The Sunfire – Chapter One

With a startled cry his eyes flew open, his breath coming in short, fast gasps, as if a huge weight was bearing down upon his chest.  His memory of the nightmare was already receding, but he could still remember the cold and dark closing in upon him, unable to draw breath, suffocating.

He stayed like that for a long time.  Lying in the same bed that he always woke up in, staring up at the same bare, featureless ceiling, waiting for his breathing to even out and his heart to stop beating wildly in his chest.  Anyway, why the rush to get out of bed?  His day would follow exactly the same routine that it had, every day for the past five years, ever since he had been interned in this apartment.

He had spent the first few weeks inspecting every inch of the apartment, until he could picture it from memory.  The small, but sparsely decorated bedroom, with the soft, comfortable mattress, white linen sheets and thick shag pile carpets.  The bedroom led into the spacious combined living-dining room area, where he spent most of his waking hours.  With a comfortable sofa, coffee table and small dining table that could easily fit two—but he rarely invited guests over.  One wall of the room was taken up by a massive projection displaying soothing outside scenes.  From the trickling noise emanating from underneath the bedroom door, he guessed it was the small stream, winding its way through the luscious green meadow this morning.  He snorted in amusement at the joke.  As he knew for a fact that the outside landscape was no pleasant green meadow, but something more akin to Dante’s Inferno.  For Tartarus, as a recently formed planet, relatively speaking at a little over one million years old, was still highly active, with numerous volcanoes spread along the edges of the planet’s numerous tectonic plates.  The resultant volcanoes emitted a lethal cocktail of gasses including; carbon dioxide, sulphur dioxide, methane and carbon monoxide—none of which was able to support wonderful green meadows and woods.  The planet could barely sustain life and anybody not using a respirator would definitely not survive for long outside.

Finally, deciding that he had been lying in bed long enough, he quickly rolled out getting to his feet.  It was only via the assistance of a small bedside table that he did not collapse.  For suddenly, floating in his vision, were small bright lights.  His sight was instantly impaired and his head started to spin.  Reaching out, he leaned heavily against the table, until his sight was restored and he once again felt stable enough to stand on his own two feet.  These dizzy spells were becoming more and more frequent, and he knew it was not just as a result of his advancing years.

When he had been first brought to this planet, many years earlier, he had been frequently tortured because his captors believed that he knew deep, dark, cosmic secrets including startling truths about the nature of the galaxy and the meaning of life.  He laughed out loud to himself.  All the torturers had managed to succeed in doing was bringing him to within an inch of his life.  Finally they had given up, obviously viewing his life as more valuable than any secrets they might have extracted.  Then his captors had thrown him into this apartment.  But a jail was still a jail, no matter how comfortable it appeared to be.  The door was securely locked and he knew for a fact that there were two armed guards stationed outside his door, twenty-four hours a day, or however long a complete rotation was on this this god–forsaken world.

Now he was awake he indulged in a long, hot shower, in which he lingered.  After all it was not his hot water and with a little luck one of his captors was currently experiencing a short, sharp, shockingly cold shower.  Later he towelled himself off, staring at his own face, reflected back in one of the few mirrors in the apartment.  The mirror was not glass, he had checked.  During one of his bouts of depression he had tried smashing the glass with a chair, only for it resolutely refuse to break.  He assumed it was some sort of highly polished alloy, firmly affixed to the wall.

Staring at his reflection he was sad to note that only a few strands of dark hair now remained, the rest had long since turned grey.  From old age, the enforced imprisonment or his torture, he had no idea.  Similarly, his green eyes and once smooth face, now showed signs of aging, along with a few days worth of stubble.

Glancing down at his hands, he muttered to himself, “Let’s give it a try this morning.  After all you need to look your best, if any ladies care to dine here tonight.”  Although he knew that they never would.  Carefully picking up the razor, holding it lightly, he started to run it across his cheek, slowly trimming his whiskers.  However, after only a few strokes his hand began to shake.  A few more attempts and the hand suddenly started to spasm, the razor dropping into the small sink.  “Maybe tomorrow then,” he sighed, turning has back on the small on-suite bathroom to find some clothes.

Sometime later, dressed and looking a little more presentable, he sat on the comfortable sofa gazing at the sole datapad resting on the low coffee table in front of him.

“So what is it this morning, reading or writing?” He asked the empty room.  Unfortunately the room was of little assistance in answering this question.  “Writing it is then,” he said jovially picking up the datapad staring at the few sentences that he had managed to write over the intervening years.

The Imperium or more commonly referred to as “The Empire” was founded circa 2312AD (Old Earth calendar).  Arguably the most powerful and enduring geo-political structure since the Roman Empire’s repressive form of government, almost two thousand years earlier.

After staring at the words for almost half an hour, without any new inspiration, he threw the datapad back onto the table in frustration.  He had first thought of the idea of writing a book on the history of the Empire a few years into his incarnation.  After all, he felt that he was more than eminently qualified and had ample time on his hands, but he could just not seem to get past the first few sentences.

Reading also held little interest to him.  His captors limited the library accessible on the device to classic literature, nothing more current.  He had been engrossed in Meditations for quite some time, written by his namesake almost three thousand years earlier, but for some reason Julius Caesar also seemed to hold some sort of morbid fascination.  He was about to reach for the datapad once again to work on his book when the door suddenly opened, surprising him.

It was breakfast time already?  How time flies.

Even more surprising was who followed behind his breakfast.  A tall officer, dressed in a dark uniform, with silver epaulets.  He looked the complete opposite of an officer in the Imperial Navy.  It was not his uniform that drew the prisoner’s gaze it was his face.  This was the man who was responsible for his capture, his on-going incarceration and torture.  It was for these reasons, and more, that he detested him with a passion that was almost fanatical.  However, at the same time there was a longing for the sight of this man, his antagonist, as over the past five years this was the only man who had ever spoken a single word to him.  The only person to give him a hint, even an inkling of events that transpired beyond these four walls.

“You don’t mind if I join you for breakfast this fine morning?” He asked, casually slipping into one of the two chairs seated around the small table.  It was obviously a rhetorical question.

Taking a seat opposite him, eyes scanning across the table, adorned with the usual fresh breads, fine fruits, jams, tea and coffee.  They certainly didn’t want their most prized possession starving to death.  Reaching forward for the coffee, he attempted to pour himself a cup, but once again his fine muscle control failed him and more coffee spilt across the table than his cup.

“Let me,” the immaculate officer insisted.  Smoothly taking the pot of coffee and filling his cup for him.  The captive could only nod his head in thanks still looking at the food covering the table. However, one could only gaze at a table for so long and finally he lifted his head to stare at his antagonist.

With dark brown, almost black eyes, his dark mop of hair and immaculately groomed short, pointed beard, Alexander Sejanus’ rise within the officer corps of the Imperial Navy had been nothing short of meteoric.  The only son of a rich industrialist’s family, they had spent their money lavishly on him.  Sponsoring his admission into the Imperial Academy and then paying for his even more rapid promotions.  At the same time using their wealth and connections to cover up for some of his more depraved excesses.  It was at this point that the officer had first caught his own eye and he started to give some serious thought to his own succession.  At the time he had been drawn to the young officer’s obvious strengths; his keen intellect, ambition and wealthy background.  Overlooking or perhaps just ignoring his more negative traits, elevating him to the elite Praetorian Guard, Sejanus had exceeded his wildest expectations, but at a cost.  For the rumours and depravities surrounding the officer refused to disappear and seemed to become more excessive over time.  Until a point was reached when even he could no longer ignore them and had to strip Sejanus of his rank and position, whilst dishonourably discharging him from the Imperial Navy.

However, it was none of these things that drew his gaze, instead it was the long sheathed Valerian sword resting at this side, the ornate hilt just poking above the low table.  As always he averted his eyes, refusing to dwell on the mistakes of the past and instead focussed on the warm bread roll that he started to lather with one of the jams that he was particularly fond of.

However, very little went unnoticed by Sejanus and he laughed.  “Having second thoughts, old man?”

“That I didn’t follow advice or my better judgement and have you hung, drawn and quartered, when I had the opportunity?” The prisoner responded mildly, “Absolutely.”

The only response from Sejanus was a tightening of his jaw, frustrated that once again he had not been able to get a reaction out of the older man.  The only time he had ever managed to even make a dent in the thick veneer of his expression was when he had gleefully informed him of the destruction of the Praetorian Guard, the elite military unit who protected the Emperor and his immediate family.  Then, only for a brief instant, had the prisoner’s expression waivered and he had the pleasure of seeing the shock on his face.  However, even that short triumph was ruined when the crafty old fox had soon realised that not all had died, but one had escaped.

Sejanus had to suppress the incandescent rage that he felt towards that incompetent fool, Harkov.  Always strutting around his bridge, like a goddamn peacock—the pompous idiot.  Always making proclamations and declaring himself to be the next Emperor.  Harkov had only one task to carry out, only one.  To ensure the complete and utter destruction of the Praetorian Guard and he could not even manage that.  He had the full might of an Imperial Navy Taskforce to ensure their annihilation, but even that had not been enough.  With his incompetency, the officer had allowed the Praetorian Commander and Princess Aurelius to escape.  Well, at least Harkov was no longer a thorn in his side, hence his presence at breakfast that morning.

“I brought some news that I thought you might be interested in hearing,” Sejanus mentioned aloud as he poured himself a cup of coffee.  Knowing that the old man must be desperate for news, any news.  He knew it was a petty thing, but still it gave him a small ripple of pleasure, to see the eager look on his captive’s face.

“Oh?  Pray tell.  Any luck attempting to finish the job that you left half-finished and have finally managed to kill Commander Radec?”  This statement was delivered with a wizened cackle.

Once again Sejanus had to fight to keep the anger from his face.  He constantly wondered how this old man, permanently sealed in this room, with absolutely no contact with the outside world, seemed to so accurately identify his continued frustration.  He had spent years trying to track down the location of Radec, who seemed to have vanished as quickly as he had appeared.  Only resurfacing some eighteen months prior on a remote station named Terra Nova, to head Vanguard Shipping, a small logistics company that operated far out on the Rim.  Sejanus had spent, most of the past year fruitlessly trying to put an operative in-place that could eliminate the Commander.  All to no avail.  The station was impenetrable, the crew equally so.  Sejanus idly wondered what it was about the man that seemed to instil such devotion in the people that surrounded him, that none could be brought or bribed.

The only opportunity that had arisen several months earlier was when Radec made a rare trip off station to a civilian trading post called Transcendence. That operation had been an unmitigated disaster when the Commander and an unknown civilian had killed several of the assault team and managed to escape.

Sejanus refused to rise to the old man’s gloating, although it mattered little.  His silence was enough to answer the question.  The prisoner just gave a short bark of laughter, going back to spreading the jam across his warm roll.

“I thought you might be interested in news regarding Admiral Harkov?”  Sejanus was pleased to note that the knife the man was using to spread the jam stilled.

“How’s the old boy doing?” Came back the disinterested response.

“Not well.  He’s dead.”

“That’s unfortunate,” the old man replied, placing the knife carefully back down on the table and finally looking Sejanus in the eye once again.  “I was hoping to have a chance to talk to him one final time.  When I could look him in the eye, before ordering his execution.  I hope he died painfully?”

“I can only assume so,” came back the response.  “I understand that somebody rammed a nuclear warhead into his flagship.”

“Really?” The old man trailed off.  For the first time in a very long time the vigour and fire in his gaze was present once again.  “I wonder who possibly could have done such a thing and, of course, who would have known the necessary codes to activate such a horrific weapon?  Tut, tut, so many safeguards in place to stop just that sort of thing occurring.”  Once again the old man cackled, with just a hint of the madness lurking in his mind.

Sejanus ground his teeth together in annoyance.  The news coming out from the Zeta-Aquilae System was fragmented and confused at best.  His spies inside the Confederation Fleet had been able to confirm the destruction of the Imperial Star and the death of Harkov, but little beyond this.  It would seem that the Commander or somebody on his staff had used the weapon, but where it had come from, or how it was activated, was purely speculation.  Sejanus had hoped that their prisoner would offer some insights, but sadly conceded that the secrets locked up in the old man’s head would forever remain beyond his reach.

“I just thought that you would be interested in the news.” Sejanus stood in preparation to leave the old man alone to his secrets.

The old man cocked his head to one side, as if deep in thought for a moment.  “In gratitude for this news I will agree to share one secret with you,” he interrupted Sejanus’s departure.  “As I would never dream of taking this secret to the grave with me.”

Sejanus turned to face the frail man who was leaning heavily against the table, curious at what secret he was finally prepared to divulge.

“I made a terrible mistake with you Alex.  I recognised in you power and ambition, and naïvely thought that these were the traits needed for a great leader.  Well I was wrong.  I have since come to observe that love is far stronger than hate.  Love is not a weakness, but a source of limitless strength, something that you will never be able to comprehend.  Hence while the Praetorian Commander was your replacement, he is in no way the lesser of you.  You will never be half the man that he is, always living in his shadow.”

He failed to mention, that it was only in the certain knowledge that the Commander still lived and hence his daughter was safe, that he was able to maintain a trace of his sanity.  Locked away in this comfortable cage for so long, he had never regretted turning his back on this dark, evil man.  He found it ironic that he had been so obsessed with finding somebody to succeed him, and to care and love for his daughter, that in the end it was she who had made the right choice, not him.  She had opened his eyes to realise that love, duty and honour could conquer all.   He only slept at night knowing that he would always be there at her side, watching over her, keeping her safe, loving her.

“Perhaps,” Sejanus replied, keeping a tight reign on his temper.  “But when I find him and kill him, and this I promise you I will, I’ll bring your daughter before you, on her knees, and will force you to watch as she submits to me.  Finally and only then, will it be my turn to step out of the shadow and into the light.”

The old, frail man, merely a shadow of his former self, watched helplessly as the doors slid shut, locking firmly behind Sejanus.

“Commander,” he spoke to the empty room, aloud.  “If you can hear me, then help me.  Please,” pleaded Marcus Aurelius.  The last Imperial Emperor, a man who had once ruled over almost ten billion individuals.

Little did he realise that he was already speaking to a ghost.

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