The Last Praetorian (41 page)

“Let’s hear it,” Jon ordered.

Retrieving a data pad that rested on the briefing room table
in front of Jason, he tapped on the device several times retrieving the audio
file, before piping the output via the room’s audio system.  An ear-splitting
screech of static filled the room, the sound of a thousand fingernails being
run down a board simultaneously, all the occupants in the room visibly winced.

“Sorry,” Jason replied, adjusting both the audio output, and
the volume. 

The static faded as quickly as it had arrived, to be
replaced by a clipped voice.  “I thought that you told me never to contact you
directly on this channel.”

“I
did
tell you never to contact me on this channel,
Mallart,” another deeper, rougher voice replied.  “That did not preclude me
contacting
you...”

“We think that the first voice belongs to Magistratus
Mallart, one of the Syndicate inner-council,” Jason interjected helpfully.

“You think?”  Jon replied sarcastically.  Once this latest
crisis was over Jon vowed that he was going to take Jason and his team on a
well deserved, all expenses paid vacation.  He and his team had done miracles
over the past few months, but seriously, they needed to get out more…

The audio stream broke up at this point and nothing could be
understood for several seconds, but eventually the quality improved again until
the voices could be understood.

“What is the latest regarding news on Vanguard?  Was your
assassin successful?” The unknown voice demanded impatiently.  Jon was not sure
if he was imagining it, but the voice sounded anxious.

“I am unsure of your obsession with this particular
problem,” Mallart replied evasively.  “Vanguard is a minor annoyance, nothing
more.  We will deal with them, as we have dealt with all of the others who have
rejected our offer…”

“So your assassin failed, just as I predicted,” the voice
gloated arrogantly.  “I warned you that sending her after the Commander was an
effort in futility, he is an… exceptionally skilled pilot,” the compliment came
across more as a curse.

“Radec was lucky, that was all.  We already have another
operation underway, we are assembling our finest enforcers…”

“I’m not interesting in hearing about your failures,
Mallart!” the voice thundered. “You have already failed us once, you will not
do so again.  Your finest are like buzzing insects to this man, he will crush
them just as easily.  Marcus chose this man personally.  He had the elite of
the Imperial Navy to choose from, yet he chose this man to protect him and his
daughter.  Does this not tell you something?  Does it not give you some
indication of the calibre of this particular individual?  Still you treat him
as an annoyance…  I have already indulged you once, and you failed
spectacularly.  Send your enforcers, they mean nothing to me, they will fare
equally as badly.  I will deal with the Commander, personally…”

“I thought that your involvement was going to wait, the plan
we agreed is not yet complete, operations for the final colonies are still only
at the planning stage, we need more time…and what of the Confederation?  If
they discover our plans, their forces will move against us.”

“The Confederation Navy will have bigger problems on their
hands.  With their planets in flames, their populace crying out for protection,
they will be forced to divert more and more of their fleet.  Eventually they
will be spread so thinly they will be defenceless and then we will strike.  The
plan will continue apace.  I will assemble the fleet and we will crush them. 
Commander Radec and Vanguard will just become a footnote in history.  History
is written by the victors, nobody cares about the losers…”

As the audio recording came to an end, the silence in the
room was broken by a lone voice.  “The fleet on-route will consist of at least
a dozen frigates, two destroyers, three heavy cruisers and a star-carrier.  At
least that is what it used to consist of.”

Jason’s mouth fell open in astonishment, and it took him
several moments to find his voice as he stared in amazement at the Commander,
who had uttered the words.  “How in the Emperor’s name can you determine that
from a simple audio recording?”

Jon glanced at his hands, white from the force that he had
been gripping the edge of the data pad, as the recording had progressed.  With
a conscious effort he prised his fingers from the device before looking up and
responding to the Lieutenants question.  “Because I recognise that voice.  That
voice has haunted me for the last five years.  That voice ordered the death of
our Emperor.  That voice ordered the death of the Praetorians.  That voice
ordered the mercenaries sent to kill Sofia and I.  That is the voice that I
have spent years looking for, that I followed every report, every rumour, and
every scrap of intelligence to find.  That voice is the one that I have sworn,
on the lives of all those that he destroyed, that I would hunt down and
silence, forever.” 

Focusing once again on the occupants of the room, having
been consumed by memories that Jon thought long buried, he clarified,  “The
voice belongs to Commodore Harkov, previously Admiral Harkov, before being
stripped of that rank by the Emperor after his desertion during the battle of
Rigel.  The Commodore, the entire 4
^th
fleet, including the
star-carrier
Imperial Star
vanished soon after the assassination of the
Emperor and my escape with Sofia.  The Commodore and the fleet were never seen
again, although I followed up on several rumours.  Sofia and I speculated at
the time that the original plan was that the Empire was meant to have
disintegrated after the death of Emperor Aurelius’, as there was no clear line
of succession, no chain of command for the Imperial Fleet…”

“But it didn’t happen that way…” Paul interjected.

“No,” Jon replied.  “When Sofia and I finally arrived at
Eden Prime, she made the decision to abdicate, and the Empire to become a true
Confederation.  Sofia’s final command was for the remaining fleet Admirals all to
sign the
Confederation Charter
, thereby forever placing the Imperial
Fleet under the direct command of the Senate.  As you all know the Senate soon
disbanded the Imperial Fleet, I assume because they still did not trust the
military leadership and replaced it with the Confederation Navy.  Hence the
Empire never disintegrated, it transformed instead into the Confederation that
we have today.  There was never the civil war that we assume the Commodore was
hoping for, to allow him to seize power.”

“So you and Sofia disrupted the Commodore’s plan,” Paul
observed insightfully.

Jon just shrugged his shoulders.  “Perhaps… this was all
just speculation on our part during one evening.”  Jon fell silent, preoccupied
by the good memories of that time.  Sofia and him, still entwined by the sheets
from their last bout of lovemaking, her head resting gently on his bare chest
as he brushed away a sweaty strand of hair from her neck that had interrupted
his prior journey of kisses downwards…  Realising that Paul had been asking him
a question, Jon shook his head to banish the pleasant daydream. 

“I said does this change anything?”  Paul repeated the
question.

Jon let the thought lull around in his head for a few
moments.  Did it change anything?  The tactical situation remained unchanged;
they still had a fleet of hostile ships on the way, which could arrive at any
minute.  At least they now had some idea of how many ships to expect, assuming
even a detachment of the 4
^th
fleet arriving, far more than they
could possibly ever hope to fight.  Yet, this changed nothing…and everything. 

While the situation was still hopeless, Jon had no intention
of running away, not now.  Jon had spoken truthfully when he told this crew
that he had sworn an oath to find this man and stop him.  He had spent years
futilely searching, following down every possible lead, all to no avail. Now
the object of his search was coming here, to him!  No, Jon had no intention of
leaving; finally he would be able to have his revenge for all the loved ones
that this man had taken, all the lives that he had destroyed, everything he had
lost…

With growing concern, Paul recognised a fanatical gleam in
Jon’s eyes, one that he had not seen in many years.  Like many of the senior
staff Paul had first met Jon during their time in the Imperial Fleet, their
paths had crossed frequently, mostly while on clandestine operations ordered by
the Emperor.  However, even before meeting Jon in person, Paul had heard the
whispers in the fleet about the new Commander of the Praetorian Guards.  The
word fanatical was the one Paul had most heard used to describe the young
Commander, and he could understand how most people had mistakenly assumed so. 

Upon first meeting Jon, Paul had braced himself for the
worst.  Hearing the rumours he had assumed he would be dealing with a raving
fanatical zealot, suicidally intent on carrying out the Emperors wishes,
whatever the cost.  Instead Paul found himself dealing with a smart, determined
officer.  Paul discovered that the fanaticism, that most people labelled the
Commander with, was instead a passionate belief in the underlying principles of
the Empire, and its leader… the Emperor.  Furthermore Paul was astonished to
discover that the Commander had a unique ability to use that belief and to
inspire those around him, to share in it and as a result those around him
trusted in him, completely, to the point that Paul knew that they would follow
him into hell; because they trusted him that he would bring them all back. 

During his time with Jon, through some of the darkest times
of his life, Paul came to understand the source of this man’s belief.  For what
perhaps even Jon did not realise, was that he had come to love the Emperor.  A
person whom half the Empire detested as a dictating tyrant, with the other half
only tolerating, as the alternative was even worse to contemplate, Jon had come
to love him as a father.  Paul could never comprehend how, or why, though he
had made some educated guesses over the years; a beautiful Princess with
flaming red hair and emerald green eyes came first to mind… 

Anyway for whatever reason Jon believed in those ideals, and
was determined that they would succeed.  Hence the fall of the Empire shook
those beliefs and ideals to his core.  With each successive corruption or
bribery charge laid at the Confederation Senate, a little piece of Jon’s faith
and spirit was chipped away, until all that was left, was a shadow of his
former self. 

As far as Paul was aware there were only two reasons why Jon
still fought for his belief and ideals.  The first was the love that Paul knew
Jon still retained in his heart for Sofia.  Occasionally he would still see the
spark in his old friend’s eyes, and a sad smile grace his face and he knew that
Jon was still thinking about her, fighting to make the galaxy just a slightly
better place for her, and maybe one day her children.  The other reason…well
Paul did not need to see the hate smouldering in Jon’s eyes across the table to
guess the second reason…

“Jon?”  Paul prompted again.

“Nothing changes,” Jon replied ominously.

“And the no suicidal final stand edict?” Paul inquired, gave
Jon a sceptical look. 

“The discussion is finished.  Dismissed,” Jon ordered to the
stunned officers.

“What about…”

“I said dismissed!” Jon growled, chopping his hand thought
air to make it clear that the subject was now closed.

The senior staff all gazed towards Paul with various
concerned expressions, a moment later Paul gave the staff a nod, to acknowledge
the order and slowly, one by one, the senior officers filed out of the meeting
room, until finally only Paul and Jon remained.

“I said dismissed, Captain,” Jon ordered focusing his angry
stare at Paul.

“I’m no longer a Captain, and I resigned from the Navy,
don’t you remember?”  Paul replied mildly.  “It means that you can’t go
ordering me about.”

Evidently Jon had forgotten that technicality, as instead he
ground his teeth together in frustration, that they were going to have to have
this
conversation. 

“Jon, we have known each other a long time, I have never
questioned your decisions,”

Until now…

“This is not our fight any more, call the Confederation
Navy, call the Senate, hell, call Sofia.  It was not so long ago. A lot of them
still remember you, and they respect you. They will listen to you!  The Emperor
is dead Jon, this personal crusade of yours is not necessary…”

“NO!” Screamed Jon, slamming his fist’s into the table with
such force that the table trembled.  “It was my fault!  I knew that Harkov was
a snake and did nothing!  My fault!  I swore an oath to defend the Emperor and
failed!  My fault!  I swore that I would protect Sofia…”

“And you did, you have!”

“No!  You do not know how many times I came close to losing
her!  All because of Harkov! All because I failed in my duty.  Well, I am going
to make sure that bastard does not harm…anybody else.  I’ll send him back to
the deepest, darkest pit of hell, from where he crawled out!  My only regret is
that I’ll not have the pleasure to gut him first, and watch him drown in his
own bile!”

“Marcus would not have wanted this for you, or Sofia…” Paul
suggested quietly.

“That’s the first thing that you have said that I happen to
agree with.  No, I’m almost certain that this is not what Marcus was planning…”
Jon replied bitterly.  “The man has been dead for almost five years and I still
cannot seem to escape from his shadow.”

Paul eyed the younger man speculatively, wondering what Jon
meant by that comment.  “That’s why you left Sofia?  Because of something
Marcus said or did before he died?”  Paul speculated aloud.  He had been
telling Miranda the truth that he had no real idea why Jon left Sofia, but if
it was something Marcus had said or did, that would make some sense.  Except
Marcus had been dead for months when Jon finally turned his back on Sofia,
after the signing of the Confederation Charter on Eden Prime.  Soon after Jon
disappeared on his self imposed exile, only reappearing a few years ago to
accept Paul’s offer of leading Vanguard.  It just didn’t make any sense…and it
was obvious that Jon was not going to enlighten him, as he simply averted his
eyes, muttering about history being left in the past.