Pax Imperia (The Redemption Trilogy) (17 page)

At three in the morning ship time, Jon knew he should be asleep, like the rest of the crew. At this time the ship was staffed only by a skeleton crew, the rest having long since retired to their beds. A quick glance through the door of his own bedroom, showed his own bed, where he had repeatedly tried to sleep. The haphazard pillows and sheets strewn around the bed almost made it appear that he was still there.

He had not suffered from insomnia for many months. Previously, with Sofia wrapped tightly in his embrace, it had felt as if everything was right in the universe and he had slept soundly. However that was a distant memory and now, every time he tried to close his eyes, he saw her face. Finally, resigned that he would not be getting any further sleep, he had risen and found himself in his current position, staring out of the viewport at the stars.

Jon remembered a conversation with his father-in-law, late one night. At the time he had enquired of his Lord why he spent so much of his time staring out into the universe, as if searching for something. He could still remember the answer he had received.

“For every time that somebody dies, only their body dies. Their soul, their spirit, rises into the heavens, to become another star. So I look out of this window at every opportunity I get, in the hope that I might someday catch just a glimpse of my late wife’s star.”

“But my Lord, there are so many. How do you know which one is hers?” he had asked.

“For hers will be the brightest, most beautiful star in the night sky,” his master had uttered softly in reply.

Opening his eyes to look out of the small viewport, Jon wondered if one day he would catch a glimpse of Sofia’s star, as, just like her father, he was sure he would recognise it instantly. He also hoped that Marcus finally would be reunited with his long-dead wife, as Jon knew he had been faithful to her memory ever since her death.

The silence in the room, and his thoughts, were abruptly interrupted by a sudden high-pitched squeal from the direction of the door. As the electric door lock was forced open, Jon was still half turning towards it, and then three men barged into the room. He had never seen any of them before. In the dim light he could make out few details, other than all three were tall, broad shouldered and moved quickly. They wore black tactical armour and carried pulse rifles firmly in their grips. It was obvious that all had extensive military training. He caught a quick glimpse of two more, dressed similarly, still waiting outside in the corridor, covering their escape route.

As soon as he caught sight of the group, he stilled. Shrouded in his dark cloak, which seemed to swallow the little light cast by the open door, wrapping him protectively deep in the darkness and shadows.

The three men paused just for a short while, their gazes quickly scanning the darkened room. But with their eyes not yet adjusted from the brightness of the corridor, they failed to notice him. With a swift jerk of the head from one of the men, two of the others split off and ran towards his bedroom. The remaining man turned to face the bedroom door with his back to Jon, but his rifle raised in readiness. The first two entered the bedroom, moving quickly but soundlessly, obviously both highly experienced in such actions. He did not need to guess their motives, as they stopped barely a foot from his bed and raised their pulse rifles.

During this time Jon had not moved an inch, not even uttered a breath. He was as still as the rest of the room, just one of many shadows, but inside he burned with a violent rage unlike anything he had ever experienced before. It felt like molten lava running through his veins, spreading throughout his body, setting his thoughts on fire. To enter into his own quarters, under the cover of darkness, to try and murder him while he slept! In all of his years, Jon had never acted so dishonourably. He always first looked his victim in the eye, to let them know they were going to die and the reason for their death.

Where was the dignity in killing a man while he slept?

But it was more than that. For the first time since the attack that murdered his family, a person stood before him as an enemy. No longer was it just a nameless face, hidden in the shadows, getting others to do their bidding via a proxy. These men had clear orders to kill him. It was the last mistake that any of them would ever make. For while two of them were still at his bedside with raised rifles, Jon approached the third, who still had his back to him. His feet made no sound as he glided effortlessly through the dark.

The sound of pulse rifle fire tearing into his bed, masked any noise that his sword made, as he slid it from its sheath at his side.

As the sound of the pulse rifles trailed off into silence, another sound arose. A wail of pain, inhuman in its intensity and pitch, continued on for what seemed like an eternity. The sound ricocheting off the walls, throughout the small apartment, until it become one monstrous continuous cry of agony, as the echoes melded into one another.

The two men, still holding their pulse rifles, lowered them in bewilderment. How could the man still be alive, after such a barrage of fire? The bed was in ruins, blackened and burnt by the concentrated energy weapons fire. Nothing or nobody could possibly have survived. Therefore where was the noise emanating from?

It was only when the two of them turned around to face the third member of their team that their expressions suddenly shifted to shock and horror. For the third member of their team was staring, with eyes transfixed, at the dark blade protruding from his chest. His mouth was open as he uttered the deathly cry.

Both men’s eyes followed the length of the blade to where it disappeared back into their cohort’s chest. Quickly they scanned the area to locate the owner of the weapon. However, in such dim light all they could see were dark shadows and, staring back at them, unblinkingly, a pair of obsidian eyes smouldering with fury.

Their shock was interrupted when the body of their dying colleague twisted around and the pulse rifle he was still holding took aim at the door into the apartment. The two men in the corridor, alerted by the cries of pain, had turned round to face into the dark room. They did so just in time to look down the barrel of the pulse rifle, as it opened fire.

Having used his free hand to point the rifle in the direction of the door, Jon tightly clamped his fingers around the wrist of the dying man, squeezing it painfully. The force of his grip travelled through the dying man’s nerves and caused his muscles to spasm, activating the trigger.

The rifle jerked in his grip, sending bolt after bolt of pulse-fire in the direction of the door, but the shots missed the two guards standing outside in the corridor and, instead, impacted harmlessly on the wall of the apartment, just next to the door.

The two men in the corridor blinked at the near miss, and were just raising their rifles to return fire, when the sensors hidden in the wall detected the weapon fire. Immediately emergency security protocols, all but forgotten by the vast majority of the ship’s crew, snapped into action. Much to the chagrin of the two infiltrators stationed in the corridor, an inch-thick blast door immediately slammed shut. Unbeknown to them the blast door could only be opened from the inside, or via the bridge using high level command codes, which nobody outside of the now sealed room knew. It would take hours to cut through the thick door with laser cutters, which the crew of the
Relentless
started doing soon after, wondering what they would find when they finally forced their way inside.

Jon nodded in satisfaction on observing the heavy security door slam shut and was pleased to note that such emergency systems still worked so long after they had first been installed. All of the flagships of the Imperial Navy, now the Confederation Navy, had such systems installed in their VIP guest quarters. Known to none outside of the Imperial family and Praetorian Guard, they were the last line of defence for just such a scenario. The small apartment was now completely isolated from the rest of the ship and was completely airtight, being supplied by its own small, self-contained environmental systems. For the next few hours Jon would be completely isolated. Turning his gaze towards the two men in the bedroom, he decided how he was going to put the time to good use and discover what these men knew.

Retracting his sword from the chest of the man in front of him, he let the dead body slump to the floor at his feet. Looking at the shocked expressions of the two men, Jon explained, in a voice colder than the depths of interstellar space, “Now one of you is going to die, while the other is going to tell me everything that I want to know. And only then, when he begs me to kill him, will I do so. You get to choose who dies first.”

The two men quickly glanced at each other, before instantly aiming their rifles at the place where Jon had stood. However he had already vanished, consumed by the darkness and shadows. With increasing desperation the two men took a step apart, gazes swivelling in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the man, their weapons frantically moving in all directions.

The hunters had now become the hunted.

A flash of a shadow, an indistinct shape in the darkened room, darted across their vision and caused both men to swing round, attempting to bring their weapons to bear in time. But they couldn’t see anything, as the darkness seemed to devour everything around them.

It was only then they heard the sound, halfway between a sigh and a whisper on a breath of wind. At first they thought they were imagining it, but then they heard it again, closer this time.

Something brushed against one man’s leg and, with a startled oath, the assassin jerked his foot away. However, before he could even utter another word, something brushed against his cheek. The sounds now seemed to be coming from every direction, as if the source was all around them, whispering into their ears.

Both men raised their weapons and fired for almost a minute, spitting deadly fire in all directions, no longer caring what they were shooting at. Finally the weapons fell silent, refusing to fire any more, in danger of overheating.

Fortunately it seemed, at least, the concentrated fire had dispersed the voices, as there was no sound at all to be heard.

Once again silence had descended upon the room.

“Find his body and then we can get the hell out of here,” the more senior of the two growled, no doubt believing nothing could have survived their concentrated fire.

Trying to peer through the impenetrable darkness, the man was astonished to see a light appear in front of him. It was dim at first, barely visible, but grew rapidly, extending in a vertical direction, much like a crack in a door that was steadily growing wider.

The assassin was still trying to comprehend what his own eyes were seeing, when understanding suddenly struck. Before he could utter a word of warning, the glowing blade slashed downwards, striking him at the base of the neck. The blade cleaved his body, almost totally unimpeded, from his neck through  his torso.

He was dead before the blade had completed its journey.

The sole remaining survivor, upon hearing a sound behind him, spun round to watch in horror as the blade split his partner in two. The shock caused him to pause for a second before raising his rifle to point at the attacker. But before he could fire he received a stunning blow that came from nowhere, sending his rifle spinning from his grasp to disappear into the darkness.

The assassin did not hesitate again, as he reached for the knife at his waist. A second blow, this time to his windpipe, sent him crashing to the ground, choking. Miraculously he managed to keep a grip on the knife, and was just about to raise it when a heavy boot slammed into his hand. He could feel the delicate bones in his fingers snap like dry twigs, as the foot held his hand on the floor. He desperately tried to use his free hand to strike his attacker, but the palm blossomed with pain. He could just make out the blade of a sword, impaling his hand onto the floor. Now immobile, on his back, with both hands pinned to the floor, he could only stare up in hatred at his attacker.

Still he could not make out any features, as it appeared that the attacker was a shapeless form sent from the underworld to dispense pain and retribution. All he could see clearly were the two dark eyes staring impassively back at him. “Just kill me now,” the assassin grated, his voice coming out ragged from his injured throat. “Because whatever you do, I will tell you nothing,” he sneered.

But the voice that echoed out from the darkness disagreed. “I don’t have to do anything to you. You will tell me everything anyway. More than I ever wanted to know. And then you will beg me to kill you. For I possess demons inside me that you cannot even begin to imagine. I will share just a small piece of their pain and suffering with you, as otherwise you will surely go mad.”

“You’re insane,” the assassin laughed. “If you think I will tell you anything.” But the voice did not reply, the figure’s eyes just continuing to bore into his. The assassin could not tear his gaze away, and that was when the voices returned. No longer the quiet whispers as before, but instead pain-filled screams of the dead and dying. It was not until much later he realised the unending screams were coming from his own throat.

It was only then he started begging to die.

*****

A couple of hours later the door to his apartment, which the crew of the
Relentless
had been futilely trying to cut open, soundlessly retracted. The crew took a hurried step back from the dark portal, as Jon stepped from the room. It was obvious from his expression he was furious about something, as his face was framed with anger, as if an almost visible thundercloud hovered over him.

Jon, having been surrounded by darkness for so long, blinked a few times to allow his eyes to adjust to the bright light of the corridor. His gaze finally came to rest on the crew, now huddled in a small group, a short distance away. “Somebody clean up this mess,” he snapped. “If anybody wants me I will be in a private meeting with Admiral Romanov. We are not to be disturbed for
any
reason.” With that he pivoted on the balls of his feet and marched down the corridor, his cloak swirling behind him as he gripped his sword tightly at his side.