by Mike Smith
The closer she approached the source of the light, the thicker the debris became, causing her to have to focus more on her piloting abilities. She eventually realised she must be flying through what remained of the Imperial Star, the flagship of the old Imperial Navy, destroyed by Jon with the warhead secreted on his personal shuttle. Only that massive warship could have produced debris of this size and density. Finally arriving at the source of the light Miranda was disappointed to see it was just a navigation beacon from the Imperial Star, which had miraculously survived the explosion. Probably still running on some internal emergency power supply.
Taking one final glance at the wreckage floating around the now stationary fighter, Miranda took a moment to reflect on all the people who had lost their lives in this huge flagship. She was sure a large number of those had been individuals like her, good men and women just following orders. Realising she was long overdue back at the station, she wondered why she had not restarted the engines, somehow feeling drawn to this location, not just by the light but also by a feeling—.
Miranda found herself staring directly out of the cockpit at one piece of wreckage floating directly in front of the ship. A small piece. A dozen or so meters in length, half that in width. Perhaps it was the shape that drew her gaze? More angular than the other more ragged pieces floating around, almost the shape of a wedge, tapered towards one end. Something about the shape of it triggered a memory. She was sure she had seen this piece before. Turning the object around in her head, finally it occurred to her it was a smaller piece of a much larger ship. Running through all the ships she knew off the top of her head—until she came to an abrupt stop.
It couldn’t be.
But rotating the ship to orientate the fragment correctly, she was certain. Peering more closely she could see underneath the black exterior to the once pristine white hull, in a few places the black exterior coating was smudged enough that she could see through to the cockpit windows underneath. She was looking at the cockpit of the Eternal Light! Suddenly her heart seemed to stop beating, her mouth went dry. The cockpit looked intact. Perhaps…
She slapped the communications panel, broadcasting an emergency request.
*****
It took far longer to recover the fragment of the shuttle than Miranda ever expected. Precious minutes were wasted fruitlessly trying to convince the junior officer on duty in the C&C she had not completely lost her mind and was not hallucinating. Eventually she had to order the officer to put her though to Paul. Even then it took him an agonisingly long time to answer. Paul already looked ashen faced and pale before Miranda even explained her discovery. After quickly recounting her story and describing what she believed she had discovered, Paul quickly assented to dispatching a Search & Rescue shuttle to her location. For a time Miranda wondered what had already shocked Paul so badly that he acceded to her outlandish request so quickly.
Instead Miranda urged the S&R shuttle to hurry. Fuming at the time it took to arrive and to attach towing cables to the remnant of the shuttle. For the cockpit of the Eternal Light was too big to bring on board the shuttle, and had no docking hatch to allow a team to board. Hence the only option was to tow the piece back to Terra Nova, into a pressurised docking bay to open.
Miranda flew ahead of the S&R shuttle, docking at Terra Nova. Not even waiting for all the ships systems to power down she hurried to the docking bay to await the arrival of the S&R shuttle. Miranda was pleased to note Paul seemed to have taken her story seriously, as there was already a small crowd of technicians and an emergency resuscitation team from medical swarming around the entrance to the docking bay.
Paul was at the head of the crowd, waiting for the green light indicating the docking bay was pressurised and they could safely enter. He still looked as pale as a ghost.
“Paul, what’s going on?” Miranda demanded, still dressed in her flight suit, having come directly from her ship.
“We’re just waiting for the bay to pressurise, the S&R shuttle with the fragment is on final approach now.”
“Not that,” Miranda replied exasperatedly, leaning forward and lowering her voice so that she could not be overheard. “Why do you look like you have just seen a ghost?”
Paul glanced around to make sure that nobody could overhear their conversation. The rest of the crew were completely focused on the docking bay pressurisation light, which still glowed a warning red. “That’s because I have just seen a ghost. He’s currently confined to medical under heavy guard,” he explained evasively.
“Who is in medical under guard?” She insisted, trying to understand Paul’s cryptic response.
But Paul was interrupted, before he could reply, by the chime of the bay door, and the light changed from red to green. With a cry the crowd surged into the small docking bay, carrying both Paul and Miranda along with them. Paul’s response lost among the noise.
The engineers immediately swarmed around the blackened exterior of the object. Up close Miranda was even more certain of her original guess. One of the engineers confirmed this, as not even waiting for the others he started to rub away the grime from the object. Clearly visible under the black exterior was the name Eternal Light, imprinted across the hull. The Aurelius’ family crest was also partially visible, dispelling any possibility this was another shuttle with the same name. A hush fell across the crowd after the name became visible. Nobody, not even Miranda, really expected that it might actually be the shuttle.
Redoubling their efforts, the engineers continued to brush off the external filth, until with a cry of success one of the engineers finally managed to find the manual control for the emergency cockpit escape hatch. With a glance at Paul, who gave a nod of approval, the engineer twisted the control, finally pulling down upon the revealed lever. With an audible pop of equalising air pressure, the hatch slid open leaving a dark hole, big enough for one man or woman, to enter or exit.
The room collectively held their breath, but after a few moments it became apparent nobody was exiting the cockpit.
“Make way. Make way,” Gunny called out, pushing through the eight-person deep crowd, his pistol from earlier still firmly strapped to his thigh. Without even breaking stride Gunny caught the handhold above the emergency hatch and slid his body through the narrow gap. The crowd held their breath as the sergeant disappeared from sight.
One minute.
Two.
Time seemed to stretch out endlessly. Suddenly Gunny’s head appeared back out of the hatch. “Somebody give me a hand,” he called out, reaching back within the portal. First an arm appeared, encased in the white Imperial Navy uniform of a fleet Commander, then another, finally followed by a head. Two of the nearest engineers darted forward, supporting the head as Gunny eased the rest of Jon’s body out, finally laying the Commander spread eagle on the floor of the docking bay, in front of all that remained of the Eternal Light. Casting his eyes towards the body, the sergeant whispered dejectedly, “I can’t find a pulse.”
Not a word was spoken by the crowd. Everyone frozen at the sight of the body lying on the bay floor. Still. Motionless.
Pushing his way through the crowd, Doctor Richardson kneeled beside the body, looking for a pulse, unable to find one, but instead finding the body freezing cold. “Get a resuscitation team over here. Now,” called the Doctor, as the medics pushed to the front of the crowd, laying out their equipment around the body, as if in benediction. One of the medics slipped an oxygen mask over Jon’s face, while another medic handed the doctor the small portable defibrillator.
“Clear,” he called, activating the massive electrical charge to surge through Jon’s body, jumpstarting his heart muscles.
Jon spasmed, but was then still.
Checking once again for a pulse, but unable to find one, the Doctor reapplied the defibrillator, once again sending the massive jolt of energy through the body—again with no success. The crowd started to back away, the mood turning bleak as they recognised the Commander had passed away.
“Doctor, there is no sign of any brain activity.”
“I said again!” Richardson thundered.
The medic gave a nervous glace at his colleague, and with a subtle nod from him, applied the defibrillator, one final time.
Again Jon spasmed and was then still.
Shaking his head in despair the medic turned to the Doctor to pronounce the verdict, when suddenly the monitor flickered to life, only for a brief moment. The medic had to blink twice before he could believe what his eyes were telling him.
“Doctor, we have a pulse,” he stuttered in disbelief.
“Keep the oxygen flowing,” Richardson insisted. “Let’s get him to medical ASAP. Clear a path, out the way,” he called, pushing his way through the stunned crowd, with Jon and the attending resuscitation team following close behind.
Miranda felt her legs give out beneath her and she slid to the floor. Unable to comprehend what had just happened. Jon. Alive! If she had not felt the need to take her ship off the station, if she had not followed that beacon, had not recognised the object floating in front of her ship…
Suddenly a shadow blocked the light and she lookup up into Paul’s pale face. But this time, instead of frowning, he shared her weak smile of relief.
“You okay?” He asked, giving her a concerned look.
“I will be. I just cannot believe it. You think he will be okay?” She suddenly asked worriedly, remembering the medic announcing there was no brain activity.
“We’ll just have to wait and see, but I’ll tell you this, it’s not the first time that Jon has cheated death. It makes you wonder just how many lives the man has.” With this he offered a hand to the younger woman. “Join Gunny and me in my office? I have an expensive bottle of Scotch that has been waiting for just such an opportunity—and there is something else we need to discuss. The Scotch will help.”
*****
Sometime later, after Miranda had managed to catch a quick shower and change out of her flight suit, she found Gunny and Paul in his office. An unopened bottle of Scotch resting on the table between the two men.
“Just in time,” Paul called out cheerfully. “We were about to start without you.” He gracefully plopped ice cubes into a cut crystal tumbler, then splashed two generous fingers of Scotch over them before offering her the glass. “Bottoms up,” he said with a smirk, raising his glass before swallowing the contents in a single gulp.
With Gunny doing likewise, Miranda followed the example of the two officers. Her eyes bulged as the fiery liquid splashed down her throat. “Garr,” she exhaled, pounding on her chest, desperately trying to catch her breath.
“Another glass?” Paul inquired, trying to supress a laugh.
“I’m good,” Miranda wheezed.
Paul just laughed before his expression turned more serious. “Miranda, how did you find Jon out there? Do you know what the odds are of you just stumbling on the remains of his ship?”
Miranda averted her eyes from the two men. She had been hoping that question did not come up, as she had no good answer for them. “It was just the damn strangest feeling,” she said trying to put into words the sensation. “First I was feeling claustrophobic stuck on the station. Ever since Jon’s supposed death, it felt like every corner I would turn and bump into him. Every room that I entered, he would be there waiting. That it was all just a big misunderstanding. Then when I was out there in my ship, it just felt like something was continually pulling me in that direction. It’s just so hard to put into words.”
“I told you so,” Gunny said to Paul.
“Let it be, Gunny,” Paul said with an angry glare.
“Told you what?” Miranda asked, looking between the two men.
“It was destiny,” Gunny replied succinctly.
Miranda’s jaw dropped open in shock. “It was what?” She asked in disbelief.
Giving Gunny another evil glare, Paul turned back to Miranda resignedly. “Gunny has got some crazy, half-assed ideas about destiny and pre-determination.”
“They’re not crazy.”
“Then you explain it to her then.”
“Sure. You know what pre-determination is Miranda?” Gunny asked.
“I think so. You mean that our future is already pre-determined, like written down somewhere,” she said.
“Exactly,” Gunny replied, with a wide grin, a teacher pleased with his star pupil. “Now, everyone is born with a small smidgeon of destiny, but most waste it—”
“How can you waste your destiny?” She interrupted confused.
“By not using it,” Gunny exclaimed, smacking his palm down on the table, hard enough to shake the ice cubes in their glasses. “By following some mundane nine-to-five job, spending your life being a bean counter; or god forbid a politician, by wasting your life away.”
“Ok, so what happens to all this unused destiny?” She asked, ignoring Paul who was rolling his eyes exasperatedly. Subliminally trying to communicate to her not to encourage Gunny.
“That’s where it gets interesting, you see. It builds up, drop by drop, until eventually it becomes a vast torrent of potential. Eventually it finds an outlet—an individual, a special one—and breaks through, affecting him or her and all the people and events surrounding them.”
“You mean Jon?”
“Exactly. They are like giants that walk among us; but there have been others, throughout history.”
“Like?” Miranda asked curiously.
“Edward Aurelius.”
“Oh, come on, Edward Aurelius founded the Imperium. Are you saying Jon is like him?”
“You don’t think the Commander could carve out an Empire if he so desired? It’s not recorded in any history books or the official archives but it was Jon who was instrumental in founding the Confederation. His signature is on the founding charter.”
Miranda remembered Paul had mentioned something similar a while back, prior to the battle that so nearly cost the Commander his life. She looked at Paul for confirmation and he slowly, but reluctantly, nodded his head in agreement with Gunny.
“It’s possible that your destiny, the sole reason for your existence was to find Jon out there,” Gunny stated firmly.
“But that's crazy,” Miranda refuted.
“See. That's what I said,” Paul replied emphatically.
“So what else was it that you wanted to discuss?” Miranda tried to change the topic, not wanting to acknowledge what Gunny was suggesting, as something had drawn her to that area of space. Something she could not quantify or explain.
“That’s the other thing,” Paul went on to describe the events earlier in the day, from the discovery of the battered escape pod. He was only interrupted once during the recounting, by Miranda changing her mind and requesting another glass of Scotch.
*****
Meanwhile, several decks below in medical, Jon had finally been taken off the respirator, having eventually started to breathe without the aid of the machine. Following that he had been moved to a private recovery ward. Considering the other patient currently occupying medical, Dr Richardson had felt it unwise to have both occupying the same room. Hooked up to several machines monitoring his recovery, the only sound in the room was the regular beep of the heart monitor.
The machine dedicated to monitoring his brain activity, which had been flat, started to show signs of life. Slowly at first, but with increasing intensity his synapses started to fire, his eyelids flickering as he dreamed. Dreaming of a similar room, but on a different ship, many years before.
Chapter Three
Five Years Previously
System Patrol Craft Intrepid, Eden System
“Clear!” The Chief Flight Surgeon of the SPC Intrepid called out, sending a massive jolt of energy into
the Commander’s chest to restart his heart. Having been quickly transferred from the Eternal Light, the Commander’s heart had stopped beating soon after arriving at the medical bay. “I’ve got a pulse,” the doctor exclaimed, looking up relieved, observing the spectacle his usually orderly medical bay had turned into.
For the room was not just occupied by his patient who, he had been reliably informed by the Captain, was the Commander of the Praetorian Guard. This man, being a firm favourite of the Emperor, was not a person they could afford to have dying on their watch. Following directly behind the Commander was a young woman, dressed in jeans, ankle boots and what had once been a tan coloured blouse but was now stained a deep crimson red. The doctor assumed this was from the Commander’s blood. He had no idea who the woman was, but with her auburn hair and deep emerald green eyes she was startlingly beautiful and determined not to leave the Commander’s side. Even more strangely, the Captain and the Executive Officer, who had followed the pair into medical, kept acceding to her. Casting worried glances her way, they supported her decision to stay, overriding the doctor who had insisted that she must leave. It was all very confusing and was rapidly turning his medical bay into a circus.
Checking the readouts of the numerous medical devices currently attached to the Commander, the Chief Flight Surgeon turned to face the crowd and said, “The Commander is stable now, as I have managed to restart his heart and stem the bleeding. He is a very lucky man, because the tactical armour he was wearing saved his life. We should all thank the Maker that he was hit by a fragmenting round, for if it had been a piercing shot he would now be down in the ship’s morgue. Fortunately the armour managed to stop the majority of the fragments, the remaining ones mostly halted by the time they pierced his flesh. The Commander’s back is a mess right now, but they can repair that damage back on Eden Prime, although the Commander is going to be very stiff for the next several weeks.”
