Pax Imperia (The Redemption Trilogy) (4 page)

Jon had previously attended a meeting on a civilian trading station called
Transcendence.
The original intent of the meeting was to conclude negotiations and sign a contract for new business for Vanguard, the company that Jon headed as Chief Executive. However, it subsequently turned out to be just a cover story, the real purpose of the meeting to pass information to him from a deep cover navy operative about an imminent threat to the Confederation. The meeting had been abruptly cut short, when several heavily armed assailants had attacked them. The attack had killed the operative and Jon had been lucky to escape with his life.

Gunny nodded his head in agreement. “That’s why we’re only bringing a company of troops. Anywhere else in the Confederation and I would have insisted on bringing along the entire battalion. Anyway, I’m under orders from the boss.”

“The boss?” Jon repeated confused. “I was not aware Paul had arrived yet? I thought he was scheduled to arrive just before the ceremony was due to get underway. You know Paul; he hates all this pomp and pageantry even more than I.”

“Not that boss,
the boss
,” Gunny replied in exasperation, turning his head in the direction of the fast approaching figure. “He mentioned something about his daughter killing him if he let anything happen to you.”

Whatever else Gunny was going to say, was interrupted by the arrival of that person. Jon, however, could only gape in disbelief at what he was wearing. “By the Great Maker what are you wearing?” Jon said after a moment’s hesitation, audibly snapping his mouth shut.

“I’ve been informed that this is the official dress code,” the newest addition to the trio explained, pointing at his clothes with obvious distaste. For the man was dressed in a bright pink, long sleeve, collared polo shirt with tan coloured, knee-length Bermuda shorts and a pair of white socks that came up to his knees.

Jon was at a complete loss for words. If he were to tell anybody the man standing before them was one of the most powerful in the Confederation, an ex-Imperial Emperor, who had once overseen the lives of tens of billions of people, he would have been laughed at. “Where on Eden Prime are you planning on going dressed like that?” he asked incredulously.

“Golf,” came the terse reply.

“Golf?” Jon echoed, dubiously.

“It seems to be the latest craze, some ancient recreational activity that used to be popular on Old Earth. It has recently been re-introduced here on Eden Prime. I have been informed that it involves taking a long stick and hitting a small ball—”

“—and running around a couple of bases to score points,” Gunny interrupted confidently. “I remember Paul trying to explain it to me once.”

“No. I think that’s the other one,” Marcus frowned. “This one involves chasing after the ball in little fusion powered buggies,” he explained.

The group went silent for a while, as each member of the trio tried to visualise the game. But, with a general shaking of heads, it was obvious they all hopelessly failed.

“Some of the older members of the Senate have invited me along for a round as a guest, for it seems that otherwise it is by membership only. I’ll be investigating how one acquires membership while I am there,” he concluded, in an ominous tone.

Jon could just imagine the scene, when Marcus was refused membership. With a puzzled look he asked. “But
why
are you learning to play golf?”

“Because I have nothing else to do.” Marcus’ cry echoed down the corridor. “I’m slowly going crazy. I need something to occupy my mind.” Turning back to Jon he grabbed the front of his jacket and insisted desperately. “I
need
grandchildren. At least then I will have something to occupy my time. I can teach them how to rule an Empire, to play the various Senators off against each other and how to keep the Fleet in-line.” Marcus warmed to the thought, rubbing his hands together in gleeful anticipation.

Jon and Gunny just exchanged knowing glances, each deliberately avoiding making a face. While Marcus had long since retired, it was obviously going to take him sometime longer to adjust.

Only noticing Gunny for the first time, Marcus’ eyes widened when he observed the huge rifle slung over his shoulder. “I’d completely forgotten about the meeting,” he commented, when suddenly his face lit up with an idea. “I could come with you. Yes,” he insisted excitedly. “I could go undercover and act as a lookout for you both.”

Jon and Gunny once against exchanged glances, but this time with a look of horror. The idea of Marcus Aurelius, once the Imperial Emperor, with probably the most recognisable face in the entire Galaxy, acting as an undercover lookout!

“No,” Jon stated firmly.

“But—”

“Absolutely not,” he reiterated, as the group continued down the corridor.

As the three of them departed, two in the direction of their waiting shuttle, the third for his appointment on the golf course, it occurred to Jon that none of them were well suited to the idea of retirement. Fortunately, for Jon and Gunny at least, that day was still a long way off.

It was time to get back to work.

*****

Lifting the coffee cup to his lips, enjoying the rich aroma, Jon’s eyes darted around the small open-air Piazza. Still early in the morning, with the sun resting low in the sky, the square was almost deserted. Situated some one hundred and fifty kilometres south of the capital, it was an ideal meeting spot. Only a short trip from the Senate, it was convenient to reach, but isolated enough for any conversations to remain private, as, at this time of the morning, the majority of the seats in front of the small café were still unoccupied.

Lifting his gaze from the uneven cobbled paving of the street, he could just about hear the gentle trickle of water coming from the small fountain placed in the middle of the square. The fountain was still currently in shadow because of the imposing apartment blocks that surrounded the Piazza on all sides and blocked the still-low morning rays from reaching the ground. The apartment buildings were made of stone to fit in the rest of the period architecture on Eden Prime, their fronts painted a bright white to reflect back the heat of the day. Sweeping his gaze along the small balconies that jutted a short distance out from the apartments, Jon had not been alone in considering it the perfect spot for an ambush. The Piazza only had two entrances and exits, both natural choke points. Meanwhile, the numerous balconies overlooking the square offered a perfectly elevated field of fire in all directions. Anybody caught out in the open, like Jon, would be an easy target.

Although the morning air was still cold, having earlier pushed his chair back a couple of meters into a small shaft of sunlight, which now shined through the gap in the surrounding apartments onto his back, Jon could feel sweat running down his spine. Inhaling the rich aroma of the coffee, he forced himself to relax, for while he knew he was in a perilous position, he was not alone. He had more than one guardian angel looking out for him, having dropped off Gunny and the rest of the team a couple of kilometres short of their destination. After all it would hardly look good, and completely blow their element of surprise, to arrive with a dozen heavily armed marines. While Jon’s guardian angel might not have been as pretty as others, he couldn’t think of anybody else that he would prefer to have watching his back.

Waiting for his contact to arrive, Jon marvelled at how much his life had changed, but also how much it had stayed the same over the past two years. It had been almost exactly two years since he had found himself sitting in a club on
Transcendence
. Similar to this meeting, he had been expecting a trap, but had little option other than to attend, to be warned about the possible fate of the entire Confederation and those he cared for and loved. Yet this time it was different. No longer was he going back to an empty office, a barren
Terra Nova
, an escape from his old life. For back at the Senate he had somebody waiting for him, somebody that loved him and he loved utterly.

Not for the first time that morning, a hint of a frown touched his brow at the thought of Sofia’s parting words. He remembered staring into her eyes, seeing the worry and anxiety there, wishing he could wipe that expression from her face as easily as he felt her relax into his embrace before he had left. Checking the time on the datapad next to his coffee, he observed that his contact was already five minutes late for their meeting. He also idly noticed that the device had lost its data connection to the planetary data-net. Jon knew for a fact coverage this close to the Senate should have been excellent, which meant only one thing, somebody nearby had started to jam all communications, both voice and data. To make it impossible for him to contact anybody or to call for help. It was time to leave—

“Commander Radec?” A voice inquired politely.

Looking up from the device, he found himself staring into the dark-brown eyes of a relatively young man, dressed smartly in a suit that would not look out of place amongst the multitudes worn by the various politicians, bureaucrats and business people constantly going about their business on Eden Prime. Jon noticed the youth had dark hair, combed back in what Jon assumed was a fashionable modern style. Certainly no mop of white hair, like the last informant he had met. For a brief moment he was disheartened the two informants obviously were not related, as there would have been a certain elegant symmetry if they had been. He motioned for the youth to take a seat opposite him. With Jon’s own back to the sun, it caused the light to shine directly into the young man’s eyes, forcing him to squint slightly, which suited Jon perfectly.

“Jack Finch,” the youth introduced himself, offering his hand, which Jon shook firmly, pleased to note Jack’s other hand still rested on the table.

“Can I get you something to drink, Mr. Finch?” Jon enquired politely, for some reason warming to the young man. Perhaps it was his youth, his relaxed manner, or his stylish appearance and clothes, but Jon instinctively knew this man was no threat to him.

“No thank you, Mr. Radec,” Jack declined politely. “I cannot stay long. However, first I must deliver to you a message of the utmost urgency, from my master.”

Jon raised an eyebrow at this unusual statement but let it pass. “I received your message, it sounded urgent.”

“It is Mr. Radec,” the young man leaned forward to impress upon Jon the urgency of his task. “For 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,” Jon finished for him.

Jack could only stare at him, with an expression that could be best described as a fish-out-of-water. “You already know?” he whispered in surprise.

“It’s not the first time,” Jon grimaced, as he took a sip of his now tepid coffee.

“Wow,” the youth whistled in astonishment. “You really get around, don’t you?”

Jon just nodded in agreement before asking. “So who is your master? Who sent you with this warning?”

A look of wariness entered the young man’s eyes and he gazed down at the table top uncomfortably. “My master ordered me not to reveal his identity, only to tell you that he gives this warning to repay a debt he owes you. He also told me to impress upon you that this message is also a test, a test of your true intentions. For what you do with this warning will dictate his next actions.”

Jon frowned at the hint of a threat contained within that message. Finally deciding there was nothing that he could do about it, he nodded his head and simply stated. “Then deliver your master’s message.”

Jack raised his head in acknowledgement, before continuing. “There is a war coming, Commander, one that has been brewing for many years, from even before the founding of the Confederation. It was meant to have started when you found the Emperor, but Marcus’ speech to the Senate put an end to that plan. But there are powerful forces behind this; people who think nothing of planning years, decades in advance and our lives are nothing to them. Thousands will die in the process; they care not, viewing us simply as pawns. We are just pre-planned moves on a chessboard to these people. However, the game is soon going to come to an end and, when it does, they will simply wipe the board. Their goal is simple—complete and utter domination. They want to roll the clock back by five-hundred years. However, this time everybody will be swearing an oath of fealty to them, not the Aurelius family.”

Jon just rolled his eyes at the youth’s obviously pre-planned speech. Why did people deliberately make these things cryptic? Was there some rules published somewhere, that when discussing the fate of the Confederation you had to deliver the speech in code? Instead Jon just pushed the datapad on the table in the direction of the youth. Pointing towards it he said, “How about just listing out their names, planet of origin and last known address? I’ll send some ex-colleagues around to these people, put a bullet in their head, and then we can all get on with our lives? I for one have a wedding that I need to attend.”

Instead of reaching for the datapad, the youth just looked him directly in the eye, uttering words that would haunt him for many years to come. “You don’t understand Mr. Radec, these events are not scheduled for some far distant time or place, but they are scheduled for now, here. Today.”

Jon was frozen for a moment, speechless. Here? Now? Today? But how—a cold breeze suddenly enveloped him, as if a cloud had passed in front of the sun and the temperature plummeted. A sudden premonition overcame him, a feeling of dread, of imminent danger.

Jon was already moving, diving from his chair, even as the green bolt of pulse rifle fire passed through the space where moments before his chest had been. When he hit the floor, he continued rolling, to stop the assassin having a second clean shot. He continued rolling until his side collided with the legs of one of the opposite tables. Using the momentum of the impact, Jon grabbed the edge of the table, pulling it off balance and onto its side, using the surface as a shield. Breathlessly he waited for any further shots—two of which rang out only moments later.