The Last Praetorian (3 page)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?”  Sofia smiled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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