Harkov would have learnt to be somewhat less predictable.”

Strapped tightly into the seat of his Tiger interceptor, Lieutenant-Commander Stanford observed the fleeing shuttles through his tactical scopes with a wolfish grin. The fleeing shuttles had obviously just spotted the Imperial fighters as they suddenly broke formation, accelerating away. However, it was a futile gesture of last resort, as the rapidly approaching fighters had a far greater intercept speed than the slower, sluggish shuttles. There would be no escape for any of the shuttles, their fate had been determined the minute Imperial fighters were ordered to engage.

“Continue at maximum thrust, prepare to engage,” Stanford ordered the other fighters in his squadron, noticing the other squadrons, like his own, rushing forward. Stanford increased the power to his engines a further notch, since at this rate it was possible none of the shuttles would still be intact by the time his squadron was in weapons range.

Once again checking his tactical scopes, Stanford was surprised to observe that what he had originally taken as the shuttle’s desperate last attempt at escape had turned into them regaining a tight formation, but this time on a direct intercept course. Stanford had to blink twice, to make sure that his eyes were not deceiving him. However, by then, his combat computer was already desperately warbling a warning that his fighter was being targeted. An instant later the warble turned to a frantic alarm, missiles incoming.

As one of the lead fighters, Stanford was still desperately trying to alter the heading for his Tiger interceptor, when the first missile impacted his right engine, which instantly disintegrated into a lethal ball of shrapnel, tearing through his frail fighter. Fortunately the second missile scored a direct hit, vaporising both ship and pilot, long before the shrapnel could have reached the cockpit.

In similar fashion, dozens of additional fireballs illuminated the intervening space as more and more missiles found their targets. Barely seconds later the squadron of shuttles shot through the rapidly expanding debris fields, missiles and high speed rail guns splitting their deadly payload. The tight formation of shuttles, combined with their overlapping fields of fire, shredded any Imperial fighter unwise enough to stray within a few hundred meters. The fighters that turned to flee fared little better against the battery of missiles launched every few seconds. Within a few minutes the bulk of the Imperial fighter forces lay in ruins, while those still alive found their avenue of escape now blocked by a Confederation task force, which was only just launching fighters of their own.

For the second time in his long, un-distinguished career, Harkov was forced to watch as a much inferior force tore his fleet’s fighter complement to shreds. Pounding his fist in frustration, Harkov cursed the day Radec was born. This was the second time—the second time!—that Radec had made him look like a fool. Looking at the unfolding tactical disaster on his display, a bead of sweat broke out on Harkov’s forehead that he was quick to brush aside. While the tactical situation now looked far less promising, with the bulk of his fleet’s fighter complement now destroyed or in complete retreat, cut off from his own forces by that damn Confederation task force. And where had they suddenly appeared from? Harkov had the sudden uncomfortable thought that his trap was starting to badly backfire. He needed to make a decision and quickly, but what to do. Ultimately the decision was made for him.

“Sir, we have unidentified ships departing from the station, on a direct intercept course with the fleet, what are your orders?” The young Captain at his side interrupted his thoughts.

“How many?”

“Sensors are reporting three ships, in a close formation. We cannot detect any external weapon mounts. Tactical have tentatively identified them as freighters. What are your orders?”

Well that’s an easy enough decision to make, Harkov thought. “Destroy them!” he growled.

“Flank speed!” the Captain ordered the fellow bridge officers. “Bring the fleet into weapons range of the advancing ships. Weapons are free when within range.”

“Belay that order!” Harkov shouted, examining the tactical display. Radec would never send three unarmed ships to take-on the bulk of his fleet; he was obviously up to something, but what? Licking his lips nervously Harkov ordered. “The picket line is to advance and engage the approaching ships. Remaining ships of the fleet are to hold position here and await further orders.”

His captain looked surprised at the change of orders for an instant, before nodding sharply, acknowledging the new orders. He quickly recounted the orders to his bridge officers. A few moments later the fleet’s picket line, the dozen or so smaller frigates, currently the fleet’s outer-ring of defence, accelerated away from the bulk of the fleet, weapons orientating in the direction of the oncoming freighters.

As Harkov observed his picket line accelerating towards the oncoming freighters, something jogged his memory. A similar scene he had observed recently, but where? The thought suddenly hit him like a thunderbolt. The attack on the Syndicate outpost a few weeks back. Harkov had reviewed the tactical recordings from the station. Near the end of the battle Syndicate ships had approached to engage a fleeing freighter, but the freighter hadn’t been so defenceless after all. Suddenly Harkov realised what was happening. Just like the shuttles, this was just a ruse to draw out his forces, and to use the element of surprise to engage them, but this time Harkov would not make the same mistake.

“Captain!” he ordered. “Picket forces are to expect hidden gun and missile batteries on the approaching ships. The ships are to be engaged and destroyed at maximum range.”

“Sir!” the captain saluted, acknowledging the new orders, hurrying to pass them on to the rest of the fleet.

Harkov leaned back in his chair, with a confident expression, observing on his tactical display as the two groups of ships approached one another. Radec was not going to be able to pull the same stunt twice. This time they would be ready for them. After this Harkov was going to deploy his remaining ships to tear the station apart, compartment-by-compartment if necessary.

“Where are we going?” Miranda finally asked, exasperated by Jon’s sudden silence. She had initially assumed that Jon simply wanted a co-pilot for the Eternal Light, but they were going in the wrong direction, as she knew the ship was docked on the outer docking ring.

“Keep your panties on!” Jon replied with a roguish smile. Rolling her eyes, Miranda would swear that Jon was actually skipping down the corridor. “Are you abusing some illegal substance or something?” she asked suspiciously. Seriously she had never seen Jon look and act so energised!

“Not at all!” Jon insisted with an innocent, who me? Look. “But don’t you feel it?”

“Feel what?” Miranda continued to look at him suspiciously.

“How crisp the air is? How bright the lights are? How good it feels to simply be alive?” he exclaimed, his eyes twinkling with delight. “There is a fleet out there, dozens and dozens of ships, tens of thousands of people, all with a single purpose, to end our lives, abruptly. Doesn’t that make you feel anything?” he inquired curiously.

“Terrified?” Miranda replied, unsure if it was a statement or a question, but even as she said it she questioned if that was true. Having been on the station for almost six months, having worked with these people, eaten with them, laughed with them and cried with them, something inside her had changed.

Sure, when she had first been told of the fleet’s arrival she had been terrified, but upon seeing the reaction of those around her, determination, confidence, belief in themselves, their training and, most importantly, in Jon and Paul. The stories she had been told over the past few days. Impossible situations! Suicide missions! Hopeless last stands, but always, every single time, Jon or Paul had pulled them though. Everybody she talked to had at least one story of how Jon or Paul had saved his or her life, usually more than once. She began to understand the confidence, no, the belief, this crew had in their leaders and even she had started to think that maybe, just maybe, they would make it through this.

Finally arriving at their destination, one of the many pressurised docking bays that literally littered the station, Jon turned back to face her with a knowing smile. “Then perhaps this will help you change your mind.” With that the door quietly slid open to reveal a dark unlit hangar, Jon motioned with his hand for her to enter. “After all what is a pilot without a ship?”

Frowning at the strange question, Miranda entered the large hangar, letting her eyes slowly adjust to the darkness. Something was inside the hangar, a large patch of darkness, a shadow darker than the surrounding air. As Jon slowly raised the light level, Miranda stopped breathing, as she began to make out more and more details. A hooked nose, above which sat a raised cockpit, resting above a pair of massive sub-light engines. As the light level continued to increase Miranda could make out wide, swept back wings. Slung underneath these wings were large weapons mounts; missile pods, pulse cannons, rail guns… Suddenly something clicked in Miranda’s head. “It’s a Wraith!” she breathed out in stunned delight.

“An Imperial heavy attack fighter,” Jon clarified, but at a glance from Miranda he added. “Yes, a Wraith. When ownership of the station was transferred to us, we found the ship here, abandoned, in need of major repairs. I have no idea why we did repair it; we had no plans for her. Perhaps we repaired her simply because we couldn’t bear for such a thing of beauty to sit in such a state of disrepair…” Jon let his voice trail off as he gently ran his fingers along one of the now-pristine flight control surfaces. “Anyway she belongs to you now,” Jon added addressing Miranda.

“Me?”

“Yes, you. And I don’t mean temporarily or as a loan. She has been registered with the central ship registry on Eden Prime, as having one owner - Miranda Sun of Zeta Aquilae. You.”

“You finally learned my last name?” Miranda replied with a pleased smile.

“Yep, it took Jason long enough, but he finally found it. I don’t know why you didn’t just put the poor boy out of his misery and tell him.” he laughed.

“A girl needs to have some secrets…” she replied, laughter dancing in her eyes. “By the way what is her name?”

“Her name?” Jon asked momentarily confused.

“The ship.”

“Oh, we haven’t given her a name, just her registry number. As her owner it’s up to you to name her.”

With a distant expression in her eyes, Miranda turned her back on the ship and approached Jon, who was still looking at her with a grin on his lips. Stepping well into his private space, almost touching him, eyes dark with emotion she looked up into his deep, grey eyes.

“You like it?” Jon inquired, his lips quirking up, eyes dancing with mirth.

“I like it,” she replied, catching his jacket in her hands, to pull his lips to hers. She swallowed a moan as his warm tongue caressed her sensitive flesh. He took his time, teasing her with a half kiss that made her legs shake.

If this was what he did to the women he liked, she was astonished that he seemed to spend so much of his time alone. “I think I’ll name her The Praetorian,” Miranda murmured, her breath mingling with his. “No,” Miranda changed her mind, “The Last Praetorian.”

“I think,” Jon went quiet and pinched her bottom lip between his teeth, “it’s a good name.” A deep groan rumbled in his chest when her legs jumped in response to the mind-blowing sensation he was inducing in her.

A traitorous moan, loud and throaty, escaped from her as he dragged his tongue across her lower lip. Tiny, passion-fuelled fires erupted inside each cell in her body as those lips touched her skin. Her heart pounded a frantic rhythm in her ears. She couldn’t stop her eyes from fluttering closed as waves of warmth coursed through her. It was the most pleasurable sensation she’d ever felt. The most erotic moment she’d ever experienced.

But the most delicious taste came when his tongue plunged into her mouth, sliding sinuously over hers. He tasted exactly like he smelled. Tangy but sweet. Smoky and earthy. All combined to make a scent that was uniquely… Jon. The way a man should taste, but more primal, somehow.

Lost in the tantalising friction of Jon’s tongue tangling with hers, Miranda didn’t realise he’d released her hands until his slid warm down her back to pull her firmly against his solid chest.

The thrust of his tongue, the maddening back and forth motion was all she could focus on as he lifted her up. Wrapping both legs around his hips, she broke from his hungry mouth to moan as he pressed her back against the entrance. The cold steel of the corridor door bit into her skin at the same moment he ground his hard body against her.

Needing to get to his skin, to feel the heat of him against her, she slid her hands under his shirt. He laughed a husky sound at the brazenness of her manoeuvre. She smiled at the sensation of his bare chest, rippling, alive at her touch.

“It was only fair,” he laughed as he nipped at her lips. “After all I did kind of trash your last one.”

Lost in a sea of swirling emotion, she replied confused. “What last one?”

“Your last ship,” Jon replied with a laugh, as she tipped her head back. As he trailed a searing line of kisses up to her neck, she slid her hands down his chest, delighting in every drip and curve of lean, sculpted muscle on the way down to the deep grooves between his ribs.

He had a body to die for, nothing but firm skin and hard lines. Miranda shivered as Jon’s teeth scraped her throat. Her entire body was on fire, burning hotter everywhere his mouth touched her. His deep moan vibrated against her throat, urging her on.

The man definitely knew what he was doing, but as quickly as the feelings had risen, they began to ebb and then recede as Jon’s touch began to cool, placing gentle kisses and the occasional playful nip on her neck.

“There is no reason for you to stay,” Jon commented hesitantly, his voice muffled by her throat. “I know why the others refuse to leave, this is the only life they have known since the Imperial Navy. But you, you are younger, you have your entire life ahead of you, the ship is yours, take it and leave.”

Jon’s words were like a bucket of cold water on her body and she stepped back, out of his embrace, shocked. “You want me to leave?” she demanded, incredulously.

Gazing at the young woman in front of him, cheeks rosy, lips swollen from their earlier kisses. “Honestly?” Jon asked hesitantly.

Miranda nodded.

“No, I have no wish for you to go,” he replied sadly. “But I have found people around me, that I care about, get hurt, or worse. I don’t want to see that happen to you.”

“I’m not going to leave.”

Jon nodded in understanding, seeming unsurprised at her decision. Reaching forward he pushed a strand of hair back behind her ear, staring deeply into her eyes for a moment, as if he was trying to freeze the scene in his memory. He gently kissed her lips one last time, a parting goodbye. “Then I wish you a good life, Miranda Sun. My advice, find somebody to share it with, otherwise you will find it very lonely.” With that Jon turned his back on Miranda and made for the exit.

“Is that why you left her?”

“Left who?”

“Your Princess, Sofia Aurelius. Did you leave her because you did not want to see her hurt?”

Jon stopped, barely a foot from the door, cocking his head to one side in thought. “Partly,” he replied, still facing the door. “But the knight errant only wins the heart of the fair Princess in fairy tales. We both know that does not happen in real life.” With that parting comment he stepped through the door, it sliding shut behind him.

Miranda stared thoughtfully at the door for many minutes after Jon had departed, before bringing a finger to her still swollen lips. She could still taste Jon on the tip of her tongue.

As she turned away from the door, to approach the powerful warship that was waiting patiently for her, she wondered if she would ever see Jon again. His parting words sounded far too much like a final goodbye. She wondered if it were she, Jon, or both of them Jon thought would not live through the next few hours. That depressing thought stayed with her for a very long time.

Meanwhile the battle, swirling outside the station, had started to turn against the combined Vanguard and Confederation forces. With the superior number of ships on their side and the Confederation forces ordered not to directly engage the Imperial Fleet, the three Vanguard freighters were taking a heavy pounding.

Under orders from Harkov, the dozen Imperial frigates, which composed the outer ring of defences for the Imperial fleet, opened fire at maximum range. Caught by surprise, the heavily reinforced freighters started to buckle under the concentrated fire of missiles, particle beams and pulse fire. By the time that the freighters came within range of their own hidden weapons, one freighter was already badly listing to one side, with major damage to its engines, the other two fared little better, having taken major external hull damage.

Even with the warning from Harkov, the Imperial frigates were taken by some surprise when the three freighters finally got within range to reveal their hidden batteries of rail-guns and missiles. With concerted fire, the three freighters managed to disable two Imperial frigates and destroy a third before the Imperial frigates recognising the heavy armour on the ships, shifted their aim towards the now exposed freighters gun and missile batteries. With the combined fire from the remaining nine frigates, explosions peppered the hulls of the freighters as one by one the gun batteries were hit and went dark.

With atmosphere venting from multiple hull breaches in the freighters and their weapons all but disabled, the remaining Imperial frigates moved in for the kill.

With all the systems on the Eternal Light in stand-by mode, it only took moments for the ship to completely power-up when Jon hurried into the cockpit. As he was waiting for final checks to finish, Jon keyed open a communications channel to Terra Nova.

“How are things going?” Jon asked.

“Not good,” Paul replied, Jon could hear the strain in his voice. “While we have the threat from the fighters pretty much contained, our armed freighters are taking a pounding. Looks like Harkov did not fall for the same ruse twice.”

Knowing that Paul could not see him, but shrugging anyway, Jon replied. “Well it was a long shot anyway to hope Harkov would not know about the armed freighters. You can only pull the same trick so many times before it becomes old. How far away is the Imperial Fleet from the freighters?”

“Three kilometres and closing, but Jon…”

“Yes?”

“We only drew out the Imperial frigates; the rest of the fleet has not engaged our forces.”

Jon cursed silently, careful to ensure that it was not broadcast over the communications channel. Jon knew the importance of keeping morale up among the crew. The plan had called for the majority of the Imperial forces to be drawn out by the freighters, yet another inviting target for Harkov. But it did not look like he had taken the bait twice.

Unfortunately it was absolutely essential to the plan, that all the Imperial forces engaged those ships. As usual, the battle had barely started and the plan was already screwed. Well there was nothing else for it, as there was no other plan.

“Understood,” Jon replied with a confidence that he no longer felt. “Launching now.” With one final check to ensure that the docking stations clamps were retracted, Jon threw full power to the engines, quickly accelerating away from the station. “Miranda, where are you?” Jon inquired over their tactical communications channel.

Suddenly the large fighter, almost as large as the shuttle itself, swooped down and formed up in formation, wingtip-to-wingtip.

“Here,” Miranda replied.

“How are you doing?”

“Good, this baby is not as manoeuvrable as my old hawk fighter, but boy does it make up for it in the offensive department!”

Smiling, Jon thought Miranda sounded like a young girl who had just been given the keys to the candy shop. “Understood, now remember the plan. Whatever happens you must stay exactly on my tail, and stay close.” Jon did not need a view-screen to picture the younger woman rolling her eyes.

“Yes boss.”

“So why are you still on my wing tip?” he demanded.

“I’m not,” Miranda replied, laughing.

Jon cast a quick glance out of his cockpit windows and could no longer see the large fighter. Shaking his head in disbelief at her excellent piloting skills, Jon thought that in another life Miranda would have made an excellent Praetorian.

“Paul, where are the Imperial Frigates now?”

“Now holding at two kilometres… Jon I don’t think the freighters are going to hold up much longer, they are taking a real beating, even with all that extra armour that we installed.”

“Very well, I guess the frigates are already as close-in as they are going to get. Let’s move to the next stage of the plan.” With that Jon adjusted the course of the shuttle to put it on a direct intercept course with the Imperial Fleet, still many tens of kilometres away. The warring frigates and freighters were lying directly ahead, almost a dozen kilometres away. At this distance, in the darkness of space, Jon could not make out the ships except for the odd spark of pulse cannon fire. The ships tactical sensors however could clearly ‘see’ the melee-taking place ahead of the shuttle, with the frigates and freighters locked in an intimate life-and-death struggle.

“Okay, on my mark then,” Paul replied, rising from his command seat in the C&C on the station to approach one of the command consoles ringing the room.

“Three,” Paul stated, flicking open a cover on one of the consoles.

“Two,” Paul entered a short code into the adjoining command console.

“One.” The button hidden under the cover started to flash an urgent red warning.

Act Two, Paul thought to himself. “Mark,” Paul stated, depressing the button.

For an instant, nothing seemed to happen, as if something had gone wrong, the command failed. Then a bright spark of light lit up the space in front of Jon’s shuttle, rapidly joined by another, then another. The three pinpricks of light rapidly grew in size, and intensity until the light coming from ahead of the shuttle dwarfed even the light from the surrounding stars.

The high explosive charges that had been installed throughout the three freighters days earlier had detonated exactly according to plan, causing the three freighters to disintegrate into balls of rapidly expanding debris. The well placed charges caused the debris from the ships to expand outward in the direction of the encircled Imperial Frigates. Being warships, the frigates were heavily armoured and therefore the debris posed little threat to these ships. While the debris posed little threat to the warships, the three-thousand-odd magnetic anti-ship mines, secreted deep within the freighter’s holds, were an entirely different matter.

The mines, which had been obtained by Jon and Miranda several days earlier from the Erebus weapons dump, had been tightly packed into the hold of the three freighters. Meanwhile flight controls on the freighters had been adjusted to allow for the remote piloting of the ships. Pilotless drones, the ships had become nothing more than flying bombs, awaiting the arrival of the Imperial forces.

As the expanding debris cloud enfolded the nearest frigate, a dozen of these mines impacted the ship. A blossom of explosions ripped along the length of the hull of the frigate, decimating armour, hull, weapons, engines, everything. Within seconds the ship was a drifting, lifeless, derelict hulk, split into dozens of pieces. As the debris cloud continued to expand, to encompass the remaining frigates, the same scene was repeated time and time again. The massive ships attracted the mines like mosquitoes to blood, and time and time again the resultant outcome was devastating. Within the space of a few minutes, of the nine frigates remaining, six were completely destroyed; the remaining three had all suffered catastrophic damage and were adrift, powerless.

Checking the ship’s sensors, Jon observed the destruction ahead. Where previously the sensors were reporting the three freighters and almost a dozen frigates, now all the ship could identify was three remaining frigates. All three were emitting low power signatures; obviously their engines and power plants had taken heavy damage. Suddenly what had initially appeared as a strong Imperial task force blocking the shuttle from the remaining Imperial fleet had vanished, like rain clouds following a storm. The ship’s sensors now reported a clear path for the shuttle to the remaining Imperial fleet, and the Imperial Star.

“The enemy’s gate is down,” Jon breathed.

“The gate is down,” Paul uttered. Having followed the outcome of the mined freighters just as closely as Jon with the stations sensors.

“I’m sorry sir?” Lieutenant Patterson inquired, not catching what Paul had just quietly uttered.

“Sorry Chris, I didn’t mean to speak aloud,” Paul apologised. “It was something Jon stated when he originally presented the plan. “How do you go about slaying the devil when he is surrounded on all sides by the walls of hell?”

At the confused look from the Lieutenant, Paul answered the question for him. “You fight your way into the depths of hell and when you finally reach the gate, well, you kick it down. That’s what we have done,” Paul motioned towards the tactical display. “We have eliminated the Imperial fleet’s fighter cover, now we have just taken down their outer defensive ring, Jon now has a clear run to the Imperial Star.” Paul drew a line with his finger on the tactical display from the Eternal Light to the Imperial Star.

“I don’t understand sir; I thought the plan was to destroy the Imperial Fleet?”

“Destroy the fleet?” Paul looked surprised, as if he had never considered the thought. “Of course not, we cannot destroy it, they have far too many ships, too much firepower, and we would never even get close to them. No the plan was always to give Jon one shot, one Hail Mary pass at the Imperial Star.”

“And what is the Commander going to do now he has the chance?” Patterson asked curiously.

“I have absolutely no idea, he would not tell me,” Paul replied in a worried voice, as the tactical display showed the Eternal Light passing through the gap recently made in the Imperial fleet defences, accelerating through the gates of Hell.

“What the hell was that?” Harkov yelled, as the distant horizon lit-up with three bright stars, before they rapidly started to die away.

“Sir, we have lost communication with the frigate squadron!” the communications officer called out.

“What the hell is going on?” Harkov shouted, red faced, at his deck officers.

“Ship’s sensors reported the three Vanguard ships exploded,” the Captain reported, checking the ship’s sensor history with a frown.

“We destroyed them?”

“It seems unlikely,” the Captain replied, frowning deeply in thought. “According to the sensors the ships exploded within the space of a few seconds of each other. It would seem far more likely that they self-destructed.”

“Radec destroyed his own ships, killing his own crew?” Harkov stated, impressed. Frankly he did not think that Radec had it in him to order the deaths of his own people. Obviously he had underestimated the man. “But what about our own ships? They were destroyed when the Vanguard ships exploded?”

“Unlikely,” the Captain replied. “They were too far away.”

“I don’t want to know what is unlikely!” Harkov turned around, yelling at the Captain. “I want to know how Radec destroyed those frigates!”

“This is the last sensor reading that we received from the squadron,” the Captain stated, passing a datapad to the Admiral. “Look at the image of the Harbinger,” he explained, pointing towards the numerous detonations running the length of the hull of the frigate.

“What are these?” Harkov breathed. “Some new weapon that Radec is deploying?”

“Unlike…” this time the Captain stopped mid-word at the furious look from the Admiral. “They look like mine impacts to me.”

“Radec has mined the system?” he asked, aghast.

“No, we did a full scan of the surrounding space when we first exited FTL, sensors did not detect any mines. I think those freighters were seeding the mines, they either detonated prematurely or one of our frigates hit one and set-off a chain reaction.”

Falling back into his seat, Harkov was ashen faced at the thought it was only last minute caution that stopped him sending the whole fleet. If the Imperial Star had been close to those minelayers when they detonated.

“Incoming ship!” the tactical officer called out, interrupting Harkov’s thoughts.

“One of ours?”

“Negative sir, it’s not broadcasting any recognition signals, either Imperial or Confederation. It looks to be a Vanguard ship. Strange, the computer has this ship on file. It’s registering as the Eternal Light, ship registry has the owner as…Marcus Aurelius.” The bridge went deathly still at the announcement.

Looking around at the pale, frightened faces of the young officers surrounding him, Harkov growled. “For god sake, get a grip on yourselves men. Marcus is dead. The Emperor is not flying that ship, it’s Radec!”

“He’s on a direct intercept course, sir! Continuing to accelerate. At this rate, time to intercept is five minutes and decreasing.”

Harkov narrowed his eyes, in anticipation. Perhaps he would have his opportunity to deal with Radec, once and for all, personally. “Hail the ship!” he ordered.

As the Eternal Light rapidly accelerated towards the remnants of the Imperial Fleet, Jon double-checked that the shuttle was still broadcasting the detonation code for the mines. The one major risk for the plan was unexploded mines released from the destroyed freighters.

After the freighters exploded, any control they had over the mines was immediately lost. Therefore, there was a real risk unexploded mines could impact the Eternal Light or any of the other Vanguard or Confederation ships in the area. Hence David had proposed the idea of a self-destruct code. Upon receiving the code, any mines in the vicinity would detonate. The idea was quickly approved and the mines reprogrammed. Now all Vanguard ships were broadcasting the signal at low power, the theory being this created an invisible shield around the ships, protecting them, in theory.

However, there had been no time to program the code into Miranda’s Wraith or the Confederation ships. Hence Jon’s explicit orders for the Confederation ships, and why Miranda’s ship was tucked in tightly behind the Eternal Light.

Unfortunately the plan had also assumed that Harkov would commit the entire Imperial Fleet to the attack. Checking the sensor’s display, Jon unhappily identified two heavy cruisers and a light destroyer still in formation around the Imperial Star. Fortunately all were large warships, possessing heavy guns, designed for engaging and destroying similar sized warships. None of the ships were specifically suited to the engagement of fast moving fighters or bombers. That was the purpose of the fleet frigates and fighters, both of which now had been decimated. One bomber, with the heavy torpedoes it carried, had a chance, a small chance none the less, to make it through to the massive capital ship and fire its deadly payload.

Of course Vanguard did not have any bombers and, as for torpedoes, well, Vanguard possessed only a single one, currently nestled safely, deep in the womb of the Eternal Light. Then again Jon assumed they would only need one, after all, there was not going to be a second chance. As the Eternal Light breached the fifty-kilometre barrier from the Imperial Star, Jon pushed the engines harder. They had to go faster, faster…

Jon was taken aback for a moment by the chime of an incoming communication from the Imperial Star, so intent was he on the shuttle’s rapid approach towards the fleet. Deciding what the hell, after all one or both of them was almost certain to die within the next few minutes, he opened the channel.

“So I see that once again, it finally comes down to this. You and I, Commander,” Harkov’s gloating voice filled the cockpit of the shuttle.

“Doesn’t seem like that from where I am sitting,” Jon retorted. “You seem to be the one on a Star Carrier, surrounded by cruisers and destroyers. However, if you want to face me personally, feel free, get in a shuttle!”

“I am quite comfortable where I am Commander. I just wanted to wish you a goodbye. I would like to be able to say that is has been nice knowing you, but frankly it hasn’t. I told you that you were a non-entity when you were last on this ship. An irritating pest that just constantly refuses to die, and what have you achieved? Your precious Emperor dead. Your fellow Praetorians gone. Your glorious Empire now just a footnote in history. So please enlighten me, while you still have a few breaths remaining. Just what have you achieved?”

“I plan on fulfilling an oath I made after the Praetorians gave their lives to allow Sofia and I to escape; to preserve the Empire. What you could never understand was that the Empire was not a thing, an object for you to smash and destroy in a childish temper tantrum. It was an ideal and if just one person lives, holding that ideal true, then the Empire lives on through them.”

“Then your Empire dies with you!”

“No, the Empire will continue long after I am dead. Its ideals of peace and justice will continue, but I’m going to do what I swore an oath in front of all that I would do. I am going to defend the Empire from those that would seek to destroy it. Even if that costs me my life. I’ll look forward to seeing you in hell, Harkov!” With that Jon closed the communication channel.

Growling in frustration—once again Radec had the final word—he turned to his Captain and, grinding his teeth, ordered, “Captain, you know what happened to your predecessor for failing to destroy that ship. I expect you to succeed where he failed. Kill Him. Now!”

“All missiles have long since been reprogrammed Admiral, that same trick will not work twice.”

“Then fire!” Harkov hissed.

“All ships, commence firing.” the Captain ordered.

As the Eternal Light breached the thirty-kilometre barrier the first missile lock warnings sounded. Moments later the missile lock’s shrill warning, changed to a shriek, as the first missiles left their launch railings from the Imperial Fleet.

“Would it have been too much to ask for them not to have fixed that problem?” Jon asked rhetorically, activating the shuttles own active counter-measures.

Within a few moments, additional missiles had been launched from the cruisers and destroyers. In total the ship’s sensors reported almost thirty incoming missiles. While the cruisers and destroyers’ guns were ineffective against the small, fast moving target of the shuttle, the missiles were just as deadly. Unfortunately Jon had no plan, no surprise, no white rabbit to pull out of his hat this time. The minute Harkov had failed to commit the entire fleet Jon had known the plan was doomed to failure, but what other option was there?

Suddenly, the light from outside the cockpit was blocked as a dark shadow loomed over the Eternal Light. So intent was Jon in reaching weapons range of the Imperial Star that he had completely forgotten about Miranda trailing behind in her Wraith.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jon demanded, unconsciously emulating Harkov’s very words only minutes before.

“Helping you!” came the terse reply.

“You are only going to get us both killed!”

“Who was it said, ‘better to die with honour than live the rest of your life as a coward’?”

Jon narrowed his eyes angrily. “Somebody has been telling stories that they should not be. Anyway I was far younger back then, I had no common sense whatever.”

Miranda laughed heartily over the communication channel. “In that case you have not changed one little bit.”

Jon was distracted momentarily by her laughter, trying to remember who it reminded him of… Suddenly he remembered Elsie’s last words, before she had turned her ship back around to face the incoming Imperial fighters. Jon thought Elsie probably would have liked Miranda, for in some ways they were very similar. It was only then it occurred to Jon how similar the situation was. Once again he was speeding towards the Imperial fleet, towards the Imperial Star and Harkov. Jon wondered if people who said life came full circle were possibly correct. But looking at the empty co-pilot seat next to him reminded him this time things were very different. This time there was no Princess seated next to him, no duty to get her to safety. No, this time escape was the very last thing on his mind.

Jon’s thoughts were interrupted by the bright light of a missile igniting, underneath the wing of Miranda’s Wraith and rapidly accelerating ahead of the two ships, another missile followed another, until the entire missile complement of her ship was expended. With the missiles gone, Miranda began to manoeuvre her fighter away from the shuttle, to give her own guns clear fields of fire against the incoming missiles.

Checking his sensors for the incoming missiles Jon was surprised to note that they had now formed two distinct groups, puzzled by this strange behaviour, until he realised that one group was heading slightly off-course. It was only then that he realised that the missiles had split their targets, when launched Jon and Miranda had been so close that the missiles had mistaken them for one target, now that they were closer and the two ships had manoeuvred apart, the missiles had locked onto one or the other ship. Already Miranda had diverted fifty percent of the incoming missiles. Unfortunately that did not bode well for her, as by doing so she had placed her ship and herself in extreme peril.

A string of bright explosions ahead, demonstrated that at least some of the missiles launched by Miranda had reached their target. Checking the sensors, Jon was faintly surprised to note that a further ten missiles had been destroyed, this of course still left twenty incoming missiles, split fairly evenly between the two ships. Still too many, too many by far…

Having been accelerating constantly since departing the station, the ’Light was traveling at almost three kilometres per second, the incoming missiles travelling almost twice that speed. Hence the combined intercept time was measured in seconds, and before Jon realised it, the ships computer had already locked the shuttles rail-guns on the closest missile and the ship shuddered as the shells were ejected at a rate of almost a hundred rounds per minute. With the first incoming missile quickly vaporised, the guns were turned onto the second missile, then the third. Meanwhile Jon kept an anxious eye on the ships ammunition level, which was being depleted at an alarming rate, unsure what would happen first—that the guns would run out of ammunition, or all the incoming missiles would be destroyed. The answer soon became apparent when the ships guns fell silent, their magazines spent.

A quick glance at the sensors was enough to confirm the truth, the guns did not get them all, for three missiles remained, on-course for the ’Light. With an impact time of less than a few seconds, there was no time for regret, no time to reflect on a wasted youth, no time even to curse Harkov one final time. Instead the ’Light was totally consumed by the bright light of the exploding missiles…

…As the ’Light glided through them, intact, unharmed. To say that Jon was stunned would be an understatement, what had happened, had they all malfunctioned? Impossible.

An exuberant laugh, and the sight of Miranda’s Wraith once again forming up on his wing, gun-barrel’s still spinning, solved the puzzle. “I told you this ship excelled in the offensive department,” Miranda quipped. “You should think about upgrading.”

“The ’Light and I have been together a very long time, we’re both too old to upgrade. Miranda?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks for staying.”

The channel was silent for a moment, as the two ships sped onwards together, barely a metre apart. Finally Miranda replied, “You’re welcome.” The silence over the channel lengthened until Miranda shattered it with the question that she had been dreading. “So you’re really going to do this? You’re really going to take on Harkov, by yourself?”

“Yes,” Jon replied softly. “But not for the reasons that you think. I will be the first to confess that nothing would give me greater pleasure than sending that bastard on a one-way ticket back to hell. But that is not the main reason. We don’t have the forces to take on the ’Star directly. It could destroy every ship we possess, Vanguard and Confederation, before we even got within weapons range. It would tear Terra Nova apart, bulkhead-by-bulkhead and there is nothing we could do about it. If I don’t stop Harkov now, here, then he is going to destroy everything, everyone that we care about, if for no other reason than to spite me. I cannot let that happen, I will not, not while I still draw breath.”

Miranda nodded her head sadly, having known that it would finally come down to this. Brushing away the tears from her eyes, she gasped. “Jon I…I…I’ll miss you…” At the same time cursing her own weakness, that she could not even confess her true feelings, not even now, when presented with her last chance.

“I’m proud to have known you Miranda Sun. You would have made a fine Praetorian—proud, courageous, fearless. Now I’m going to give you one last order, and I want you to follow it. Not because I am your boss, or your superior, but as your friend. Turn back now, please.”

Miranda took a deep breath and gave the ’Light one final look. Her original opinion had been correct, she was a fine ship. With that she turned her own ship around, leaving the ’Light to make its final journey alone.

Pleased Miranda had changed course, away from the guns of the approaching Imperial Star, Jon looked down to his own solitary missile. While his ship might not have the guns, or missiles or fighters of the huge capital ship ahead, deep within the belly of the shuttle was a weapon that was far more deadly.

“You’ve had your shot Harkov!” Jon muttered aloud in the cockpit, referring to the barrage of missiles that they had just flown through. “Now it’s my turn.” With that he tried arming the sole missile carried by the ship. However, the weapon stubbornly refused to activate. Instead the following simple warning was displayed on the console:

Deployment of this Weapon System requires joint Fleet Admiral or Higher Authorisation.

Which ordinarily would be quite a problem, as there was only one Admiral currently in the vicinity and Jon was absolutely certain that he would not authorise this. However, Jon was no lowly foot soldier. In his past he had ordered Fleet Admirals with the ease another would order drinks. Jon had spent over five years at the right hand of the Emperor, first as a soldier, then as a trusted confidant and, finally? As a friend or something more? Jon’s feelings towards the Emperor were confused; the man had given him a purpose in life at a time he had none. However, Marcus had also taken the most precious thing in his life from him and Jon had no idea how to forgive him for that.

As if it had only been yesterday, Jon could recall with crystal clarity kneeling in front of his Emperor, late one night, his words still ringing through his head.

“My Praetorian, sometimes you have to sacrifice a few, to save the many. You know this painful fact, better than most. You are my right hand, the sword of the Empire! But sometimes even your sword will not be sufficient. Hence I bequeath to you a gift, something that few know exist - A sword unlike any other. A sword that will set the heavens alight, a sword made from the very essence of the creator himself. Take note my Praetorian, and remember…”

How could Jon ever have forgotten? For that secret, shared in confidence, so long ago, was seared across his consciousness, like words of fire. Unseeing, lost in the past, Jon entered the code bestowed upon him by the Emperor, a code that he promised himself that he would most certainly never, ever, use. Upon entering the code, the computer wavered for an agonising long moment, as if the computer itself was contemplating the destruction about to be unleashed. However, eventually, the warning message vanished from the console and the symbol representing the sole weapon remaining on the ship blinked from a safe green, to an angry blinking red. The red box now encasing the symbol with the word ‘ARMED’ seemed superfluous. Jon took a moment to gaze at the symbol, surprised. If he had ever been completely honest with himself, he doubted that it would ever actually work.

The alarms that suddenly commenced to sound across the ship dispelled that thought quickly enough.

Harkov could only stare at the tactical display in complete, utter, disbelief.

What does it take to kill this man?

Harkov remembered back in the days of the Imperial Fleet, that this man’s name was only spoken in hushed whispers. Even back then people spoke of the Praetorian Commander as being different, somebody the Creator had plucked out of obscurity and personally blessed. At the time Harkov had dismissed the rumours as childish superstition, but how many times could one man cheat death?

“I’m not impressed Captain,” Harkov uttered in a chilling voice. “One man, a single ship, which the combined might of this entire fleet seems incapable of crushing.” Harkov was already drawing up a mental list of replacement captains, how was it possible he was continually surrounded by incompetents?

“It’s a minor setback, nothing more Admiral,” the Captain said stiffly. “There was a second ship in close proximity to Radec’s ship, their combined point defence weapons simply overwhelmed our missiles. The second ship has now retreated and our computers estimate his ship’s ammunition magazines are now empty.” The captain shrugged unconcerned, “a second salvo will finish the job.”

“And what of the threat that Radec poses to this ship?” the Admiral demanded, furious by his captain’s flippant tone, wondering if cutting out his tongue would improve the situation.

“What threat? It’s a single shuttle. This is the Imperial Star - your flagship is invulnerable. Our own point defence guns would annihilate any missile or torpedo that it could launch, long before it could risk the ship. It’s just a question of what will take out the shuttle first, our guns or the next missile salvo. Radec is already as good as dead, he has only bought himself a few more minutes of life.”

“Sir!” the tactical officer called across the bridge. “I am picking up some strange energy signatures from the shuttle.”

“Define strange?” Harkov demanded crossly. Seriously, it was long past time for another reshuffle of his command staff.

“Uh, I’m not sure Admiral, there was a sudden energy spike from the shuttle, as if some system suddenly went active. The energy spike has disappeared now, but the shuttle is now emitting some strange high-energy particles…Oh great Maker…” The officer shouted, stumbling away from his console as if it suddenly had become red-hot. “It’s a nuke! He’s got a god-damn nuke on that shuttle and Radec somehow just armed it!”

Every head turned to face the tactical officer, every eye focused on the screaming officer, a deathly silence fell across the bridge, as nobody knew what to do or say. However, the silence only lasted for a moment before complete pandemonium erupted on the bridge. Everybody was shouting at once, some demanding confirmation, others shouting for orders. Furthermore some of the officers just closed their eyes and started praying to their own personal deity.

“Silence!” screamed Harkov across the large bridge. “The next person to say a word I will have shot on the spot!” The room went deathly silent again, as everybody turned to face Harkov, his threat momentarily more terrifying than the approaching ship.

The only sound that could be heard above the slim whisper of the ships environmental system was the mumbling from the Captain. “No…No…No…it’s just not possible… Even if Radec obtained such a weapon, nuclear release requires joint authorisation from at least two fleet Admirals, Radec couldn’t have… it’s just not possible...”

Harkov wheeled on the Captain furiously. The man had gone as white as a sheet and looked like a strong breeze would blow him over. “I hold you personally responsible for this situation Captain! It is your constant underestimation of this man that has led this fleet to the brink of destruction. How many times do I need to remind everybody? This was a man chosen by the Emperor to personally lead his own elite squadron. Marcus and Radec were always as thick as thieves, always plotting against the fleet, against the entire Empire! What secrets do you think Marcus gave to this man before his death? The ship’s rumour mill even suggested Radec was involved with his own daughter, with Marcus’s approval. I tell you all, if not for my heroic action in the defence of the fleet, the very Empire, we would all be bowing and scraping to Radec by now.”

Turning back to the Captain, Harkov continued. “I warned you that you would share the same fate as your predecessor if you failed me.” In the blink of an eye Harkov had a pulse pistol in his hand, firmly aimed at the Captain’s chest. “I do not tolerate failure,” Harkov insisted, depressing the firing stud on the pistol. With a high-pitched whine and a scream, the Captain fell to the floor, a smoking ruin all that remained of his chest.

Once again turning his attention back to his command staff, he threatened. “Everybody resume your positions, it is time for us to stop Radec, once and for all. Unless of course you wish to join your former commanding officer?” Harkov eyed his officers one-by-one, as they shrank away, back into their chairs. “I didn’t think so,” Harkov replied with a self-satisfied smile, slipping his pulse pistol back in the folds of his uniform. “At least that fool had one thing right,” Harkov stated casting a glance at the body now lying prostrate on the floor. “The point defence guns on the Imperial Star will take out any missile or torpedo within range. We will take out Radec’s forlorn hope the second he launches it, and then? Well unlike Radec, we have many, many more missiles.”

“Tactical!” Harkov shouted. “Target the ship and open fire with all guns as soon as it is within range. Let me know when the missiles are reloaded.”

Jon muted the radiation alarm that sounded its warning throughout the ship the minute he activated the warhead. He had to remind himself that the Eternal Light was not a warship, she was never designed to carry such payloads, hence the alarm. The nuclear warhead he had procured from Erebus depot should have been loaded into a heavily shielded launch system, which would have absorbed the radiation from the now active weapon. Not actually having the launch system resulted in the warhead being secured firmly within the belly of the shuttle in one of the interior cargo holds. This had the resultant effect of lethal radiation now leaking into the cargo hold, and eventually throughout the ship. Fortunately the dose of radiation at the moment was very small and would take at least twenty minutes to spread through the ship, inflicting a lethal dose to Jon. On the bright side Jon had little expectation he was going to live that long, as the shuttle’s navigation computer was reporting that only a few more minutes remained until the shuttle intercepted the Imperial Star.

The other resulting effect from having the warhead firmly embedded into the shuttle was that Jon actually had no way to release it. He had known from the moment that he stepped aboard the ’Light this would be a one-way trip. Even if Vanguard had the time and specifications to manufacture such a launch system it would not have changed anything. The Imperial Star was too heavily protected with point defence guns and close-in weapons systems to launch the warhead. It would have been destroyed almost immediately, hence the plan that Jon had devised—the ’Light was the delivery system, the heavily armoured shuttle would hopefully survive long enough to deliver the warhead protected deep in its belly to the target.

A beeping from the ship’s tactical computer warned Jon the ’Light was getting within weapons range of the Imperial Star. As Jon started jinking, making minor flight alterations to the shuttle, he realised it was mostly a futile gesture. The last time these two ships faced off, the ’Light took a hit to one of its engines. That was while flying in the midst of the other Praetorian fighters, along with many dozens of missiles to distract the guns. This time there would be no such protection, a quick blink of light from ahead indicated the Imperial Star’s guns had commenced firing…

“Ten kilometres and still closing…” the Imperial Star’s tactical officer stated aloud, while wiping away a bead of sweat that was running down his forehead. “All guns are tracking and weapons free,” he added, fairly superfluously as they could feel the vibration of the firing guns through the deck plates. “Time to impact…thirty seconds.”

“Keep firing!” Harkov insisted. “What is the status of the missile batteries?”

“Still not finished loading yet, Admiral.”

“Do I have to assume from that response some missiles have finished loading then?”

The tactical officer blinked. “Yes Admiral, some of the missiles have finished loading.”

“Then by the maker, fire them!” Harkov bellowed.

By now the area of space surrounding the Eternal Light was a maelstrom of shells, high-energy bolts and exploding shrapnel. While Jon was flying the Eternal Light at the absolute edge of his piloting skills there was just too much incoming fire and the ships armour was already taking damage from glancing impacts and shrapnel. It would only be a matter of time until one of the rounds hit the intended target. Over the various chimes, bells and alarms that were now ringing out across the bridge a new alarm joined the fray—missile launch.

“Fantastic,” Jon stated, gritting his teeth furiously, corkscrewing the shuttle around a particularly dense stream of incoming pulse cannon fire.

Twenty seconds remaining until impact.

“Missiles away and tracking,” the Imperial Star’s tactical shouted across the bridge. For the first time a real sense of fear in his voice. “All guns are now firing on full automatic! Time to impact…Ten seconds.”

“Keeping firing!” Harkov urged.

The dense rail gun round impacting the ship was enough to throw Jon painfully against the seat restraints. Were it not for the restraints Jon would have been thrown violently across the cockpit and badly injured. As it was, Jon’s vision went black for an instant from the impact. A quick glance at the damage control computer was enough to confirm that the ’Light had been badly damaged. The entire portside engine and a good majority of the wing were…gone, vaporised by the kinetic energy of the impacting projectile. Jon immediately conducted an emergency shutdown of the remaining starboard engine, to enable him to remain in control of the shuttle. Otherwise the ship would have gone into an unrecoverable spin. It was a testament to his outstanding piloting skills he was able to quickly regain control, if not somewhat sluggishly from the now damaged flight control surfaces. Jon could immediately feel the loss of acceleration, but without gravity to slow the ship it continued on at its previous velocity.

Travelling at approximately three-hundred meters-per-second, now barely three kilometres away from the Imperial flagship it was going to make little difference to the end result.

Less than ten seconds to impact…

“Ten seconds until impact!” the Imperial Star’s tactical officer screamed, any sense of professionalism or duty long since gone, now replaced by absolute terror as the armed nuclear warhead streaked towards the ship, now only a few kilometres away.

The shuttle seemed to have taken a taken a major hit, had wavered for an instant, and then had resumed a direct collision course with the flagship.

“Nine, eight, seven…” The bridge officer’s voice, filled with dread, was the only sound that could be heard on the bridge. He slowly started to back away from his terminal, as if he could physically increase the distance between himself and approaching oblivion.

The tactical officer closed his eyes and started to pray.

The heads-up display on the Eternal Light started to flash a collision alert warning as the ship streaked through the depths of space, explosions causing it to shake violently, hull breach alerts sounding throughout the ship as projectiles and pulse cannons had finally stripped the shuttles external armour, breaching the hull in numerous places.

However Jon’s eyes were glued to the decreasing distance readout to the Imperial Star, as it rapidly approached zero.

Jon had known he would not survive this final flight, and it felt right doing it in this ship, one of the last links to his old life. Jon had spent many hours wondering what would go through his mind in his final few seconds. In the end it was simply relief. Relief that, against the impossible odds, he and the ’Light had managed to make it this far. Relief that by this action he was going to save the lives of everybody on the station. Relief that by stopping this madman many thousands, possibly millions of people’s lives would be spared.

With a final few deft touches of the flight controls, Jon angled the ship towards one of the massive flight decks on the Imperial Star, which now filled the front view-port of the shuttle. With all the other alarms drowned out by the collision alert, Jon closed his eyes one final time. Suddenly the sight of Sofia, smiling, appeared in his mind’s eye. Desperately, Jon took a tight hold of the apparition for one last time. This time to sustain him for an eternity.

The Eternal Light slammed into the energy barrier that protected the hangar deck of the Imperial Star. Designed only to keep the hangar deck pressurised and to hold back the emptiness of space, it disintegrated under the impact of a shuttle travelling so fast.

Amazingly the Eternal Light mostly survived the impact, due to its heavy armour and the superb engineering that went into its construction. The ship summersaulted, over and over again, before finally coming to a rest at the far end of the hangar deck.

For a single moment in time everything was suddenly still, as if the universe had paused for a breath, the wreckage of the Eternal Light barely recognisable from the weapons fire and subsequent collision.

However, deep within the belly of the ship a sleeping dragon awoke.

The Eternal Light vanished in a white light a million times brighter than the sun. Within a second the temperature on the flight deck increased to that only found within the heart of a star. Heat, light, and pressure combined to create a force of unimaginable power, and it started to grow.

Within a few heartbeats the flight deck had been consumed, barely a second later the entire deck of the once mighty flagship had been devoured. Meanwhile the mighty explosion continued to grow in strength and size. Section-by-section, deck-by-deck the huge warship was consumed from within. A nuclear fireball racing down the corridor that Commander Radec once had strode down disappeared. The Emperor’s quarters; where he had once held court over the entire Empire, vanished. The senior officers’ lounge, where Jon had once wielded his sword over a young man’s head, exploded, turned to ash in a nuclear fireball.

In a few seconds the explosion had grown to such a size as to encompass the massive flagship. The ship’s heavy external armour fought a losing battle to contain the massive forces unleashed within. But nothing could contain these forces and, like an overinflated balloon– it burst. Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the armour, growing and growing until the entire hull disappeared within the blinding light. For a while it seemed as if these great forces would grow and grow until everything was consumed. However, finally the light started to dim, to shrink, to collapse within itself. Finally the light vanished completely, to leave… nothing.

All activity within the vicinity stopped, everybody stunned by the almighty forces unleashed, as if the creator had picked up the Imperial Star and crushed it as if it were a toy.

The remaining Imperial forces offered their unconditional surrender minutes later.

Epilogue

Terra Nova, Zeta Aquilae System

It was barely eighteen hours later when the Confederation 12th fleet arrived in the Zeta Aquilae system, commanded by Fleet Admiral Sterling. On board was the Imperial Princess Sofia Aurelius, President of the Confederation Senate, who on arrival immediately requested transport across to the station.

“I don’t recommend it, Madame President,” Admiral Sterling said. “You are safer aboard the Protector. We still have not accounted for all the Imperial ships, and there could still be unexploded ordinance out there. Frankly it’s a real mess here at the moment and we’re still trying to sort through it.”

“I appreciate your concern Admiral,” Sofia replied. “However it was not a request. Inform me when transport is ready.”

With that she spun around, heading for the exit from the bridge, on her way to the flight deck Sterling could only assume. Sterling sighed with frustration. He had known her father; the Emperor, and he had been equally as stubborn, always refusing to heed advice from his senior officers. He wondered if it was something that ran in the family. He hurriedly ordered a transport shuttle to be made available to the princess. Her father had a terrible temper and Sterling had no desire to find out if his daughter also shared the same trait.

On arriving at Terra Nova, Sofia was confronted with the sight of what seemed like the entire crew assembled on the flight deck, in full uniform, in parade formation. The scene facing her so stunned her that, for a moment, she was rooted to the spot. How many times had she disembarked from a ship at the side of her father, to face such a scene? However, it had been many, many years since the fall of the Empire that she had received such a reception. Sofia was curious to understand why the formal reception. Casting her gaze around, she was unable to locate Jon. However she recognised Paul and a number of the senior officers, as she walked down the ramp of the transport and angled in their direction.

“Attention! Officer on deck!” a voice called out from the ranks, and the entire crew snapped to attention as she strode past. It was obvious military discipline had not suffered in the intervening years, as Sofia could not remember a better presented, better turned-out crew. Approaching Paul and the senior officers, Sofia was desperate to inquire where Jon was, as they had a lot to discuss.

Paul could not fail to be amazed by Sofia’s arrival. Realising that he had not seen her in person in almost five years, Paul was amazed at the transformation. When he had last seen her, she had been a young, beautiful woman who had just had her heart broken. The woman stepping off the transport seemed to bear only a passing resemblance. While Paul considered her still beautiful; her face had matured into that of a confident woman, confident in herself and comfortable with the mantle of leadership. Her gaze took in the entire scene in a single glance, her expression thoughtful until she caught sight of him and started in his direction.

Paul was taken aback by how similar the scene was to the Emperor’s arrival, the white flowing robes of the office of the President identical to those worn by her father, except his were black. Paul wondered if Sofia was aware how similar she was to her father, the same aura of quiet confidence and authority. In a way Paul wished it were her father he was breaking this news to. Paul had dealt with the Emperor enough times to recognise his anger and know how to deal with it. Paul was certain Marcus would not have taken the loss of Jon well; he could almost imagine the blast of his furious white-hot anger. Unfortunately Paul well knew Sofia’s feelings for Jon went far beyond her now dead father’s, and the reaction was likely to be far, far worse.

Glancing at his assembled crew Paul felt the occasion fitting. His senior staff had approached him with the idea soon after they found out about Sofia’s arrival. It was their way to pay their final respects to Jon and Sofia. After all, it was Gunny who pointed out that, technically, she was still their commanding officer, as Marcus’s only child. A part of Paul wished Sofia had found somebody else over the intervening years; perhaps it would make the news that he had to break to her somewhat easier. Somebody for her to share the pain with.

Sighing to himself, Paul snapped to attention, as Sofia stood in front of him, before executing a flawless salute. “Madame President,” he greeted her.

Sofia stared quizzically at Paul for a moment before returning the salute. On anybody else the gesture would have appeared insulting. From Sofia it seemed respectful. “Captain Harrington, it’s good to see you.” Sofia was unsure if there earlier communication was public knowledge so for the moment decided not to mention it. “Where is Jon?”

The sharp intake of breath from the group of officers suggested the question was not unexpected and the answer was not going to be liked.

“I’m so sorry Sofia…” Paul tried to put his feelings into words, failing miserably. “Jon was killed yesterday in the battle with Harkov’s fleet.” He glanced away, not able to cope with the expression of utter despair that appeared on Sofia’s face. Knowing it would not ease her pain, but feeling it needed to be said, he added. “He sacrificed his life for us. If he hadn’t stopped Harkov and his fleet, many, many more lives would have been lost. I doubt that any of us would be standing here today.” Paul’s shoulders slumped, the misery threatening to overwhelm him. Realising his pain was barely a fraction of what Sofia must be feeling, he looked at Sofia, who had gone deathly pale. For a moment Paul was worried she was going to faint, but instead her chin fell onto her chest, tears running down her face.

“I thought, I thought, Jon and I could finally talk, put the past behind us…” Sofia gave a mournful wail, “But it seems as though our past finally caught up with Jon first.”

Protocol be damned, Paul thought, enfolding her in a tight embrace. He could feel her tears staining his uniform, but it did not matter, as his own tears joined hers.

Not a word was spoken on the flight deck, the only sound the occasional cry from Sofia as the crew stood at attention saluting a man they had all respected and loved. A man who had made the ultimate sacrifice in order to ensure their lives.

Many hours later, after the ceremony on the flight deck had broken up and the crew had dispersed, each to remember and mourn Jon in their own way, Miranda found herself in his office, staring out of the massive opening. Miranda was not sure how long she had been staring out into space, when the chime to the office interrupted her thoughts.

“Come!” Miranda called, wondering who would be looking for her. She was taken aback at the sight of Sofia Aurelius stepping curiously into the office. She still looked pale and withdrawn after being broken the news of Jon’s death hours earlier, but at least it looked like she was coping. Miranda meanwhile had absolutely no idea what to say or do. How did one even address this woman? Sofia? Miss Aurelius? Madame President? Princess?

Her hesitation must have shown as Sofia offered a weak smile stating. “Please, you can call me Sofia. Paul told me that you were most likely to be here.”

“I didn’t know where else to go,” Miranda replied hesitantly. “Jon spent so much time here, staring out of this viewport. I thought it would help me feel closer to him.”

“Paul mentioned you and Jon were close,” Sofia replied sympathetically.

“Not as close as you and Jon were.” Miranda was quick to add, glancing away so that the elder woman could not see her flaming cheeks.

Sofia looked at Miranda with surprise. “The thought never crossed my mind.”

“He loved you, you know? Even at the very end.”

“I just wish that I knew why he left in the first place,” Sofia replied wistfully. “But I guess that I will never know. There will never be another Jon Radec, everybody I have ever met since, I compared to him and found them all lacking.”

Miranda had no response to that statement, instead choosing to look back at the starscape outside, wondering if she would become like Sofia, always alone, always comparing any other man against Jon. Looking at the stars Miranda wondered what it was about this view that drew Jon’s attention time and time again, sometimes for hours at an end. Noticing her own reflection being projected back at herself, Miranda wondered if Jon had ever actually been looking outside, or instead contemplating his own, internal, demons.

As the two women stared outside, separated by only a few feet, but from backgrounds light-years apart, both women’s thoughts were affixed on the same man. One reflecting on a past that would now forever remain lost. The other reflecting on a future that now could never be.

The stars shone brightly, a pure, cleansing, white light that briefly banished the dark and cold space surrounding the station. The search and rescue vessels that continued to search the surrounding space for any remaining survivors only briefly interrupting the light.

Further out, a brief flash briefly illuminated a darker patch of space. An intermittent flash of light, this not from the surrounding stars, but from the failing emergency beacon on the escape pod, as it tumbled and fell though the darkness of space.

End of Book One.

The Redemption Trilogy continues with Book Two “The Sunfire” which is now available.

For news, reviews, images and other information, please visit the Facebook page -

http://www.facebook.com/LPraetorian

Or follow the author at -

http://twitter.com/LPraetorian

Or email the author at -

[email protected]

Thank you for your feedback. Please feel free to leave a review.