The Last Praetorian (The Redemption Trilogy)

by Mike Smith

  However, instead he simply replied, “Something like that.”

  “Thank God,” Sofia replied, almost asleep. “For a moment there I thought you were trying to prostitute the daughter of the Emperor.”

  Jon just shook his head slightly in amusement. He knew that he needed to move and get repairs started on the Eternal Light.

  A few more minutes will not hurt, he thought to himself letting his eyes drift closed.

  *****

  When Sofia opened her eyes sometime later, it was dark. Blinking repeatedly she tried to focus, but could only make out some vague, indistinct shapes.

  “Lights!” she called out, but the light did not appear, instead she could only hear her voice echoing into the distance. She wrapped her arms around herself to ward off a sudden chill. Looking around desperately she tried to recognise something, anything, but the darkness seemed to consume everything.

  “Commander,” she called out frantically. “Jon,” she called more softly, fear starting to encroach upon her. Where was she? Why could she not see anything? Wrapping her arms more tightly around herself, she started to stamp on the floor to generate some heat to ward off the increasing cold. The she heard the sound. At first she thought she had imagined it, half way between a sigh and a breath of wind. Then she heard it again, closer this time. A sound. A flap of wings, or a low growl, she was not sure which. Suddenly something brushed against her ankle and she jerked her foot away in fright, then another, brushing against her cheek.

  Sofia let-out a cry of fright and quickly started to back away. But the sounds were getting closer now. More of them! Still Sofia could not make anything out, maybe a quick flash of a dark shadow darting across her vision, or a flash of light from the corner of her eye.

  Trembling in fear, Sofia continued to back away, but where were they? For all she knew she was walking closer towards them! The sudden thought froze her like a statue on the spot. Still the shapes started to brush against her – her arm, cheek, and stomach.

  “Jon, Jon, where are you? I need you…” Sofia cried out in terror. So weak at first, that she thought she was imagining it; a light appeared, dimly in the distance. Sofia tried to move towards the light, but she was frozen. She willed her muscles to respond, but they were frozen in terror. Slowly the light seemed to drift in her direction, getting stronger, brighter, but still pitifully weak.

  “Please,” Sofia begged in terror. “Help me.” Suddenly as if a match had been struck and dropped into a pool of gasoline a bright blue spark flared. Small at first it quickly spread in length, forming the edge of a blade. From the light of the flame Sofia could now make out the sight of the sword, glowing brightly. Sofia almost cried in relief recognising the Praetorian sword.

  The blade suddenly swung to the right, then to the left, in great arcs, dripping blue fire. The sounds around her began to change, becoming squeals and then shrill screams of pain and fear. Still the blade grew brighter and brighter, pushing back the darkness until all that filled her vision was the bright blue light from the sword.

  With a sudden gasp of breath Sofia opened her eyes.

  She noticed that she was back in the small apartment, where she had fallen asleep on the seat lying against Jon. She noticed that she was now lying on the bed; obviously Jon had moved her while she slept. The next thing she noticed was the pair of eyes glinting at her, barely inches from her face, blocking the rest of her sight. Still shaken from the nightmare that awoke her and the sleep that dulled her mind she could not focus on what was wrong with the scene. Suddenly her mind cleared and she stared into the dark brown eyes of a face that she did not recognise. Not the misty grey eyes of the person that filled her thoughts and dreams. She opened her mouth to utter a scream.

  A rough, coarse hand clamped over her mouth, suffocating her.

  *****

  Jon was tired. The bone weary tiredness seeped into his bones, with barely enough energy to put one-step in front of the other. Jon finally arrived at his destination. Trying to suppress a yawn, Jon hit the announcer on the door. The last thing he wanted to do was to walk in on Sofia at an inopportune time.

  Then again… Jon thought to himself with a grin. The door slid open, and just as Jon was about to open his mouth with a greeting he noticed that it was not the Princess who stood inside the door. His brain too sluggish from the lack of sleep to respond, the last thing he saw was a fist descending in his direction. Pain exploded from his jaw and all he could see was stars, before darkness engulfed him.

  *****

  The first thing that assailed Jon upon waking was the never-ending pain streaming from his face. Whoever had hit him had sure done a number on him! Trying to reach up and rub his jaw Jon quickly discovered that he could not move has hands. Trying to focus, the first thing that he noticed was that his hands were tied together by some sort of rigid metallic bar. Flexing his hands he found that he still had movement with his fingers but his two hands were tightly bound. Realising that he was lying on the floor, Jon next tried to get to his feet, but soon found that both his feet were bound in a similar fashion. Finally managing to balance on his knees, with his hands in front of his chest Jon reviewed his surroundings. His eyes were first drawn to the bed, which was empty. Obviously they had moved Sofia, either before his arrival or while he was unconscious. However, on a closer inspection the sheets were pristine and glancing around the room other items were subtly out of place. So a different room, Jon determined. Same style as their apartment so obviously it was close by, but not the same room.

  Noticing a pair of legs in front of him, Jon craned his neck back to look into the eyes of the person facing him. Short, stocky, with powerful muscles bulging underneath the tan tunic that he was wearing Jon observed the shoulder length, greasy brown hair with dull brown eyes. However, it was none of these things that drew his attention, instead his attention was drawn to the blade that was resting in his hands, a sword that glistened with a blue fire along the edges – his Valerian sword!

  Turning the blade in one direction, then another, the stocky man observed the light playing along the blade. Noticing that his captive was now conscious at his feet he whistled. “This is a real nice piece of work. Bet I could get more than a few credits for this down below.” Jon remained silent, but inside seethed at anybody touching his blade. Nobody, absolutely nobody else held that weapon but himself.

  “I have heard stories about these,” the man continued on. “They are meant to be able to cut through anything; convenient that I have you so I can give it a try…” with this he gave Jon a meaningful look before continuing on. “Then I can see how much coin I can get for this beauty.”

  Deciding that now would be a good time to intervene before the final act, Jon demanded. “Where is the Princess?”

  “She is being entertained,” with this he gave a disgusting leer. “Or should I say that she is entertaining the rest of the crew. You both have a large amount of money on your heads… dead. But shame to waste such an, opportunity. The men and I have never had a real Princess before; we plan on rectifying that, repeatedly, before handing you both back. They only want your head though, so looks like I get to try out this sword to see just how well it cuts,” the mercenary said running his hands along the length of the blade.

  Jon had never known absolute heart stopping fear in his life before. Sure, he had faced certain death before, many times, but he had never feared death. Everybody died, sooner or later, and the life expectancy of a fleet Commander was poor, a Praetorian – far shorter. Therefore Jon had long ago resigned himself to a short life and a violent demise. However now he could feel terror racing along his nerve endings, before clamping down around his heart. He forced himself to breathe deeply so to be able to continue to focus, he had to keep calm to get to Sofia and for the first time in his life he prayed, prayed to any God that would listen that he could get to her in time. Thinking desperately of something to anger his captor he finally threw his own words back at him.

  “So that�
�s why you are here? Instead of entertaining the Princess with the rest?” Jon spat back in anger. “The rest of the men worried you were not enough of a man to entertain her? Might embarrass the rest of them? So they sent just you to do the dirty work while they took their turns.” Jon could see that his words were getting to the mercenary as his hand had stilled on the blade and his gaze had turned angry. Deciding that he needed to push harder Jon continued. “What are they worried? That your dick was too small and would not satisfy a real Princess?”

  With a roar of rage the mercenary swung the blade that he had been holding back in the air in preparation to strike, he spat out. “I’ll show you that I can satisfy any woman, she’ll be screaming my name, begging me to stop before I have finished with her. As for you, I was going to make this quick and painless but I’ve changed my mind.” With that explanation the mercenary slashed the blade in a downward arc towards the Commander’s unprotected head!

  As if time had slowed down, Jon watched the blade descend towards him…but he felt no fear, not of this weapon. The Emperor, Marcus Aurelius had presented the sword to him personally a few years before on his promotion to Commander of the Praetorian Guards. The minute that he felt the blade touch him for the first time, it felt as if a bolt of energy had been transferred from the blade into him. Something seemed to have clicked inside of him, as if part of his soul had been missing his entire life was re-joined. From that day onwards the deadly weapon had never left his side, as if they were now one, a right hand to his left. For a moment Jon considered doing nothing, wondering if the blade would simply bounce off him or even just pass through him. Instead Jon did the only action that he could. He lifted his hands that had been resting on the floor in front of him, still bound, high into the air blocking the incoming blow.

  The action was automatic, instinctive, to try and ward off the blow. To be honest Jon had no idea what the result would be. It was therefore hard to tell who was more stunned, when in a shower of sparks the blade cut cleanly through the thick metallic bar that immobilised his hands. Fortunately the blow also mostly cancelled the momentum behind the swing and the blade harmlessly struck the floor in front of Jon’s knees. The mercenary just stared in disbelief, flabbergasted that the blade had cleanly cut through almost three inches of solid metallic restraint.

  Jon meanwhile had no time to contemplate the truly miraculous event and instead he struck out at the nearest vulnerable spot on the mercenary. Slamming his clenched fist into the groin of the man, he collapsed to the floor with barely a whimper, stunned senseless at the pain. Quickly, before he lost the initiative, and still bound at the feet, Jon wrapped himself around the fallen mercenary like a python ensnaring its prey. Gripping the mercenary around the throat, Jon squeezed tighter and tighter. The mercenary, suddenly realising the danger, reached up to try and pull the arm from his throat, but Jon’s grip was like a vice. After a minute of frantic struggling the mercenary stopped and fell still, but Jon continued applying pressure to his throat for a few minutes longer until he was completely certain that he was dead.

  Praying that he would strike lucky, Jon quickly started to search the body for the keys to the restraints. For once it seemed that luck was on his side as he found the keys in one of the mercenary’s pockets. Quickly releasing himself from the restraints, Jon reached down and picked up the sword from the floor where it had fallen from the mercenaries grip. Examining the blade carefully Jon could see not a sign of the slightest bit of damage, nothing to indicate that only a few minutes before the blade had effortlessly sliced through inches of metal. Taking a few moments to prepare himself for what he was likely to find, Jon took a deep breath, ensuring that he had a firm grip on his weapon he steeled himself for what was about to come next.

  *****

  With a loud crack, the back of one of the mercenary’s hands cracked again Sofia’s cheek. The blow stunning her and propelling her back onto the bed. With her head spinning from the blow, and only able to see stars she felt the filthy, slimy hand starting to claw painfully at one of her breasts. Part of her mind that could still process rational thought felt detached, as if it was separate from her body, watching events from a distance. Sofia had heard of this happening to others; under extreme stress the mind detached itself from its surroundings to help protect her consciousness. However Sofia had never thought that it would happen to her.

  From what seemed like a great distance away she could hear the chime of the door and heard one of the men growl. “It must be Marcel finished with Radec; somebody get the door. I’m busy!” Something inside Sofia died. All that she had been hoping, praying, for during the last half hour was for Jon to appear and save her. She remembered her nightmare. When everything had seemed lost, his sword had appeared in the darkness and had driven away all that could harm her, pushing back the dark to let in the light. However, that was only a dream, reality was far harsher and this time Sofia knew that no sword was going to appear and save her. Wishing for escape from reality into blissful unconsciousness, Sofia managed to open one good eye, the other-one swollen shut, and she tried to focus on the door and possible escape.

  However, her exit was blocked by the bulk of one of her captors and she was too far away to hear what words were spoken. A small part of her wondered if there was a life after death, and if she would get the chance to see Jon one last time…

  As if a ghost, recently resurrected from the dead, summoned by her final thought; she saw Jon slip past the man blocking the door into the room. A small part of her wondered why the person at the door did not react? Perhaps Jon was a ghost, or a figment of her imagination? A wraith brought back from the dead to avenge her, even in death sworn to protect her… It was so hard to focus, her thoughts continually slipping away…

  The captor at the door suddenly collapsed, like a deflated balloon - without any air, he just folded to the floor. Sofia could see a pool of blood start to congregate on the floor, from a red line that intersected his throat.

  The room erupted into complete pandemonium, her captors suddenly shouting in alarm, reaching for weapons, knives, anything within reach that they could use to defend themselves… but all to no avail. Jon flew through them like an apparition. Like a wraith - slashing and thrusting. One mercenary, quicker than the rest managed to draw his pistol and fire… but Jon had long since twisted out of his line of fire and like the others, this man fell to the floor, lifeless. The whole sequence of events seemed to be over within a heartbeat. Where initially had stood her captors, her abusers, ready to inflict the ultimate horror upon her, now stood Jon, back from the dead. One side of his face covered in splatters of blood. His or one of her captors’, Sofia had no way to know. Sofia could not utter a word, terrified that if she said anything, that if she even blinked, it would shatter the illusion and her guardian angel would disappear - forever.

  Exhausted beyond imagination, but fear and adrenaline fuelling him, Jon stared at the scene before him dispassionately. Jon had no sympathy for those lying at his feet dead. They would not have spared any sympathy for him, or Sofia.

  Sofia!

  His thoughts, so focused on the battle had not spared an instant to consider her, or her condition. Reluctantly he let his gaze fall upon her, on her back, spread-eagle over the bed. His sight took in her torn dress, exposed breasts, but he did not let his eyes linger, instead focusing his entire being on her face…and eyes. Keeping his sword firmly in the grasp of his hand he swiftly crossed the room, to the side of her bed. Never breaking her gaze he continued to stare into her terrified eyes.

  Gently sitting on the edge of the bed, careful not to touch her, he continued to hold her gaze, never once glancing at her exposed body. As he gently touched her pale cheek with his fingertips he asked in a soft, gentle voice. “Sofia, it’s me Jon. I won’t hurt you. I won’t let anybody else hurt you.”

  “Jon. Are you real or a ghost?” Sofia asked in a dazed, confused voice.

  Jon was confused by the question, guessing that she was in sho
ck. He tried to remove his fingers from her cold flesh, but one of her hands shot out to grasp his hand, keeping it resting on her cheek. “I’m real and I won’t let anybody, or anything hurt you again,” he tried to reassure her. Sofia’s head tried to turn to focus on the bodies, dead on the floor but Jon would not allow it, tightening his grip he instead forced her to focus on him. “They cannot hurt you ever again,” he repeated.

  Suddenly reaching out to embrace him tightly, afraid that if she left him go he would disappear, Sofia broke down in tears. In great heaving breaths she tried to explain. “They, they were going to…Oh God.” Jon just continued to hold her tightly. Once her tears had subsided slightly, Jon leaned back to look her in the eye before asking the question that he had been dreading, but desperate to know the answer.

  “Sofia, did they, did…” Jon was desperately trying to utter the word rape, but he could just not bring himself to ask the question, so instead he simply inquired, “did they hurt you in any way?”

  Sofia just shook her head in response to the question, unable to reply verbally. Jon just held her tighter, wishing that he could protect her from all the ills in the universe, forever.

  *****

  However, eventually they did have to move. Who else knew that they were there, their captors could have called in reinforcements. Wrapping Sofia in his flight jacket, he quickly bundled her out of the room and through the station. When arriving at the station, Jon had received many envious looks from the men and Sofia jealous looks from their partners. However, this time the stares came for very different reasons. Jon’s spotless white navy uniform was covered in blood and his face splattered with it. He had Sofia in one tight embrace, his other hand tightly clutching his prized sword. Meanwhile Sofia was wrapped in his flight jacket, also smeared in blood, bleeding from a number of scratches to her face, with one eye still swollen shut. The two made a visible impression, stumbling their way back to the shuttle.