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  “I wouldn’t have missed a chance to see the Imperial homeworld, now or in the future. I’ve only heard stories of its beauty.”

  “Indeed, Avery,” Quintus said.

  Now the Imperial eyed Lee.

  “Lieutenant Lee, were you not aware that once inducted into the Praetorian Guard, you can never leave?”

  The lieutenant had been responsible for the Lord Commander’s personal protection following the conspiracy when his own people had tried to kill him. It was a necessary precaution until they sorted out loyalties within the Empire.

  Lee bowed awkwardly. “I will consider myself honored Alumnus, Lord Commander.”

  “There is a reception for you and your officers, Commander.” Quintus said. The Lord Commander regarded Vee for a moment and turned back to Aaron. “I’ve been told you don’t much like ceremony. However, as you are in Imperial space, aboard an Imperial warship and my honored guests, I must insist.”

  “Some pomp and ceremony will be nice for a change,” Aaron said.

  “Please,” Quintus gestured. “Decimus will give you a tour of Phalanx. I’m afraid you didn’t have time to look around the last time the centurions were trying to bludgeon you. In one hour, he’ll bring you to the hangar deck. From there we will depart aboard the Emperor’s yacht to the surface.”

  “The Emperor’s yacht?” Aaron asked.

  “Yes. The Emperor himself will be hosting you and your officers tonight in the Great Hall. He wishes to meet the hero of Atlas Prime.”

  “Hardly. There were many heroes that day.”

  Quintus smiled. “Yes but you’re the one he hasn’t yet met. It would be rude to refuse an invitation from the Emperor.”

  Aaron grinned. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Chapter 19 - Dining With Imperials

  “A slave, is a slave” – Randall Dawes

  Imperial Palace

  Aaron, Lee, Vee, Rachael, Max and Dawes arrived on Hosque an hour earlier and had been ushered inside the Imperial Palace. Aaron stood with the others inside The Great Hall. How many such banquets had this Hall seen? The Palace hadn’t appeared this large during their approach. The endless marble stone corridors and expansive gardens and courtyards told Aaron differently.

  Everyone was set. The Imperial officers and patricians stood next to their chairs along with a couple hundred other Imperial citizens. The white capes told him the civilians from the naval and military officers, who wore blue.

  The Lord Commander waited at the head of the center dining table. That table, positioned at the center of the Great Hall, was surrounded by many other similarly long tables although not quite as long as the center one. An elevated dais with a single chair fit for an Emperor, adorned the rear of the Hall, looking over everything.

  “Welcome, our honored guests of the United Star Systems.”

  The Imperial officers engaged uniformed applause. Aaron was ushered to his seat. Before he sat, the Lord Commander continued his introductions.

  “Commander, may I present the Emperor’s sons. Cato and Marcus,” Quintus gestured to two young men standing beside their seats to his left.

  “My Lords, may I present Commander Aaron Tyler Rayne, United Star Systems Fleet and captain of the mighty warship Phoenix.” Quintus bowed slightly.

  Captain of the mighty warship—Aaron took the cue and bowed slightly, if awkwardly, as well. Cato seemed thrilled and eager. Marcus was a direct contrast. The young Imperial looked like he had one too many bad nights. Rimmed red eyes. Puffy cheeks. There was a message behind those eyes. Aaron wasn’t sure, but it wasn’t warmth. It was cold and devoid of feeling.

  Marcus spoke first. “The mighty warship Phoenix you say, Quintus. The same warship which bested your squadrons and nearly destroyed your flagship. Such an admiration for your better.”

  Quintus wasn’t a man who flustered easily. But this upstart Imperial brat definitely came close. Saving Quintus from any further indignity the Emperor’s other son interjected.

  “Brother, I’m sure as you know our Lord Commander fought two battles that day, one against the late usurper Brutus Bannon, and his band of traitors, while trying to keep the Navy intact, and navigate the extreme provocation committed by the conspirators.”

  Aaron didn’t like what he was seeing or hearing. Clearly, this went beyond bitter sibling rivalry. These two didn’t like each other. Unmistakably, Marcus regarded Cato with venom in his cold dark eyes. There was hatred there.

  A dark feeling washed over him. There was real danger here. Any further opportunity to duel with words vanished as an announcer proclaimed:

  “His Lordship Emperor Claudius Sotomerius The Visionary!” The announcer took another breath, the first one apparently wasn’t loud enough. “Descendant of the Great House of Baridian, victor of the Battle of Nova Prime and Orion Secundus, Guardian of the Empire.”

  The room applauded—noticeably louder and more thunderous than before.

  The Emperor lumbered across the Hall adorned in a flowing purple robe, flanked by two Praetorian guards and took his dais. “We welcome our honored guests of the United Star Systems. We are here to celebrate the return of a faithful servant of the Empire, Platus Scipio, and the pending peace treaty. It is fitting that close to such a momentous occasion, the very orchestrators of such are among us. Please enjoy the evening’s festivities. Lord Commander, I will entertain our guests in my private suite after the main course is served.”

  With that everyone sat and servers served the first course. The Emperor was served first followed by Aaron’s table and the rest simultaneously.

  Everyone appeared content to keep their heads down and play with their food. An awkward silence intermixed with awkward small talk around Aaron’s table. Cato appeared to be enjoying his meal, oblivious to the tension. It wasn’t often formerly sworn enemies dined together.

  To Cato’s left, his brother hadn’t touched his meal. It was now apparent what troubled Aaron. Quintus had introduced the younger one first, and the younger one sat immediately to Quintus’ left. That must mean something.

  Every so often, the snarky Marcus glanced around the room. Was he expecting something? Small beads of sweat formed on Marcus’ forehead.

  Someone broke the awkward silence.

  “What’s the latest with the negotiations, Lord Commander?” Avery asked.

  “After the successful chaperone of a few thousand visitors between our worlds in the past few months, positive word has begun to spread. The unique wondrous feedback, and the angst throughout the Empire about pending free trade between us has heightened. The citizens can hardly contain their excitement.”

  “What’s holding it back?” Rachael asked, meaning the peace treaty.

  “There are ideological differences between us. These things take time. It’s been nearly a year since official talks began, but there is still much to do.”

  Aaron bit his lip. Seventy years of distrust and spy-games doesn’t disappear on the whims of an idealistic United Fleet captain and an Imperial Lord Commander.

  “To which differences are you referring, Lord Commander?”

  All heads at the table turned to Sergeant Dawes. The marine glared at the Imperial, like one would imagine a target in your sights. He almost seemed to spit the words “Lord Commander”.

  The knot in Aaron’s gut tightened. This was going downhill fast. Quintus ignored the provocative tone and smiled his sly, little Imperial smile.

  “There are many, but the most contentious is Imperial slavery. The conditions are quite different from the slaves your smugglers and bandits trade within your borders and beyond. Imperial slaves give themselves into service to pay off a debt they otherwise wouldn’t be able to repay. They are treated with dignity and released from service once the debt is paid.”

  “A slave is a slave, there are many who would bitterly disagree with your so-called attempts to dignify it,” Dawes said.

  Cato interjected rather forcefully. “An Imperial slave enjoys all freedo
ms, he or she is only merely not free to leave the service until the debt is complete and must take orders from their master. It is nothing like the historical horrific occurrence on your Earth.”

  “Satisfied, my United Systems friend?” Marcus interjected.

  “A slave is a slave.” Dawes repeated, now fixing his glare on Marcus.

  This hadn’t gone downhill. It had tumbled from the steepest mountains on Rigel.

  Quintus glared at Marcus as if to silence him. The Lord Commander continued. “So you’ve said, Sergeant. And for that reason it remains the single most contentious issue. Your government wishes us to reconsider its . . . implementation. We have reservations of our own about your ideologies which we don’t want spreading through our culture.”

  Aaron tried to silence Dawes with his own glare. It didn’t work.

  “Such as?” Dawes asked, either oblivious to Aaron’s glare or not caring.

  Marcus answered that. “Your free enterprising yields chaos. People climb on the backs of others to get ahead. Your tech-4 and tech-5 worlds are examples of this. We have minimal crime in the Empire. You have unlawful activities throughout your space as though it were the twentieth-century. Your way of life is an insult to any proud Imperial citizen.” Marcus glanced ever so subtly to his left. Aaron lost count how many times Marcus had adjusted his tunic collar.

  The Imperial must be speaking loudly for anyone who held similar views. Believing that all Imperials should think as he does, and implying there was no place for those who didn’t. Marcus was a dangerous individual. He reminded Aaron of Brutus Bannon.

  “For all our so-called crime, I’ll wager we have a happier population. It sounds like yours live under an iron fist,” Rachael said.

  Had his crew gone mad? Aaron stared at Rachael. She stared back and shrugged.

  Marcus flashed his black eyes at her. “If by an iron fist you imply order and unity, then I prefer it to the alternative of chaos and every man for himself.”

  “What about the noble Imperial families conducting raids using mercenaries on other worlds to claim Imperial slaves?” Dawes asked.

  Aaron tried to get Dawes’ attention. He wanted to signal the sergeant to end this conversation. Change the subject. Something. Were they totally oblivious to the ticking time bomb that was Marcus? Aaron scanned the table. Platus had disappeared. Now where had that sneaky, little Imperial agent gone?

  Marcus bared his teeth in a feral smile. “Be very careful the accusations you sling at this table. In the old times, I’d have your head for such. There is no evidence those raids are sponsored by Imperial nobles and I’m told we’ve worked with your intelligence services investigating these reports for a few months now. The evidence is inconclusive.”

  Marcus glanced around again. Aaron craned his head in the same direction. The guards to the Great Hall shifted positions. Some left, others came.

  “That’s just another way of saying they’re hiding their tracks well,” Rachael said.

  Marcus smashed the table with his fist. The cutlery clanked and caused some to jump at his sudden outburst. “These are the so-called allies you and father speak of, Quintus? This is why we would have sacrificed ourselves? So that a trillion more of him,” he stabbed a finger towards Dawes and spread his hands to indicate all of them, “may overwrite our culture within a hundred years?”

  Quintus stood suddenly. “Marcus, conduct yourself with decorum or remove yourself at once!”

  Over on the opposite side Lee shifted imperceptibly. Aaron sighed. Finally, someone noticed. Lee was preparing himself for the worst. Marcus had thrown around talk of head severing. It seemed honored guests meant nothing to the Emperor’s eldest son.

  Aaron became suddenly more aware. The side glances from an Imperial officer farther down the table, the subtle shift of a chair, the repositioning of hands. He looked at Lee. The lieutenant’s eyes darted side to side. Next to Lee, Max had stopped chewing mid-bite.

  Marcus’ furious eyes fixed on Aaron.

  “The United Star Systems speaks of peace, and while we dine, they are developing a dark matter bomb.”

  A hushed silence blanketed the Hall.

  ***

  Quintus regarded Aaron and then turned to Marcus.

  “You will leave the Hall at once,” Quintus said.

  The Imperial heir’s face reddened. “You don’t command me, Quintus Scipio!”

  Chairs raked the marble floor as the entire Imperial contingent suddenly stood. Aaron looked around and realized it was because the Emperor had risen from his dais. As he approached the table, he rammed a stick into the marble floor. A cracking sound echoed throughout the now deathly silent Hall. The Emperor was standing behind Marcus.

  Marcus threw a datachip on the table. “It’s all there, father,” he snarled.

  “Everyone out. Now!” the Emperor bellowed.

  The Imperial citizens and military officers cleared the room. Only the officers seated at the head table and the Praetorians at the Hall’s entrance remained.

  “What is this?” the Emperor demanded, looking at the datachip.

  “This is something I’ve been trying to tell you, father.”

  “Where did you get it?”

  “Does it matter?” Marcus stared defiantly back at his father, hatred shone in his eyes.

  The Emperor fumed. “I didn’t think it possible you could shame me anymore, boy. I clung to strands of hope after Brutus Bannon’s death . . . that you would emerge from his shadow. I have set the future for our people. You, a disgraceful upstart who seeks to undermine me at every turn, will not finish what Bannon started!”

  The Emperor shivered with rage. Aaron almost felt sorry for Marcus. There definitely was no love lost between father and son. Yet, somehow it appeared Marcus still sought approval . . . validation from his father. From what Aaron witnessed, Marcus would be enshrined in a tomb before that day ever came. A decayed million year-old tomb.

  Marcus kicked back his seat and stood.

  “No one cares about the philosophical ramblings of a fool of an Emperor,” he spat. “Withered and weak . . . Emperor Soto the visionary! I spit on your vision. Lord Praetor Brutus Bannon had great vision. You, a shadow of an Emperor, kneel before the United Systems. Don’t you see? This is their new weapon! Diplomacy and trickery. They will wipe away all trace of Imperial custom and norms within a century. Your legacy will be the destruction of Baridian’s great Empire!”

  If you blinked you missed it. The Emperor’s backhand struck quicker than a cobra. Marcus sprawled on the marble floor. The Emperor must not appear so feeble to him now. Marcus held his face and smiled through watery eyes.

  The Emperor stood over him. “You’re an abomination of my line. I will wipe you from the records. From history. Cato’s rule will not be sullied by your continued existence. You will be shipped off to the farthest corner of the Empire. I can’t even look at you. Quintus, remove him.” The Emperor turned towards his dais.

  Before anyone could reach him, Marcus was on his feet. He grabbed his father around the neck with his left forearm and drove a blade through his back and through his heart. Marcus withdrew the blade, and drove it through the Emperor’s neck and booted him away with disdain.

  “Seize them!” Marcus shouted.

  Quintus stood rigid, he hadn’t even processed what just happened. The Lord Commander continued staring at the Emperor’s twitching body, the blood pooling around it.

  Aaron whirled to see the commotion at the entrance. The Praetorians had opened the doors. The sounds of possibly a hundred or more centurions marching into the Great Hall, echoed on the marble interior.

  They were in for it now.

  Chapter 20-They Made Their Move

  “The rulers are more afraid they will not have anything left to rule over” - Platus

  Imperial Palace

  Like everyone else, Aaron was on his feet now. Lee whispered into his ear.

  “Probably should have let me bring my pistol.”


  Aaron gritted his teeth. “Next time I give you a fancy speech about diplomatic overtures, remind me about today.”

  Cato was kneeling over his father’s body, holding his father’s back and neck to his chest as blood stained his hands, the color drained from the Emperor’s face. “Marcus, what have you done?”

  Cato suddenly rushed his brother and received a backhand for his trouble.

  “Stay silent, little brother, and you might just survive this. I will teach you in the proper ways, ways which father neglected.”

  The centurions stopped their march several feet away. There must be at least two hundred. Each armed with long spears, short-swords and shields.

  Marcus commanded the centurions’ commander. “Take the Lord Commander and his honored guests. I’ll deal with Quintus myself later. These,” he said pointing at Aaron, “we can use to stall the United Systems. They are our hostages.”

  Lee shifted.

  Marcus didn’t miss it. “Not another inch,” he said to Lee. “I will order the centurions to gut every one of you if you make any moves with that arm of yours. Centurion, place the scrambler on this one’s left arm. Before he attempts to crush someone’s head with it.”

  The centurion stepped forward raising the scrambler to Lee’s arm.

  “Marcus!”

  Everyone turned to find the voice.

  Platus stood at the far end of the Hall with a pulse pistol raised. Aaron and Lee ducked. The beam sizzled inches away. The centurion holding the scrambler crumbled.

  “Move now!” Aaron shouted. They kicked off in a run across the Great Hall.

  Pulse blasts continued to heat the air as Platus laid down continuous fire, forcing the centurions to cover behind their shield wall. He covered their escape to the end of the hall.

  As they reached two marble pillars, hails of spears crashed down around them. One caught Rachael in the leg out in the open. Aaron scrambled from behind the pillar and grabbed her good leg and dragged. Another flurry of spears arced overhead. He shielded her and closed his eyes.