The Last Praetorian
Chapter Five

Present Day

Transcendence Station, Zeta Aquilae System

Looking out of the cockpit window, it seemed Transcendence Station had changed little since their last desperate flight here, almost half-a-decade ago. 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 ship’s 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, he went to check on the ship’s newest addition, in the starboard cargo hold. While he 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 because of the heavy condensation from being in space. 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 they refuel the ship for the return journey, stating 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 hangar, 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 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 gaze around, Jon peered through the dark, smoke filled room, which had strobe laser lights piercing the gloom, moving in erratic directions. Jon was surprised to note the club seemed to be separated into two distinct sections. On one side a dance floor with a raised stage, on the other 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 blonde-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 gaze along her sleek athletic body, with the short cut-off jeans and white bikini top. Jon had observed women dressed only in underwear who revealed less flesh. As their eyes met briefly 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 the room for his customer. He was finally able to locate his client via his white hair. The profile 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 him. Having spent most of his life avoiding people violently trying to kill him, he certainly felt 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 too much stress. The worn and torn jumpsuit he wore seemed to hang from his emaciated frame. It all seemed to indicate a person going through a low ebb in his life. Jon’s attention was also drawn to the weapon 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 being still attached to his belt and not in his hand was a good sign at the start of 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, 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 too, his eyes twinkling with hidden laughter. It was obvious 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, as though they 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 you do not have much of?”

“I must apologise for the subterfuge,” the other man 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.

Snow looked around fugitively to make sure that nobody could overhear their conversation. Jon was fairly sure that was guaranteed, as he was sitting only a few feet away and the two of them had to shout at the top of their voices simply to be heard over the music. Jon strained to hear, as Snow leaned forward and, in a quiet whisper, stated, “I bring a warning to you, a warning 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 man in the corner? He definitely looks like the conspiracy type to me!” With a laugh Jon pushed back his seat and prepared to head home after his 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 personally promoted you to command the 58th Squadron, making you the youngest Commander in the history of the fleet.”

Jon froze in shock. The events Snow described seemed like another life—the life of a younger, more ambitious man whose entire world hadn’t 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 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 him 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 but used his momentum to shove the table over and dive behind it, pulling Snow with him. This was helped by the fact Snow was already on the floor cradling his shoulder. Once he was sure they both were behind cover, Jon reached for his pistol, flipped the safety off and peered 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 their attackers had a much better idea of their location, as he quickly had to duck back behind the table when half–a-dozen more shots impacted the table only inches from his head.

Looking over at Snow, he noticed although the damage to the other man’s shoulder had obviously incapacitated his right arm, he’d had managed to get his weapon free with his left hand. Meanwhile, Jon observed, the other occupants of the club were hurriedly diving for cover, trying to take shelter from the energy bolts filling the air, all except one. The blonde dancer he’d locked gazes with earlier was 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 yank, and a startled cry from her, he pulled her off the stage into his arms. Three quick strides would have brought him back behind the table with the scantily clad woman. Unfortunately, they were still one stride short when two lucky shots caught Jon in the side, sending both him 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 she was unhurt. Jon inspected the two holes in his flight jacket with disbelief. This was 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 the cupping of her ear demonstrated she could not hear what he had said over the music and weapon fire.

Growling in frustration, Jon raised the heavy pistol he was carrying and quickly sighting down the long barrel, squeezing the trigger twice in quick succession. Two men carrying pulse rifles who had obviously been trying to outflank their position, flew backwards. Twisting the pistol in the direction of the source of the endless music Jon squeezed the trigger once again, this 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 weapon fire.

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

“Could be,” Jon responded, throwing Snow’s own words back at him. He 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 from the other side of the room towards their position. Quickly pulling the trigger, his heavy pistol thundered twice and a shadow dropped to the floor, motionless.

“Friend of yours?” Snow inquired, gesturing with his pistol at the young, scantily-clad woman Jon had been trying to shield with the bulk of his body and who was lying half underneath him.

“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 he’d 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 strangers. 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 around for a better shot.

Snow glanced at the bulky pistol before checking for any further motion on the other side of the table. “You often carry an antique around for protection?” he asked conversationally, motioning towards the much more compact and sleek 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, he reached over their barricade, sighted in the direction of the source of the incoming fire and 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 casings hitting the floor. The gunfire soon resumed however, but with much less intensity.

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

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

“I could not agree with you more. However, after your last impressive volley I do not think they are in the mood for a by-your-leave.” A particularly heavy volley of laser fire hitting their rapidly diminishing barricade punctuated his last point.

“Agreed,” Jon said, pulling out a round grenade from his coat pocket. “I thought we would give them a parting present.”

Snow eyed the grenade carefully before replying. “We are not that far from the outer hull, if that causes a hull breach we are all going to end up floating in space.”

“That’s why this is not an explosive,” Jon explained. “A friend designed these babies based on an old concept called a “Flash Bang”, it makes a bright light and incapacitating noise but no explosion. Perfect for use on ships and stations.”

“Eyes closed.” Jon directed this instruction at Felicity, prizing one of her hands, which had been drifting lower, away from his body. “Cover your ears.”

“I don’t think I have thanked you properly for saving my life earlier,” she instead replied, and before Jon could assure her it was no problem she aggressively leaned forward to press her lips firmly against his. Taken aback by the brazen move, Jon was stunned into immobility, as he felt her soft lips press against his. His arms unconsciously went around her, enjoying the feel of her warm, endless flesh, forgetting about their current, precarious situation for a moment. Jon was brought back to reality with a bump by a cough from Snow, next to him.

“Sorry, am I interrupting, a moment?” Snow asked sardonically.

Prising his lips from hers, gently, but firmly, he disentangled himself from Felicity’s grasp. “Stay here, you’ll be safe, and by the Maker keep your head down this time,” Jon whispered to her. He allowed himself a moment longer to gaze into her eyes, once again reminding himself how long he had been alone. However, it was not Felicity that he so desperately desired. He wondered what it was about being human that made you always desire most the one thing you could never have.

Pulling the pin on the grenade, Jon rolled it in the direction of the remaining attackers before ducking back behind their makeshift barricade. A few seconds later a blinding light and deafening roar signalled the detonation of the device. Grabbing Snow by his good shoulder Jon pulled him towards the exit, trying to keep low to avoid the, now seemingly random, weapons fire.

Managing to make it out of the club relatively unscathed, Jon directed them down a side corridor, quickly shoving their weapons inside the deep pockets of his coat. Snow seemed to be in a bad way. With a quick glance at his shoulder, Jon could tell it was a severe wound. The pale face and glazed look in his eyes and the slowly increasing weight was a clear indication Snow was starting to lose consciousness.

Lying Snow down as gently as possible, Jon leaned him against the bulkhead of the corridor and checked for a pulse. It was intermittent and weak. Slowly reaching into his pocket Snow took out a small data chip and dropped it into Jon’s hand.

“Get this to the Confederation,” Snow wheezed weakly. “They must be warned of the threat. You must tell the…” however before he could finish, his eyes closed for the last time and Jon was unable to find a pulse.

Looking from the data chip in his hand to the body of Snow lying in the corridor Jon shook his head in disbelief at how badly this day had gone. Carefully slipping the data chip into his pocket Jon set off quickly for the hangar containing the ’Light.

In double quick time Jon arrived back at the ’Light. The dock master was already approaching, as Jon stepped carefully into the hangar, eyes darting around looking for anything or anyone out of place.

“I hope that sir had a profitable stay at Transcendence?” The dock master inquired, with the sort of artificially upbeat tone of voice that was just begging for a significant tip.

Not noticing anything out of the ordinary, Jon distractedly replied. “Could have gone better. By the way, has anybody been asking around for me?”

“I don’t believe so, sir,” he replied, handing Jon the datapad detailing the docking fee and any repair and re-supply costs. “If I could also recommend our premium VIP membership plan that includes a free service—”

He was abruptly cut off, as Jon shoved the datapad back with his authorisation for payment and a ridiculously astronomical tip, which made the dock master’s eyes widen in shock.

“Why don’t you go and have a chat with departure control?” Jon suggested. “While I start the pre-flight checks. Explain to them how I urgently need to be about my business and absolutely need to have a departure slot immediately.” The dock master nodded his head in understanding and quickly scurried out of the hangar before Jon changed his mind.

Heading straight to the cockpit of the ’Light Jon sealed the ship and immediately triggered the hangar decompression cycle. He then carried out a rapidly reduced pre-flight checklist, which mostly involved getting the engines started as quickly as possible and the hell off of this station.

It would seem his second ever visit to Transcendence was going to fair little better than the first.

With a new record for departure clearance authorisation, Jon pushed the engines to full power and quickly exited the station to shouts of anger across the communications system from departure control, reminding him he should only engage main engines when at least three kilometres from the station. However by then the station was a rapidly dwindling dot on the aft sensors. With the way his last two visits had concluded, Jon was in no rush to return for a third.

After at least half-a-dozen random course corrections, to throw off any possible pursuit, Jon finally set in a course for Terra Nova at maximum possible speed. He spent the majority of the trip considering the possible contents of the data chip in his pocket.

With a slight hiss of air the pressure equalised between the ’Light and Terra Nova and the airlock slid open to reveal Paul’s concerned face.

“You’re long overdue. Were there any problems with the client?” Paul asked anxiously, giving Jon a careful once over to ensure that he was uninjured.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Jon replied noncommittally. “Can you get a team down to the starboard cargo bay? There is a pod there I brought on board. Check it out to make sure it’s secure before transporting it to medical and defrosting the occupant.” Jon continued, while making his way to his quarters. He was in desperate need for a shower.

“A pod?” Paul asked in confusion. “Where did you find that?”

“Out near the outer asteroid belt, midway to Transcendence.”

“What was it doing all the way out there? How long had it been out there?” Paul asked, confused.

“Not long. I would say only about ten minutes after I blew up the owner’s fighter,” Jon concluded, as he stepped into his apartment and the door slid shut on Paul’s astonished face. A moment later the door reopened, so Jon could stick his head out. “Oh, almost forgot,” he said, tossing the data-chip from his pocket to his startled operations chief. “Ask one of our computer geeks from engineering to have a look at that will you?”

Paul looked at the data chip curiously. “What is on it?” he inquired.

“No idea,” Jon replied, with a smirk. “The guy who gave it to me was shot before he had a chance to explain. Said something about a conspiracy to overthrow the Confederation, end of civilisation as we know it. You know, the usual.” With that the door slid shut on his now completely aghast operations chief.

“So all around a productive trip,” Paul commented aloud, to the now empty corridor, before heading off to the command centre to find somebody to defrost the station’s newest occupant and somebody else to decode the data on the chip.

With a sudden gasp Miranda came to full consciousness, blinking away the bright, white light. The last thing she remembered was the asteroid exploding into a million fragments and reaching for the ejection handle, beyond that was nothing but darkness.

Slowly her eyes adjusted to the bright light and she noticed a face peering down at her with an impish smile.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, miss. I am sure you must be somewhat disoriented but I will be happy to answer any questions you might have. Excuse my manners, I am Doctor Richardson, chief flight surgeon, but you can just call me Neil.” At this he seemed to chuckle at his own joke. “You are currently on Terra Nova. You were brought here after ejecting from your ship in the outer asteroid belt of the system.” Richardson concluded his brief, congratulations-on-still-being-alive speech.

Slowly awareness started to come back to Miranda, along with her short-term memory of the incident in the belt. Abruptly sitting up, she glanced around, observing the medical bay. She seemed to be the only patient at the moment, as the rest of the beds were empty. The Doctor and a few medical technicians were the only others present. She noticed in the corner of the room her now empty escape pod and winced internally. Mallart was not going to react well at the destruction of her incredibly expensive ship.

She was back where she started, Miranda realised she had better make good her escape. Now she was conscious, and before any more guards arrived. As she was preparing to make a flying leap towards the exit, Miranda suddenly stopped and quickly checked beneath the sheet she had been lying under. She was naked. She looked at the doctor with an outraged expression.

Noticing her expression the doctor explained. “We had to cut you out of the flight suit before we could resuscitate you. Not to mention fixing the numerous stress fractures in your wrist and shoulder,” the Doctor punctuated the words with a jab of his finger at each area. Miranda felt slightly sheepish at her response. Of course they would have had to undress her to revive her.

Meanwhile the doctor continued softly, “I’ll go and see if I can find you some clothes that fit. My daughter is about your size.” It was only then Miranda noticed the greying hair, with white at the edges, and the wrinkles on his hands and face. While the Doctor seemed very fit and energetic he was far older than he appeared at first glance. With an embarrassed blush Miranda could only nod her head in thanks and wrap the white sheet closer around herself.

Her internal musings were suddenly interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Two gentlemen entered, engaged in a heated conversation, which stopped abruptly when the younger of the two swung his gaze around to focus on Miranda. His mouth dropped open in shock.

Having been woken from a light sleep by the intercom informing him the pilot had regained consciousness, Jon and Paul were discussing how best to interrogate the pilot to find out the latest intelligence on the activities of the Syndicate in the system. While not advocating torture, Jon had been actively proposing making the pilot’s life incredibly uncomfortable during his stay on the station. After all, the pilot had been doing his very best to abruptly cut short Jon’s life only hours before.

Having the preconceived notion of a dangerous, cutthroat pirate who would happily kill for money, Jon was completely speechless on seeing the young, beautiful, raven-haired woman, wrapped in nothing but a white sheet. After all Jon could see a fair amount of flesh protruding from the blanket. Meanwhile the young pilot was blushing slightly, obviously from something the doctor had said. Jon was very curious to observe the blush spreading from her cheeks, along the length of her neck and down underneath the thin sheet.

He gave Paul a disbelieving look, who was trying hard, but failing miserably, to suppress his laughter. He knew. While Jon had been plotting days of sleep deprivation, minimal rations and hard labour, his operations chief had known all along who the pilot was.

Bastard! Jon thought, peeved. He made a note to find some highly demeaning chore for his friend in the near future, before turning back to the raven-haired beauty sitting, draped in a sheet, inquisitively eying the two of them.

Putting on what he hoped was a sincere smile Jon introduced himself. “Hi, my name is Jonathan Radec, but my friends just call me Jon. This is my chief of operations, Paul Harrington. Welcome to Terra Nova. How are you feeling?”

Having recognised the face from the intelligence file supplied by the Syndicate, Miranda took a moment to study the person in the flesh in more detail. She had never expected to meet him in person. He was just a mission, another threat to the Syndicate who had to be removed. However, the first thing she noticed when observing him in person, remembering according to his file he was in his mid-thirties, was he looked younger. He obviously stayed active and his athletic frame, dark hair and stormy grey eyes made him appear much younger.

Realising she had been staring for too long, she motioned towards the doctor, commenting, “The Doctor was just telling me that aside from a few bumps and bruises I am perfectly fine and was free to leave.”

Jon glanced at the doctor to confirm what she was saying.

“Indeed,” the Doctor confirmed. “She should make a full recovery. However, any dizziness or any other symptoms and I want you to report straight back to medical. Your body has been through an incredible strain and it needs time to fully recover. No physical exertion, hear me? Take it easy for the next few days.” With that firm warning the Doctor departed to find her a spare pair of clothes.

Turning back to the two men, Miranda inquired, “When will I be able to leave?” Jon glanced towards Paul inquiringly, however he just replied with a non-committal shrug.

“Well…” Jon replied. “We have been trying to get in contact with the Magistratus from the Chamber of Commerce, Business and Shipping, but so far they have not acknowledged any missing pilot’s. They did agree to make further inquiries and get back to us when they can.”

Miranda groaned under her breath, it was obviously too much to hope for that the Syndicate were just going to send somebody to pick her up.

“So you are just going to keep me here, as a prisoner?” Miranda demanded angrily. Jon tried hard to supress a smile; it seemed this girl had some fire in her.

“Well there is the small matter of you trying to destroy my ship, kill me…” Jon continued with a twinkle in his eye, knowing this was likely to enflame the young woman further.

“Destroy your ship!” Miranda retorted, angrier still. “You destroyed my ship with that crazy asteroid stunt of yours,” she shouted, almost losing her grip on the sheet, much to Jon’s delight.

“Anyway,” Jon continued. “You are free to leave the station anytime you wish, however I believe that the next scheduled freighter to Transcendence, where you could find on-going passage is…” Jon glanced at Paul inquiringly.

“About six weeks,” Paul responded with a completely straight face.

Miranda just cursed with rage.

“I’ll leave you to get dressed. See you around.” Jon concluded the conversation with a huge smile. With that he left, with Paul following close behind. Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ ꜰindNʘvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Miranda was left cursing the day she had ever heard his name.

The moment the door to medical slid shut, Paul leaned against the corridor laughing his ass off. “Oh, to see the look on your face when you walked in,” Paul crooned. “If I only had a camera so I could store that look for future prosperity… and blackmail.” Paul laughed.

Jon only shot Paul a dirty look before replying, “I’m fairly sure it says somewhere I am in charge, doesn’t that mean I can fire your ass?”

Paul only laughed louder. “So I assume we are going to forgo the rack and thumbscrews?” Paul inquired. “Perhaps a dozen red roses and a box of chocolates instead?” Paul asked with another laugh.

Jon just scowled and marched off in a huff, with the parting order. “When she is ready send her to my office.”

“Is that before or after we find her some clothes?” Paul called after his departing boss with a laugh. Jon only scowled deeper and lengthened his stride, disappearing round the corner.

“Ah to be a fly on the wall during that meeting,” Paul commented aloud before turning back to the medical bay to check the Doctor had managed to rustle up some clothes. Upon re-entering medical Paul was surprised to note the young pilot had disappeared from the bed, sheet included. Glancing around frantically, worried he had already lost her, he was about to call for security when he noticed the Doctor tilt his head towards one of the small offices branching off from the main treatment area. He assumed she was getting changed into something more appropriate, and hopefully less revealing. Even Paul had not failed to notice the beautiful pilot. He approached the Doctor to inquire about her state, again trying to supress a laugh at the memory of the expression on Jon’s face.

The Doctor, upon noticing the smile inquired. “Some joke I am missing out on?”

“Oh,” Paul replied. “I was just remembering the expression on Jon’s face when he noticed our latest addition.” Paul waved a hand in the direction of the office where Miranda was getting dressed.

“Ah,” the Doctor replied with a smile of his own. “I assume you did not inform our enigmatic leader in advance that my latest patient is of the young, female and very attractive persuasion?”

“Are you joking?” Paul exclaimed. “And miss that opportunity. No way! Anyway Jon was discussing all the ways that he was planning on getting his revenge against the pilot who dared scratch his baby. He would not let me get in a word edgeways.”

“Yes, I heard from some of my staff about the Commander’s adventure to Transcendence. Honestly he seems to spend so much time in here that I am considering allocating him a bed on a permanent basis.” With the Doctor’s reference to Jon’s continual close brushes with death a lot of the good humour left Paul’s expression and he turned thoughtful.

“You have known Jon longer than anybody. It seems sometimes he carries the fate of the world on his shoulders.”

“I assume you are referring to our dear leader’s single-handed mission to save the Galaxy from itself?” the Doctor inquired in a cynical tone.

“It’s more than that.” Paul tried to explain. “He is an outstanding leader, probably the best pilot I have ever seen and I think the crew would follow him into the mouth of hell and back without question, but the responsibility of command seems to sit on his shoulders like the weight of the world. Every ship we lose to these pirates, every crewmember who does not come back, he takes it as a personal loss, that he failed to do a good enough job. To be honest, Doc, I was rather hoping our latest additional to the station might help distract him.”

“I see,” the Doctor replied. “Well I must confess to having quite a shock myself upon opening that pod. Reminded me of that Old Earth story I used to read to my daughter, Sleeping Beauty. Unconscious there in the pod she looked like she was waiting for a prince to wake her up. Perhaps I should have waited for Jon to revive her,” the Doctor said, with a laugh.

“Seriously Doc, how is she?” Paul asked, in a more serious tone. The Doctor turned back to the datapad and brought up the results of her previous scan.

“Generally she is in pretty good health. She had a number of stress cracks, probably caused by the huge acceleration of the ejection, not unusual in cases like this. I have repaired this damage and her bone density should now be as good as new. In addition she had a few other poorly healed factures, which I also repaired, along with being a little malnourished. I have given her an injection of trace vitamins and minerals. She could do with a few good meals.” Checking to ensure the young woman was still getting changed he added, with a grin, “Perhaps the Commander could assist with that. Following that she should be back to perfect health. It would seem she has not had an easy life.” The Doctor frowned. “A number of poorly healed fractures, cuts, scars and being malnourished seems to suggest wherever she has been has not been easy.”

“They should make a perfect couple then considering all the scrapes Jon manages to get into,” Paul quipped, but was interrupted by the sound of the door sliding open. Miranda eyed the two of then warily.

“What was that about the Commander?” Miranda asked suspiciously.

“I was just referring to Jon,” Paul replied easily. “As the chief executive of the company and the owner of Terra Nova everyone just refers to him as the Commander, it’s easier,” he explained. “Speaking of which, he asked me to escort you to his office when you had finished getting dressed.” Observing she had now changed into a dark pair of formfitting slacks and matching shirt, he motioned her towards the exit of sickbay. Following behind her as they departed sickbay Paul let his gaze slowly drift lower.

What a great posterior, Paul thought to himself. If I were a couple of years younger and not already married…

On the way towards Jon’s office Miranda slowed down to be able to walk abreast of Paul in a clear indication she wanted to discuss something with him. Realising he still did not know her name Paul introduced himself.

“By the way I am Paul Harrington, operations chief for Vanguard and second in command of Terra Nova.” Glancing at Miranda, who remained stubbornly silent, Paul rolled his eyes and enquired, “And you are…?”

“Miranda,” she replied succinctly.

With a grin Paul replied, “Well, nice to meet you Miss Miranda.” She gave him an angry glare, which made Paul grin even more. Grinding her teeth in frustration, Miranda remained silent. Having been married for over ten years Paul had a feeling she wanted to ask something so he remained silent and started counting in his head.

One.

Two.

Three.

“So where did the Commander get his ship?”

Paul smirked, Works every time.

“Which ship?” he inquired, deciding to try and keep the conversation going and see if he could get Miranda to open up a little. “Vanguard owns quite a number.”

“The one he was flying when I…I mean the one he picked me up in,” Miranda corrected her oversight quickly. Probably not a good idea going around admitting to everybody she had been trying her hardest to kill the boss, Miranda considered.

“You mean the Eternal Light?” Paul replied. “That is a long story but I suppose you could say he kind of stole it.”

Miranda looked up in shock, it obviously was not the sort of answer she had been expecting. “He stole it!” she exclaimed.

“Well…” Paul backtracked a little. “You need to ask Jon for all the details but basically the ship belonged to the Imperial Navy. It was assigned to Jon so he could transport some very important… cargo.” It was obvious that Paul was choosing his words carefully. “The Navy decided soon after they wanted the cargo back to dispose of. Anyway, Jon had no intention of returning the cargo, knowing full well what they had in mind for it. Hence he kept the ship and the cargo. Well, at least Jon managed to keep hold of the ship but not the cargo.” He laughed at his obviously personal joke.

“You have known the Commander long?” Miranda inquired getting caught up in Paul’s retelling of the story. When she had first seen the ship she had detested its owner, Radec, assuming that, unlike her, he had been born with money and given every privilege in life. She had assumed, wrongly obviously, that he had paid a small fortune to either have the ship built or to buy it from its previous owner. However, with Paul’s retelling of the story she realised maybe they were not so different after all, both put in impossible situations with few options to choose from. Paul had also piqued her interest regarding the cargo. What could have been so important to Jon that he would have refused to return it? It was obvious Paul was not going to elaborate, so she made a mental note to ask Jon about it later.

Shaking her head in disbelief, Miranda realised she was already subconsciously referring to the enigmatic Commander by his first name. She had been trying to kill him barely twenty-four hours before, however, the more she found out about him the more of a mystery he seemed to become. How wrong the Syndicate intelligence had been!

She was so caught up in her internal deliberations regarding the Commander she almost walked into Paul’s back. He had stopped in front of a door Miranda assumed was an office. Taking a deep breath, she prepared for her next encounter with the puzzling station Commander.

A chime interrupted Jon’s concentration, as he was reviewing the latest company shipping manifests, notifying him of the arrival of Paul and the woman. It suddenly occurred to him he did not even know the young pilot’s name and he made a note to ask, before calling out, “Enter!”

The door smoothly slid open to reveal Paul with the young pilot following closely behind.

Ushering her into Jon’s office, Paul stated, with a smirk. “Miss Miranda, as requested.”

Looking up in puzzlement Jon was about to inquire if that was her first, last, middle name or just a nickname when Miranda interjected with obvious frustration.

“My name is Miranda. Just Miranda.”

Paul responded, with a quick grin, “Well nice talking with you just Miranda,” before disappearing back though the door, which slid shut behind him.

Glancing around the room curiously, Miranda’s sight was quickly drawn to the large expanse of endless space on the left side of the office. It was difficult to miss a gaping hole in the hull of a space station. Jon watched curiously to see how she would react. Generally people reacted in one of two ways, either to note the expanse then ignore it and try to put it out of their mind for the rest of the meeting, or to react violently and take a number of steps away. Jon was curious to see how she would react.

Taking a few steps closer to the void, Miranda reached out her hand tentatively, until she touched the surface of the energy barrier. Then, much as Paul had done the day before, she ran her fingers across the field, fascinatedly watching the play of ripples in the energy field. Jon suppressed a smile, as though she had passed some secret test.

“You have an aversion to windows?” Miranda inquired, continuing to run her fingers across the barrier, bewitched. “I hope you don’t have any fluctuations in your power grid,” she commented.

“Not recently,” Jon replied with a grin, before motioning her to take a seat across the desk from him. Leaning back in his chair, Jon took a moment to just unabashedly stare at her. She was certainly an enigma and the very last thing he was expecting when he brought the pod aboard the ’Light.

Meanwhile Miranda was becoming very uncomfortable with his steady gaze and, breaking eye contact, asked, “Well now that you have me here, what are you going to do with me?”

Tapping his fingers on the desk for a few moments Jon replied, “It is less what I want with you and more what I should do with you. I need to know you are not a risk to this station or any of my crew.”

Miranda noted he did not include himself in the list.

“My head of security wants me to throw you in the brig and leave you there until somebody from the Syndicate decides to come and get you. It could be a long wait,” Jon pointed out.

Miranda held her breath, not saying anything, but internally she was in agreement. It was possible the Syndicate would never acknowledge her, especially as she had failed and lost their ship in the process. The Syndicate did not regard failure lightly.

“However, to be frank, we do not have the personnel or the resources to confine anybody for a long period of time. Hence the more extreme suggestion from my head of security.” Jon dipped his head in the direction of the gaping void and the infinity of space beyond, letting the last statement hang in the air for a moment before proceeding. “However, I am not a merciless killer, so I come back to my original question of what I should do with you. My earlier offer still stands and you are welcome to leave the station at any time. Unfortunately it is several weeks before the next freighter leaves for Transcendence. Which still leaves me with the question, are you a risk to this station or any of its crew?” Staring at Miranda for a few moments longer, Jon reached into a drawer behind his desk and withdrew a pulse pistol he kept there for emergencies.

Miranda noticed the pistol immediately and tensed. Jon was too far away for her to make a grab for the weapon, and the exit was several meters away. She would be killed outright, long before she reached it. Always having known it was possible her life would end in such a manner, Miranda sat waiting for the fatal shot.

She almost died anyway.

The shock of the pistol being casually tossed onto her lap almost giving her a heart attack. She looked up in disbelief from the pistol to her antagonist, still sitting casually behind his desk. Delicately, as if handling a venomous snake, Miranda carefully picked up the pistol. A quick glance confirmed it seemed fully charged and ready to fire its deadly load with one quick squeeze of the trigger. Casting an inquiring look across the desk, she uttered the first word that came to her mind. “Why?”

Leaning back slightly in his chair, Jon replied, “I need to know I can trust you with the safety of my crew and my station. Therefore I’m giving you the opportunity to complete the task I know you were sent to do. Better to put just one life, my life, in your hands than to risk the lives of my crew or security of my station. So here is your opportunity to finish what you started.” Jon gestured to the weapon in her hands.

Miranda was speechless, for the first time having no idea what to do or say. Instead she just stared, uncomprehendingly, at the deadly weapon in her hands. True she had been tasked, only days before, with his destruction and that of his ship, a mission she had tried her very best to fulfil. That was one thing—impersonal—but to sit in front of that person, to kill him in cold blood, to murder him? Miranda had always considered herself a pilot first and foremost. Sure, she had destroyed other ships, often with little or no warning. She had done what she was tasked with. But a murder? No. Miranda had never thought of herself as that before.

Recognising her indecision Jon leaned forward and, with an intense stare, explained. “I have faced death many times, in many different situations. I have stared down the barrel of a gun on countless occasions and have observed the person holding that weapon. Some were scared, terrified of having to pull the trigger. Others were seasoned killers, merciless, who would not give a second thought to pulling the trigger, and when facing those I knew my death was certain. However, I look at you and I do not see the face of a merciless killer. I recognise you have had to do some unpleasant things in the past. You had few choices. But a killer? A murderer? No. When I look at you I do not see that in your eyes. I don’t think you could pick up that weapon and shoot me in cold blood any more than I could have shot you…” Jon let his voice fade away quietly and remained still, waiting to see what her reaction would be, if he had misjudged her.

With a last, uncomprehending look at the weapon in her hand, Miranda delicately put it back on the table and pushed it a short distance away, a clear indication she wanted nothing to do with it. Purposefully averting her gaze, she once again stared out the window. Recognising a faint object docked to the station and remembering her earlier question, she asked, “Tell me about your ship.”

Recognising the change in topic for what it was, Jon relaxed slightly. Leaning back in his chair he replied. “The Eternal Light? She is my life. Or probably better to say she is all that remains of my old life.”

“You were in the Imperial Navy?” Miranda inquired. “Paul told me you stole the ship, was that true?” A part of her desperately wanted to believe what Paul had told her to be the truth, to be able to relate to another person, to understand that somewhere else, someone who had achieved so much more than her had once been in the same situation, with few choices, none good.

“Stole the Eternal Light?” Jon replied with a grin. Miranda’s heart sank. “I would describe it more as a loan, but they sure wanted her back. They sent seven squadrons, over eighty fighters, the full fighter complement of an Imperial Task Force to ensure we returned, or at the very least ensure we could not escape.”

“How did you manage to escape?” Miranda asked in disbelief. While she had never seen an Imperial task force in real life—such a fleet would never be dispatched to a fringe system in the Confederation—she had seen a holovideo of one as a child and had been in awe.

“My squadron managed to hold them off long enough for the Eternal Light and I to escape into FTL,” Jon replied, lost deep in the past. “It was a suicide mission, as they were each out gunned many times over, but they managed to hold off the other fighters long enough for the Eternal Light to escape the planetary gravity well and make it into FTL,” Jon explained, full of pride, his voice tinged with the sadness of the loss of so many friends and colleagues. However, Jon knew if the situation had been reversed, if he had been flying as he would normally have, as leader of the squadron, he would have done nothing different and died proud, knowing his death bought enough time for the Eternal Light to have escaped.

“I did not realise you were a pilot in the Imperial Navy,” Miranda replied, subdued at the story Jon had recited, of so many pilots sacrificing their lives so the man across from her could be here today.

“I resigned my commission soon after,” Jon replied, still lost in his past life. “The Imperial Navy was disbanded soon after the announcement of the supposed death of Emperor Aurelius and the establishment of the Confederation. I had few ties and little regard for the Confederation, hence decided to go into business for myself.” Jon waved at the office around them. “This used to be an old Imperial Navy repair & resupply station, it was mothballed by the Confederation and transferred to me upon my request, as thanks for service rendered.”

Miranda almost choked at that. What could this man possibly have done to be given an entire space station as thanks for ‘service rendered’? Miranda could not even contemplate the worth of such a facility, easily running into the hundreds of millions of credits. Suddenly something Jon said leapt out at her. “What do you mean the announcement of the supposed death of the Emperor?”

Jon considered the young woman in front of him thoughtfully for a few minutes; he had never given voice to these thoughts before, not even to Paul who he considered almost family.

“Emperor Aurelius, Marcus...” it had been many years since he had referred to him by his first name and it felt strange on his tongue. “He knew something was coming, he confided in me only a short while before the announcement of his death and the start of the Separatist Civil War. I cannot believe he did not have some plan or strategy already in place. He had secrets even I was not privy to. There was never any body produced. I cannot believe he is dead until I see his body with my own eyes.”

Miranda meanwhile was spellbound, feeling like the character from her favourite children’s book Alice in Wonderland. She was beginning to understand how Alice must have felt after falling down the hole. She had managed to read some books and see a few holovideos that had described the Imperium before the death of the Emperor. She had also seen pictures of his beautiful daughter. Miranda had thought the whole thing was like some beautiful fairy-tale and, as a young girl, had run around the stations pretending she was an Imperial Princess. Here was a man however, sitting across the table from her, who had been there! Describing events he had been part of.

“You knew the Emperor?” Miranda asked breathlessly.

Jon could only nod his head in confirmation, while Miranda was just rendered speechless. Wrenching his thoughts back to the present, and trying to get the conversation back on track, Jon stated, “Anyway, I do not think you pose a threat to any of my crew or this station.” Jon motioned towards the gun still resting on his desk. “The problem still stands with what to do with you. As I do not have the resources to guard you in the brig or confine you to your quarters I have decided to put you to work.”

Miranda tensed upon hearing this, with visions of hard labour or cleaning washrooms leaping to mind.

Jon however, put her mind at rest as he explained, “As you seem to have some proficiency with ships, I will assign you to our flight deck. Report to Reynolds tomorrow at 0900 ship-time sharp, where you will follow all tasks assigned by him, do you understand?”

Slightly taken aback by the change of tone, as Miranda felt only moments before she was starting to finally understand the Commander, she nodded in agreement.

“Please see Paul in C&C and he will assign you some quarters,” Jon added in clear dismissal. Again with a nod of her head, she quickly departed his office. Staring out once again at the stars clearly shining though the space in the wall of the office, Jon did not fail to notice the pistol was now missing from his desk.

Smart girl, Jon thought with a smile. Once again turning back to the stars and memories of his past.

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