The Last Praetorian (The Redemption Trilogy)

by Mike Smith

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

  Then why the hell am I being invited? Jon thought to himself rhetorically. However, one did not turn down dinner invitations from the ruler of almost 30 billion people.

  “Of course sir, I’d be honoured.”

  “Excellent, dinner is served at twenty-hundred hours. Don’t be late.” The Emperor disappeared though the door into his private quarters leaving the hint of the threat lingering in the air.

  “Just fantastic,” Jon said aloud, sighing. Wondering what one wore to a personal family dinner with the Emperor and his only daughter - Princess Aurelius.

  *****

  Steeling himself, Jon pressed the announcer exactly three hours later, twenty-hundred hours and…no seconds. Jon had absolutely no interest in finding out what happened to an officer who turned up late for a private dinner with the Emperor…

  Jon had absolutely no idea what to expect when the door slid open. He was most definitely not expecting to be staring into the sparkling green eyes of an Imperial Princess. A subconscious part of his mind noted that they both stood at equal height. Knowing for a fact that he stood a couple of inches taller than her, he could only hazard a guess that she was wearing a pair of shoes that made-up for the height difference. It was only through force of will that he kept his eyes focused on her face and did not glance down to confirm this observation. The eyes of a lowly Commander in the Imperial Navy did not rove unabashedly over an Imperial Princess.

  Instead he bowed his head slightly in greeting, before inquiring. “I hope I am not late, Princess,” knowing full well that he was exactly on time.

  “Not at all, Jon. Although my father apologises that he will join us in a few minutes. He is just finishing up a conference call with Admiral Sterling on Eden Prime.” The Princess obviously had no aversion to inspecting him, as Jon could feel her gaze roving over him, before her lips curled up in a slight smile.

  Slightly self-conscious about his dress, Jon had, in the end, decided to wear what he usually wore to dinner alone – his white navy dress uniform, with sword. His only other choice of wardrobe - an academy T-shirt and shorts that he wore to bed, he had already rejected out of hand.

  “Anyway, as you are joining father and me for dinner, why don’t we drop the formal titles? You are welcome to address me by my name.”

  “My thanks… Princess,” Jon replied with a smirk, knowing fully well that the Princess often used his given name. Often to tease him about his overbearing attitude and lack of any kind of…social life.

  He was about to continue when the Emperor swept into the room. Immediately dropping to one knee, Jon bowed his head and uttered, “My Emperor.”

  “Commander,” the Emperor responded, striding past him towards the imposing dining room table.

  Jon did his best to suppress the grin on his face, upon hearing the Princess laughing behind him. He could well imagine what she was thinking, after just mentioning about dropping formal titles and all.

  “You can arise now, Sir Knight!” The Princess giggled into his ear as she glided past, her father already having taken his seat.

  All in all, dinner was not the complete disaster than Jon had imagined. The conversation flowed easily around the table. Jon was amazed at how quickly conversation between father and daughter could easily flow between topics, one minute discussing progress on the negotiations earlier in the day, the next progress of the Princesses’ studies. Jon was relieved to be excluded in the most part from the conversation, although the two did occasionally query the Commander for his opinion. While Jon was not well versed in the intricacies of politics he was fully aware of the strategic and tactical implications of the negotiations, and talked both father and daughter through some of the possible military repercussions…

  Mostly Jon just focused on the food, amazed at the number and variety of the dishes. Most he did not even recognise and tasted each with a certain amount of caution.

  For a small family dinner Jon was certain that they ate better than 99% of the populace of the Empire. A simple meal with his family usually consisted of some vegetables freshly picked from his mother’s small vegetable plot, mixed with carbohydrate and protein supplements - filling, but hardly tasty.

  Jon’s inspection of the final dish was interrupted by an aide reminding the Emperor of another conference call where his participation was required. Jon was half out of his seat and heading in the direction of the exit before the Emperor’s voice called a halt to his departure.

  “Commander, stay and finish your meal,” the Emperor insisted, before turning to Sofia. “My apologies, I forgot about this call. Please you and the Commander finish your meal together.” With that the Emperor swept from the room with the aide fast on his heels. Two pairs of eyes followed his exit until the door slid firmly shut behind him.

  Jon momentarily considered making his own apology, when he noticed the Princess’ despondent expression. Having intimate knowledge of her fathers agenda, he knew that these meals must be far and few between father and daughter. Looking at the unhappy young woman Jon felt something stirring inside him that he had not felt in a long time. Glancing around at the opulent – and empty - surroundings he could not help but feel some sympathy for her.

  Therefore re-taking his seat, that only moments before he was more than happy to vacate, he stared thoughtfully at the young Princess, who was staring unhappily at the remains of her meal.

  “Your father’s a great man,” Jon insisted softly. “He is only gone so often because he cares about the people. I cannot say that about many politicians that I know of.”

  “But does he have to go every time, after my mother…” her voice trailed off.

  Jon sighed sadly; he knew that her mother had died when she was young. Sometimes, late at night when her father was working with Jon accompanying him, he talked about her. Jon had no doubt that the Emperor had loved his late wife, her loss leaving a huge void in his life.

  “I know,” Jon replied. “I know how much that you must miss her…” He tried to explain, but was interrupted by her angry outburst.

  “You don’t know anything! You have never lost a parent.” She angrily pushed her chair away from the table; turning her back on Jon she moved over to the viewport, tightly clutching something around her neck, misery lying like a cloak around her shoulders.

  Sighing, Jon once again rose from his seat and glanced wistfully at the door. It would be so easy, only a couple of steps and he could be through the door, back into the real world. A cold, hard, unforgiving world, as the young woman that was staring miserably out of the window could so easily testify to. However, the Commander was never one that had taken the easy paths in life, so, turning his back to the door, he slowly approached the Princess.

  With the Emperor long since departed and the Princess with her back turned, he took a moment to observe the young woman. Noticing the strappy sandals, with the high-heels that she wore, he suppressed a triumphant smile, as his earlier observation had indeed been correct. Stopping a few feet from the Princess he ran his gaze up from the shoes, to her ankles, to her thighs, observing her narrow waist elegantly wrapped in an evening dress of sapphire blue, his eyes lingering on the pale skin below her neck, peeking out from beneath her fiery red mane. Raising his eyes further he stared into her eyes, that were reflected back by the pane of the window.

  Noticing his hands that had risen unconsciously to embrace her, he carefully lowered them to his side – nobody touched a member of the Imperial family, not even the Praetorian Commander. Must be hell on a date, Jon thought to himself, wondering why the idea of Sofia on a date bothered him so much.

  “You are correct. I have never lost a parent,” Jon replied softly, holding her reflected gaze with his own. “But that does not mean I have never lost anybody close to me. My younger sister died when I was not much older than you were, when you lost your mother.” Jon allowed some of the pain that he kep
t 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 te
sted 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.