Aaron turned to face his parents.
“I love you both. I’ll be back this same time next year.”
Anna looked at Patrick. He was biting his bottom lip. It quivered ever so slightly. If their son didn’t leave now Patrick would lose it in front his son.
“Oh get going, Aaron,” she said. “We’ll see if we can fit you into our busy schedules next time.”
He set down his duffle bag, bent and wrapped his arms around his mother. She almost couldn’t breathe. The brute was strong. He whispered in her ear and she whispered back. He then stood in front his father. The two of them stared at each other for a long moment. Then they hugged.
“I love you, dad.”
“I love you, son.”
He stepped back, picked up his bag and boarded the shuttle. He’d never know the pain they both felt that day.
Chapter 23 – Fight—And Run
Hammerhead
Atlas low orbit
Present day
The first hour Aaron slept and strange images of Rachael swirled in even stranger dreams. Soon Trident’s final moments replaced her. He lost his ship, got his crew killed. Now here he was again on a different ship, and possibly a second chance to kill the remainder of Trident’s survivors. Reckless. That’s what the file says. He’d dismissed the armchair admirals out of hand. What did they know? He’s the captain, not them. None of them knows what it’s like, except maybe Shepherd.
Now he’d failed to protect his home. His father might be dead. His crew would be next and then the entire planet. Then the Imperials would march across Atlas and the United Systems. The second hour he’d argued with a strange dark figure. He couldn’t see the face of his tormenter.
Is this how you’d want your crew to see you? Wallowing in self-pity?
Who said that?
After you’ve come so far, you’re going to give up now. What a waste.
Silence! You get people killed, and starships destroyed, you’re reckless.
If bold and assertive is reckless, then yes, I am reckless.
You can’t save everyone. That’s the problem, you just can’t let go.
Neither of us can let them go. That’s the difference between you and I. I’m willing to fight. You just want to lay down and die.
Good, stop tormenting me, at least I’ll have no other deaths on my conscience.
You’re wrong. You’ll have far worse. Now get up and fight.
No.
Get up Aaron Rayne!
I will fail. We will all die.
You’ll fail by doing nothing. No one lives forever.
Aaron’s eyes shot open and he gasped for air as he sat straight. His shirt was soaked. He couldn’t quite place where he was now. Someone else was there, who was it? He fought to focus.
Lee stood there staring at him. He fought himself awake.
“Lieutenant, a stimulant, now,” he said, wiping sweat from his forehead.
Lee fetched one and administered it. He looked at the Lieutenant and narrowed his eyes.
“Tell me everything,” Aaron said.
Lee told him everything that occurred once they parted ways planet side. First, the multiple explosions they witnessed and then a goon squad—as Lee labeled them—tried to capture them. Aaron had only heard those explosions.
Aaron sighed. He’d give anything just for some answers this time, instead of more questions. He looked at the datachip his father gave him. There was no time for it now. He knew what he had to do.
What role had the Empire played in this scenario?
Atlas was reeling from a wide-scale attack perpetrated by unknown elements. An unknown man who resembled an Imperial had saved Rachael and him from certain death, only to be shot in the back by other agents claiming to be USSI operatives. The very same operatives who subsequently tried to interrogate and kill him. Most puzzling was the Imperial agent’s final words to him. I am not your enemy.
Then there was Rachael.
He wasn’t sure if she was alive, and if she was, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t shoot her on sight. How could the Supreme Commander’s most trusted operative be in league with the persons who seized him? Was the Supreme Commander himself rogue? If he was, that put two people in his crosshairs.
That final thought sent a shudder through his body. If the Supreme Commander was rogue or somehow part of the conspiracy, then surely the USS was fractured already—from the inside. Only two people could provide the answers to his questions, the first was Rachael, and the second was Supreme Commander Shepherd. But then a third person sprung to mind.
Quintus Scipio.
And only one of those three was in reach. He was certain Rachael was on that ship and he somehow felt even more certain if he tracked her, he’d find Quintus Scipio.
He pulled a crumpled paper photo out of his jacket pocket and looked at it. Both his parents were on Atlas. If he had to destroy the entire Imperial fleet himself, he’d find a way. There’d never been a truer saying than this: where there’s a will, there’s a way.
****
Hemiolia-Class Imperial Destroyer—Pilum
Quintus stared at the virtual reality display. The output from the ship’s sensors showed colorful swirling ribbons of exotic gasses surrounding the destroyer.
Since eavesdropping on the meeting between the Lord Praetor and the Deputy Supreme Leader of the USS, he’d tossed endlessly in his suite. The once soft mattress was now a bed of bricks. Who would ever believe two high-level politicians colluded to ignite an interstellar war?
The only good fortune in such a dark scenario was he was finally certain the Lord Praetor was not acting on authority from the Emperor. And he could prove it. The Praetor’s lies and abuse of near unquestionable authority would be laid bare for all to see. When it came time to act against the Lord Praetor, this would be the single most important factor. Once he exposed Bannon’s treachery across the gathered fleet, it would be a simple matter to take him into custody and order the withdrawal of the fleet. However, Quintus had learned from early—things rarely went according to plan aboard warships.
His thoughts went to Platus on Atlas Prime. He hadn’t checked in for several hours. When Phalanx monitored the explosions planet side, he pushed down a nauseous feeling rising to his throat.
“My Lord,” the tactical officer called, his voice tight. “Scouts report two small unknown ships approaching our location. Arrival within two hours.”
Quintus moved near the officer.
“Analysis,” he said.
“The first ship’s power output indicates it may be a high-speed courier,” he said, keying some more commands. “Yet, the computer has found no match for this power signature. Neither is its configuration a match for any known USS civilian or military ships. The second ship definitely outputs a military power curve.”
“What about Imperial ships? Any similarities to any of our designs?”
The look on the young officer’s face revealed he was puzzled by the last question. “Negative, Lord Commander,” he finally said.