The Last Praetorian (The Redemption Trilogy)

by Mike Smith

  Jon had never been so overjoyed upon reaching the ‘Light. Helping Sofia up the entry ramp, Jon ensured that the entrance was firmly sealed once they were back on-board. Lowering Sofia into the co-pilot seat in the cockpit, as he had no intention of ever letting her out of his sight again, he half collapsed, half fell into the pilot seat. Activating the emergency start-up sequence for the engines, as soon as they reached sufficient power he re-oriented the nose of the ‘Light out of the docking bay into deep space before throwing full power into the engines.

  It was only when outside the station, pulling away at best possible speed that Jon noticed the communication system light up like a Christmas tree. In his exhaustion and haste he had completely forgotten to request clearance from docking control to depart. Not really caring, as even if they had denied him permission to depart he would have left anyway. Once they were at a safe distance from the station Jon engaged the FTL engines, not really caring what destination was programmed in. Anywhere else was better than their current location. Jon did not allow himself to relax until the ship was safely cocooned in the grey shapeless void of FTL.

  Only then did he allow himself to breath easily once again. Turning to face Sofia, he observed her with concerned eyes. She had said nothing since departing the station, and wrapped up within his much larger jacket, staring aimlessly out into space, reminded him of how small and delicate that she was. Touching her gently on the shoulder to try and rouse her, he suggested. “Why don’t you go and get cleaned up?” It seemed to take an age for her eyes to slowly focus on him, but eventually she nodded her head resignedly in agreement. Jon followed behind her, keeping a close eye on her until she finally disappeared into the small washing facilities on the ‘Light. Sighing worriedly, Jon used the time to strip his own blood soaked uniform off, making sure to throw it into the trash disposal system. The last thing he wanted was Sofia to see the blood soaked clothes as another reminder of her terrifyingly close encounter. Changing into a clean flight-suit and using some cloth to wipe clean the blood from his face and sword, he sat back in one of the large cushioned seats to contemplate their next steps.

  It seemed like a lifetime later, and Jon was starting to seriously contemplate entering the washroom to check on Sofia, when the door slid open and she stood before him. Like him she had changed into a simple flight-suit, but the black suit did nothing to hide her pale skin, scratches and bruises that dotted her face and neck. Sofia had seemingly aged ten years in the span of a few days. Her lustrous red hair seemed to have lost its shine and was now a rusty colour and her once sparking green eyes now seemed dull and lifeless. Taking a seat next to Jon, for a moment, they remained as if frozen in space and time, neither moving, neither speaking until the silence was broken when Sofia asked quietly.

  “What are we going to do now?”

  Jon was silent for a few moments; he had been giving the problem serious contemplation while waiting for Sofia and had come up with…nothing. All the Imperial facilities were still out of the question and as their experience on Transcendence demonstrated, civilian facilities were just as dangerous. Tired, exhausted with no idea or plan, Jon just wished to go home and leave all these problems behind him…

  “Home!” Jon said aloud, sitting up straighter.

  Sofia viewed him with alarm. “We cannot go back to the Imperial Star,” she said, “they have already tried to kill us once…” She let the statement tail off, not wishing to finish it.

  “Not your home, my home.”

  “You have a home?” Sofia exclaimed, then blushed slightly, realising how that question sounded.

  Jon simply smiled at her, glad to see a bit of colour returning to her face. “Where do you think I came from? Manufactured at the nearest Imperial Praetorian cloning facility?” Jon replied indignantly.

  “So where do you come from?” Sofia inquired curiously, as she had never given any thought to Jon’s history or family. A clump of something cold and unpleasant landed in the pit of her stomach when it suddenly occurred to her that maybe Jon had somebody waiting for him at home.

  “You are going to find out very shortly,” Jon replied with a grin striding towards the cockpit to change their destination.

  Chapter Five

  Present Day

  Transcendence Station, Zeta Aquilae System

  Looking out of the cockpit window it seemed that Transcendence Station had not changed much since their last desperate flight here, almost five years before. The port was still a bustling hub of activity with hundreds of ships of all sizes arriving and departing, some from within the system but also many others from other systems that made up the constellation of Aquila. The station acted as the main trade hub for this entire sector and hence anything could be bought… or sold.

  Powering down the ships engines, Jon took his time to make sure everything was secure, including drawing a powerful pistol and other items he felt he might need from the ship’s well-stocked armoury. Jon was never going to forget the last disastrous trip to this station. Before disembarking, Jon went to check on the ships newest addition, in the starboard cargo hold. While Jon was no technician, the pod seemed to be intact and had come out of the collision relatively unscathed with ample power remaining. Trying to peer inside the pod to catch a glimpse of the occupant, turned out to be a futile gesture, caused by the heavy condensation from being in space. Jon once again deciding to leave the pod sealed, better-trained personnel back at Terra Nova could open it.

  Disembarking from the ship, Jon found the dock master at the bottom of the boarding ramp. He stopped briefly to confirm the docking fee and requested that they refuel the ship for the return journey, stating that he did not plan to stay long. It was also obviously a sign of how far security had degenerated in the system that the dock master did not even blink when asked for replacement ammunition for the guns, instead confirming that the ammunition would be loaded and the cost added to the bill by the time he returned. With that accomplished, Jon strode out of the hanger, hopefully in the direction of the club where he was supposed to be meeting the customer.

  *****

  Finally arriving at the club, “Ecstasy” a pun on the station name, that Jon was sure was completely missed by 99% of the clientele. Jon was already twenty minutes late for the meeting, having become completely lost in the labyrinth of the station. Jon hated asking directions! You would think, being able to plot a pinpoint course across the Galaxy, he would be able to find one club on the station!

  Jon could feel the bass from the speakers when he was still fifty meters from the club; by the time that he reached it the noise had become a living creature. Rattling his teeth and sending vibrations up his spine, by the time it reached his ears it felt like he was being whacked over the head by a mallet. Stepping inside the club, Jon was nearly thrown back out by the wall of sound crashing over him. The customer had chosen this place for a meeting? They would have to negotiate contract details by passing notes backwards and forwards, as it was impossible to hear anything.

  Casting his eyes around Jon peered through the dark, smoke filled room; strobe laser lights piercing the gloom, moving in erratic directions. Jon was surprised to note that the club seemed to be separated into two distinct areas, on one side a dance floor with a raised stage, the other half - well-spaced tables with a small scattering of customers, mostly engrossed by the current occupant of the stage. Jon shuddered to a halt as he observed the blond haired beauty, with short-cropped hair and baby blue eyes, gyrating to the music around a pole on the centre of the stage. However, Jon only spared a glance at her eyes, instead raking his eyes along her sleek athletic body, with the short cut-off jeans and white bikini top. Jon had observed women dressed only in underwear that revealed less flesh. As their eyes met across the room, the dancer flashed Jon a sexy grin before turning her back to him, offering Jon a stunning view of her rear.

  Biting back a flush, Jon cursed himself. He had been far too long without female companionship. To distract himself he scanned th
e room for his customer. Jon was finally able to locate his client via his white hair. The profile that he had been supplied with put him at a little under forty years of age, so Jon assumed it was caused by a genetic condition and not simply by number of years. Unless of course he had a similar lifestyle to Jon! Having spent most of his life, avoiding people trying to violently kill him, he certainly felt that his hair was becoming white prematurely!

  Sliding into the table opposite his client Jon eyed the man carefully and his dismay grew. Beneath the mop of white hair was a pale face with dark eyes that showed too many sleepless nights and stress. The worn and torn jumpsuit that he wore seemed to hang from his emaciated frame; all seemed to indicate a person going through a low ebb in his life. Jon was also drawn to the weapon that was hanging from a belt at his waist. While there was nothing illegal about carrying personal weaponry it was unusual enough on a civilian station like Transcendence to draw more than one raised eyebrow. At least it was still attached to his belt and not in his hand, a good sign to start a meeting…

  “You know, you do not look like one of our usual clients,” Jon yelled to be heard above the noise, voicing his suspicion as he slid into the seat opposite. Keeping one hand close to his pistol.

  “Oh? What does your usual client look like?” The stranger replied leaning forward so as to be heard, his voice much lighter and his eyes twinkling with hidden laughter. It was obvious that he was much younger than his worn craggy features seemed to indicate.

  “Oh I don’t know,” Jon replied. “Rich? Our usual clientele don’t look starved, haven’t slept in a couple of days and just escaped from a gunfight.” He motioned to the customer’s weapon, now mostly hidden under the table. “In addition,” Jon continued. “Our clients usually have…money. Which is something I am going to hazard a guess that you do not have much of?”

  “I must apologise for the subterfuge,” he said reaching across the table to offer his hand; Jon assumed the other was still resting on his weapon. “My name is…Snow.” He made a faint wave of his hand towards his hair.

  “Your mother gave you that name… or did you grow into it?” Jon asked suspiciously. Snow was taken aback for a moment before he let out a roar of laughter. “That’s very good!” He replied. “I have never heard that one before and no, Snow is not my original name but it’s one that is… convenient at the moment”.

  “So what can I do for you Mr Snow?” Jon got back down to business. “I assume you are not interested in the logistics side of my business?” He asked resignedly. It was obviously not going to be one of his better days, what with the threats from the Syndicate, the attempt on his life and now this…

  He looking around furtively to make sure that nobody could overhear their conversation, although Jon was fairly sure that was guaranteed, as he was sitting only a few feet away, with the two of them shouting at the top of their voices simply to be heard over the music. Snow leaned forward and in a quiet whisper, Jon straining to hear, stated. “I bring a warning to you, a warning that you need to pass on to the very highest echelon of the Confederation. A warning of a dire threat to the future of the entire Confederation!”

  Glancing around to ensure that nobody could overhear his response, Jon leant closer and in an even quieter voice replied. “I think you have the wrong table. Are you sure you don’t want the one in the corner? He definitely looks like the conspiracy type to me!” With a laugh Jon pushed back his seat and prepared to depart from this wasted trip.

  With surprising speed Snow caught his wrist in a firm grip and hissed, “I know who you really are Commander Radec. I know how you took command of the 37th during the retreat at Lalande. How the Emperor promoted you, personally, to command the 58th Squadron, the youngest Commander in the history of the fleet.” Jon froze in shock at hearing this; the events he described seemed like another life. A younger more ambitious man before his entire world had come crushing down leaving almost nothing.

  “I am sorry,” Jon replied continuing to push away. “I don’t know whom you are talking about.”

  Snow however, would not be quietened and continued. “I know your past and more importantly I know that you are respected in the Confederation. You can take this warning to the Senate and they must listen, more importantly she will listen…”

  However, whatever he was going to say next was lost in the sound of weapons fire. A bolt from a pulse rifle went flying past with a crackle, missing Jon by inches. Snow however, was not so fortunate, as the bolt of energy hit Snow on the shoulder spinning him around and against the table. Fortunately, the fall probably saved his life, as three more beams of energy intersected where he had been sitting, moments earlier.

  Having been on a knife-edge ever since the ambush at the asteroid belt, Jon did not pause for an instant as he used his momentum to shove the table over and dive behind it, pulling Snow behind him. This was helped by the fact that Snow was already on the floor cradling his shoulder. Once he was sure that both were behind cover Jon reached for his pistol, flipping the safety off and peering around the edge of the table to try and locate their attackers.

  However, in the smoke filled gloom Jon could see little. It would seem that their attackers had a much better idea of their location; as Jon had to duck back behind the table quickly as half a dozen more shots impacted the table only inches from his head!

  Looking over at Snow, he noticed that the other man had managed to get his weapon free with his left hand; obviously the damage to his shoulder had incapacitated his right arm. Meanwhile Jon observed the other occupants of the club hurriedly diving for cover; trying to take shelter from the energy bolts filling the air... all except one.

  Biting back a curse, Jon observed the blond dancer that he had locked gazes with earlier, frozen motionless on the stage a couple of feet away. Cursing, Jon rolled out from behind the cover offered by the upturned table until he was lying next to the raised stage. Moving quickly he caught the young woman’s wrist in a firm grip. With a sharp tug, and a startled cry from her, he pulled her off the stage into his arms. Three quick strides would have brought them back behind the table. Unfortunately they were still one stride short when two lucky shots caught Jon in the side, sending both Jon and the woman spinning to the floor, fortunately momentum continued to propel them back behind the temporary safety of the upturned table. A quick glance in her direction confirmed that she was unhurt. Jon meanwhile inspected the two holes in his flight jacket with disbelief! That had been his favourite jacket!

  “Didn’t your mother ever teach you to duck and cover, when the shooting starts?” Jon growled at the woman. However, the confused expression on her face and cupping her ear demonstrated that she could not hear what he had said over the music and gunfire.

  Growling in frustration Jon released the heavy pistol that he had been carrying and quickly sighting down the long barrel, squeezed the trigger twice, in quick succession. Two men that had been carrying pulse rifles, obviously trying to outflank, them, flew backwards. Twisting the pistol in the direction of the source of the endless music Jon squeezed the trigger once again, this time sending a volley of gunfire in the direction of the speakers, which mercifully fell silent a moment later.

  “Thank the Maker,” Jon exclaimed. “I can finally hear myself think. Friends of yours?” He shouted at Snow above the sounds of weapons fire.

  “Could be,” Snow replied. “Unless it is anybody that you recognise?” In response Jon stuck his pistol around the edge of the table and fired off half a dozen shots, in what he could only hope was the direction of their attackers.

  “Could be,” Jon responded, throwing Snow’s own words back at him. Jon would not put it past the Syndicate to have another team on the station in case their first attempt at the asteroid belt failed. Peering around the table Jon noticed movement towards their position, from the other side of the room. Quickly pulling the trigger on his heavy pistol, it thundered twice and a shadow dropped to the floor - motionless.

  “Friend of you
rs?” Snow inquired, gesturing with his pistol at the young, scantly clad, woman lying half underneath Jon, who he had been trying to shield with the bulk of his body.

  “We’ve only just met,” Jon replied drolly. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you to duck and cover, when the shooting starts?” he repeated the question that he asked earlier, which she could not hear due to the music and shooting.

  Looking up at Jon with wide, innocent, doe- eyes she cooed, “No, but my mother always told me to look out for tall, dark, handsome, heroes. I’m Felicity, what’s your name stranger?” she asked, running her hand suggestively down Jon’s chest.

  “Duck,” Jon insisted.

  “Duck?”

  “Yes, duck!” Jon pushed her back down, his pistol blasting away at the indistinct shape trying to manoeuvre for a better shot.

  Snow glanced at the bulky pistol before checking for any further motion on the other side of the room. “You often carry an antique around for protection?” he asked conversationally motioning towards the much more sleek and compact energy pistol in his own hand.

  “I have a particular fondness for this one,” Jon replied in an equal tone, switching the firing selector on the pistol from single shot to automatic. Reaching over their barricade and sighting in the direction of the source of the incoming fire he depressed the trigger. The rolling thunder of gunfire was loud enough to deafen the attackers by itself – without the additional carnage of the heavy calibre bullets shredding tables, chairs and bodies. After the clip ran dry, for a brief moment, there was complete silence in the bar, aside from the sound of the empty shell cases hitting the floor. The gunfire soon resumed however, but much less intensely.

  “Impressive,” Snow commented glancing once again at the pistol.

  “Indeed,” Jon agreed. “The disadvantage being that this is my last clip. I think that it is time for us to leave,” Jon explained, ejecting the empty clip and inserting a fresh magazine. Snow raised an eyebrow at this comment and pointed to the other side of the barricade.