The Restoration of Loren's Legion
04 Jun 2018Isaiah Evanson
ChioneThe Prism System
Empire
April, 3303
Conflicting reports regarding the fate of Kahina Tijani Loren, alias Salomé, continue to churn through media outlets throughout the Empire. One point upon which most publications agree: Kahina’s conspirators remain at large.
Two of these conspirators are well known in Prism. Kastor Harrison of Loren’s Legion released this statement to the Prism Herald this morning.
“It is with sadness that I must report Cornelius Gendymion and Isaiah Evanson - former officers of Loren’s Legion - have gone rogue, and are now considered enemies of the Empire. As it happens, Isaiah is also wanted in the Federation for an attempt on the life of a high-ranking Federation official in 3301. It is not yet clear why Cornelius harbored him.”
“Cornelius transmitted a defection notice on the morning of the 29th. When we learned he and Isaiah intended to aid Salomé, Loren’s Legion was dispatched to apprehend them. Unfortunately, both evaded us. Our investigation will continue.”
Meanwhile, Ambassador Cuthrick Delaney refused to field questions regarding the investigation, but did release a statement.
“It saddens me greatly that Cornelius Gendymion and Isaiah Evanson chose to disobey the Imperial authorities by rendering aid to Kahina Loren. Their loss will undoubtedly be felt throughout the systems in our care. But we remain steadfast in our commitment to the citizens of the Prism sector, and we will endeavor to carry on through this time of hardship.”
The frown on Cuthrick Delaney’s face deepened as the holofac winked out. Sitting forward in the rear seat of the aircar, he pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, tuning out the dull thrum of the vehicle’s engines.
Hardship. An adequate word for what lies ahead.
The IISS was descending upon Prism with the full authority of the Empire behind them. Audits were being performed; files reviewed, personnel and staff questioned. Despite his best efforts to remain above the influence of the agency, they would certainly find breadcrumbs. The Imperial Internal Security Service was nothing if not thorough.
But the truth is out there now. And no matter what happens to the Legion — or to me — there’s no keeping it hidden anymore.
The news of Kahina’s death had been difficult to bear. Cuthrick found that biting down on his grief had been nearly insurmountable. After everything Kahina had been through, her demise at the hands of a bounty hunter was unfitting for someone of such dignity.
Pundits swarmed over the tidings with ravenous hunger. Rumors were that she’d been betrayed by someone within the coalition that formed to defend her. It was true that there were those who sought to claim the notoriety of bringing a “known terrorist” to justice. But the media had spun a web of half-truths based on the proclamations of her killer.
As expected, the facts were rapidly buried under a torrent independent reports placing her killer on a pedestal. Imperial publications were singing his praises and gobbling up any of the lies he spouted off as gospel. It was a perverse display of media-driven fantasy, portraying Kahina as an evil, manipulative, murderous revolutionary.
Did you know they would defile your memory like this?
“Ambassador,” the aircar pilot said, interrupting Cuthrick’s train of thought. “We’ll be landing at our destination shortly.”
Cuthrick inhaled sharply, nodded to himself. “Good. Thank you.”
When he opened his eyes, he was greeted by the sight of a vast ocean, twinkling with Prism’s light. It stretched for miles, far beyond the shoreline of New Ithaca and beyond the reach of galactic politics. There was not a single cloud in the spotless blue sky, only the crescent of Daedalion hanging above.
Rising out of the seawater was a patch of tan and green, perhaps a half-mile wide. Aside from the occasional tree that jutted upwards into the sky, there was nothing particularly remarkable about this plot of land. What had settled there, however, was of great interest.
Cuthrick leaned in closer to the glass and saw two shapes, both unmistakably manmade. As the aircar drew closer, he could see the effortless elegance of two Gutamaya Clippers, both adorned in matching white paint. He squinted his eyes against the glare of Prism and noted that one looked considerably worse than the other. Its hull had been marred by plasma scoring, a testament to the crucible it had endured.
The aircar slowed its speed and hovered over an empty space near the two ships, kicking up a cloud of dust that obscured the sight of the two vessels. As the aircar settled on its undercarriage, the whine of the engines died down and Cuthrick undid his lap belt.
“Half an hour,” he said, opening the door and stepping out into warm sea air. Another plume of dust erupted as the aircar lifted off, leaving Cuthrick behind.
Two figures emerged from beneath the shade of the Clippers, both of them raising a hand to acknowledge Cuthrick’s arrival.
“You’re late,” Cornelius said with a halfhearted smile, walking just ahead of Isaiah to greet Cuthrick.
“Sensibly tardy,” Cuthrick replied, bowing slightly and inclining his head towards Cornelius. “I do apologize for my late arrival. I was… pressed for time.”
Cuthrick straightened his posture and studied Isaiah, who lingered behind Cornelius. His face was somewhat contorted. Brow furrowed, mouth straight in a line, his features told of intense grief. As he shuffled past Cornelius, he reached out and placed his hands on Isaiah’s shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” Isaiah stammered, his voice breaking. “I didn’t get there in time…”
Cuthrick shook his head. “You did everything you could.”
“I could have done more.”
Cuthrick sympathized with him. Isaiah had tracked her at Cornelius’ request. He’d shadowed her when she came back to civilization, fought to exonerate her when she’d been convicted, and followed her footsteps when she disappeared. He’d proven himself time and again to the Legion and its namesake, and there was no one else Cuthrick would have wanted alongside Kahina in her final hours.
Isaiah’s words confirmed to Cuthrick that he’d made the right choice.
“The odds were always against her,” Cuthrick said, lowering his voice. “Even if she’d lived, she’d be hunted. It would have made her accusers more aggressive in their efforts to silence her.”
“I don’t know what happened,” Isaiah said, his eyes fixing on some distant point behind Cuthrick. “It’s as if my drive just… stopped. I went over the telemetry more times than I care to count and nothing was wrong with it.”
“It doesn’t matter now. There’s nothing that can be done to bring her back.”
Isaiah drew in a shaky breath, and Cuthrick could see the exhaustion in his eyes.
He’s not used to this — failure. Neither am I. But now is not the time to linger on what could have been.
“I refuse to dwell on the things we cannot change,” Cuthrick said, catching Isaiah’s gaze with his own. “And I will not accept you doing it as well.”
Isaiah gave a curt nod of understanding.
Letting go of Isaiah’s shoulders, Cuthrick straightened his own tunic and cleared his throat. “Lady Kahina provided strict instructions for me, and I will see them done for as long as I am the acting authority in Prism.”
Though he spoke those words with certainty, Cuthrick could not shake the feeling that his days were numbered. Other factions in Prism and the surrounds were beginning to question his leadership. It was only a matter of time before one of them decided to challenge the Legion for control.
“With that said, I have instructions for both of you — if you still intend to serve in Prism’s defense.”
Cornelius and Isaiah traded glances between themselves. Both turned back to Cuthrick and nodded. “You cannot stay here. Doing so would place us all at great risk. You both will be hunted, although I suspect the authorities are far more interested in me than in the two of you — for now, at least. In the meantime, there are secrets we must do our best to reveal. Plans have been set into motion, and I believe we are short on time. So we must put our own into motion as well.”
“Whatever you need, Ambassador,” Isaiah said, his features hardening. “I’m ready to pay some people back for what happened.”
New Cousens City, Schneider Colony
The Liaedin System
Empire
March, 3304
The two men sat across from each other, an ornate table with oakwood accents and inlaid marble dividing them.
The man on one end was old, his face wrinkled and creased with the passage of years. Jagged lines cut across his forehead; evidence of the weight of the duties and obligations he was once entrusted with. But his blue-grey eyes glinted with a steely resolve.
At the other end, a younger man sat. His brown eyes were tired, but defiant. His face was only just beginning to show the signs of the years. The wear and tear of his choices in life were showing beneath the dispassionate exterior he had so carefully cultivated for himself.
“I’ve been waiting a long time for this,” the old man said, folding his hands on the table in front of him.
The younger inhaled deeply, looking down at the delicate designs carved into the wood. He slouched back in his chair, sinking slightly, looking as a child might when they were chastised for doing wrong.
He lifted his eyes and peered intently at the older man. His voice burdened, he finally spoke: “I spent so long picturing how I might kill you, do you know that?”
The old man nodded.
“Years of imagining how I might do it. A blade. A gun. My bare hands. Wanted so badly to feel the life bleed out of you.”
The younger’s posture straightened, and he leaned forward, crossing his arms and bracing them against the tabletop. “But here I am. Sitting across from you. The object of my hatred for so long.” He sighed. Their eyes met.
“And how do you feel now?” the old man asked.
“Tired,” the younger replied. His eyes closed and he seemed to resign himself before asking a question of his own.
“Have the years been kind to you, Vespar?”
A slight smile graced the old man’s features before fading. He sighed, and shook his head. “They have not, Isaiah. You have a part in that…” he paused, looking back up at Isaiah. “But I brought much of it upon myself.”
With a creak of the chair supporting him, Vespar pushed himself away from the table and rose to his feet, his bones popping and cracking under the load. Struggling with his first few steps, he moved to the liquor cabinet adjacent to the table.
“My own children want nothing to do with me, as you can see,” Vespar said, opening the antique cupboard and retrieving a bottle of his own personal reserve. “Many in the Empire view me as a prime example of failed ambition. And if there were any formalities still reserved for a former Senator, those too have been stripped from me.” He turned and set the bottle down on the table, producing two matching shot glasses.
Isaiah looked at the bottle, then up at Vespar. “An outcast among your own people.”
“An outcast among all people,” Vespar corrected. “Something I suspect you are quite familiar with now.”
Isaiah nodded.
The glasses were filled with the potent and fragrant brandy. Vespar lifted his in a mock toast. “To lost causes,” he said. “May they and the people that were sacrificed for them rest in peace.”
Isaiah lifted his glass, then the two tipped them back and downed their drinks. Vespar didn’t flinch, but Isaiah erupted into a coughing fit.
“Good, no?”
Isaiah nodded his head, still coughing slightly. “Yeah. Not bad.”
“Another?”
“Yeah.”
Vespar poured another shot for the two of them. Before long there had been a third, and a fourth. Half the bottle had been downed without a single word.
Vespar wobbled and sat down in the chair across from Isaiah, drawing in a deep breath. He studied the man as he nursed his fifth drink, noting how he seemed so much more reserved than Natalia had described him. Perhaps that was the price for what had happened in Eravate.
“Why did you come here, Isaiah?” he asked, canting his head to the side.
Isaiah’s eyes flickered up briefly — they were tired, lacking the spark that Vespar knew had surely been there once before. Isaiah traced his index finger along the rim of the glass, and leaned in as if to inspect it. “To ask for a favor,” he said quietly, barely above a whisper. “If you’ll let me.”
Though the alcohol was clouding his mind, Vespar felt a chill rush over him. A favor?
Isaiah continued. “What do you know of the Prism system?”
“Quiet. Off the beaten path, more or less. Kahina Loren’s personal legion still maintains control over it and the surrounds despite the crimes she committed.”
“Do you believe they were crimes?”
Vespar shrugged. “I’ve not busied myself with politics in many months, Isaiah. I could not say for certain if she truly sought to assassinate Senator Patreus or if blame was placed upon her to make her a scapegoat. Both arguments would carry considerable weight in my opinion. What I do know is that she divided the Empire and brought a great deal of strife to our tiny bubble of space.”
Isaiah made a low sound of acknowledgment. “And if I said I had proof that she had been set up?”
“I am open to seeing it.”
Isaiah reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a commtab. He gestured with it towards the center of the table, and a holographic projection of the galaxy. Lines and paths traced their way like lightning, arcing out coreward and rimward from a location in the heart of human-occupied space — Reorte and Riedquat.
“I have a story to tell you,” Isaiah said.
And so Vespar listened as Isaiah explained what it all meant. The Dynasty Project. The planned exodus. The Zurara. The Thargoids.
The Club.
He watched as Isaiah paced around the table, bringing up documents, images, video and audio evidence extracted from exotic and governmental sources. Carefully the case was made. Carefully Vespar examined what was laid out before him.
“But what does this have to do with me?”
Isaiah stood opposite of him at the table, bracing himself on his extended arms. “I came here to ask you to make a bid at becoming the Prism system Senator.”
Vespar stared at him in shock. Isaiah didn’t flinch.
“I have everything needed to ensure that you’d get the bid,” he said. “I’ve made friends in the Empire who will offer their patronage if you were to do so.”
“I’m not quite the man that I was a few years ago,” Vespar replied in protest. “Even if I were to gain the seat in Prism, I have many enemies in the Senate.”
“Right now the Senate is the least of my concerns.” Isaiah leaned forward, gripping the edge of the marbled table so hard that his knuckles went white. His voice lowered to a growl. “My home is under the thumb of the Internal Security Service. Ambassador Cuthrick is being used as a figurehead. The Legion that bears Kahina Loren’s name is merely a shell of what it once was. I intend to rectify that.”
“So what do you need from me?”
“I need you to break the hold that the Internal Security Service has on that system,” Isaiah said matter-of-factly. “If Prism gets a new Senator, the Legion will answer to them, not the IISS and certainly not the Senate.”
“Am I to be a figurehead, like Ambassador Cuthrick? Because that seems to be what you’re asking of me.”
“No. I want you to become our advocate. The shield that protects Prism and her sister systems from the political machinations of the Imperial Senate and the Club.”
Vespar sank into his chair slightly, looking down at the now empty bottle of brandy. His mind raced to connect all the dots.
“And what about you, Isaiah?”
“I’ll do what I’ve always done,” he replied quietly.
“And that is?”
“Fight.”
Leeson City, Chione
The Prism System
Empire
April, 3304
“It’s good to see you again, Commander Evanson.” Ambassador Cuthrick Delaney sank into the supple leather of the lounge chair in his study, peering across at the man that had come to visit him in the night. “Though I’m not usually one to entertain guests this late.”
Isaiah had never seen Cuthrick outside of the administrative buildings in Leeson City. His subtle request for an audience with him at his own home seemed… wrong, somehow. Here he was getting a glimpse into the life of a man with high station, and he was surprised at how normal he seemed. Instead of flamboyant Imperial style and trademark decadence, things were far more simple and, in a way, spartan. Cuthrick Delaney’s residence was nonetheless elegant in its simplicity.
“I apologize for the late hour,” Isaiah said finally, turning to Cuthrick and lowering his head. “I feel that it was necessary to maintain some level of deniability should someone take notice of my presence here on Chione.”
“I understand you have been a very busy man,” Cuthrick said, steepling his fingers and peering over them. “You have a great deal to answer for.”
Isaiah’s posture straightened, and he clasped his hands behind his back. “I’m sure you heard about the revolution in Coma.”
“Your activities there caused a great deal of trouble for me here, you know. The IISS rifled through my residence and personal effects, trying to find any sign that you’d been here or that I was in contact with you.” Cuthrick smiled thoughtfully, gesturing to the room they were in. “As you can see, I’ve felt it necessary to strip away the embellishment to make it easier to put things back together.”
“I apologize.”
“Such is the nature of things now, I’m afraid,” Cuthrick said with a sigh. “Though I still maintain my position as the administrator of Prism, it is all that I am. Every decision I make has to be vetted by the authorities; examined, cross-examined, scrutinized, labeled, filed, briefed, debriefed…”
“Why did they bother keeping you in your place?”
“To keep the population happy. Prism has been volatile for years. If Internal Security had removed me, it would have destabilized this entire region. The Empire can’t afford throwing into chaos the only bulwark it has against the Kumo Crew. So they maintained the status quo on the surface while stripping me of my authority behind the scenes.”
Isaiah frowned. “I’m sorry, sir.”
“Not your fault, Commander. You and I and Cornelius knew what we were doing when we agreed to help Kahina. These are merely the consequences of our actions.”
Isaiah nodded his head, feeling the familiar surge of adrenaline hit his veins as he thought back to one year earlier. Plunging through the coronas of stars, fighting back against what felt like the entire galaxy, all the while prepared to lay down his life for her.
But despite all that I did, I could not keep her safe.
“Has the grief gone?” Cuthrick asked.
Isaiah didn’t shake or nod his head in reply.
“What do you feel now?”
“Ashamed.”
“For what?”
“For letting this happen to everything we’ve fought for. For letting her down. For letting you and Cornelius down.”
“I will not bear witness to your own self-pity, Isaiah,” Cuthrick said sternly. “I will not spare you a moment more of my time if you came here to grovel at my feet for your actions in Coma. I know you came here with a purpose, even if you shed the blood of other Imperials to make it possible. So please, say what you came here to say.”
Isaiah inhaled sharply, then nodded. Heartstrings pulled tightly, he composed himself and refocused on his reason for being there at all.
“I have a plan to restore the Legion to working order, free of the oversight of Internal Security, and to give power back to your position. I have spent the last year building partnerships, cultivating alliances with people of great importance and of great skill in combat, statesmanship, you name it.”
“Go on.”
“Prism needs a Senator.”
“I will not—”
“Not you. Vespar Faveol.”
Cuthrick’s jaw fell agape. Isaiah thought his face might slide off his bones when he said Vespar’s name. Cuthrick had been apprised of Isaiah’s history with the former Senator of Liaedin, so he knew there would be shock. But he didn’t expect Cuthrick to look as aghast as he did.
“He has agreed to be our advocate in the Senate, if we so choose to have him.”
“But he needs patronage…”
“I have become friends with an Imperial organization known as Cerberus. They’ve offered to back his bid for the seat.”
Cuthrick’s jaw tightened up as he collected himself. He rose from his seat, pacing around his study, lost in thought. Isaiah watched as the gears turned in his head.
“Is he aware of what’s happening in the galaxy?”
“He is. The Club. The Thargoids. Kahina’s murder and the circumstances surrounding it. He’s with us.”
“You didn’t achieve your ends in Coma? Wasn’t that your intention there, to build a place free from the machinations of the Club?”
“Cuthrick, I saw Kahina die with my own eyes. I refuse to keep watching her legacy and her namesake die with her. This needs to happen. This is my home, and I’m not going to abandon it. Not again,” Isaiah said firmly. “The Legion is a symbol to all who admired her and believed in her. If Vespar takes over as the Senator, then the Legion answers to him. And if he’s in our corner, then we have considerable room to work against the Club.”
Cuthrick seemed to be turning it over in his mind, his eyes unfocused. He continued to pace around the room.
“The Senate will label it a political coup d’etat,” he said, stopping in his tracks. “They’ll do to him what they’ve done to me. They’ll make him into a figurehead, lacking any real power.”
“Fortunately, there are ways to exert pressure on his adversaries that will make them think twice about that.”
Cuthrick shot Isaiah a cross look. “Terrorism is not what I had in mind.”
“On the contrary. Political pressure. No violence, although I am not adverse to it…”
Cuthrick continued to pace, and Isaiah continued to wait for him to reach his own conclusions about the plan.
“Say that we do this. Where do you fit into all of it?”
“I come back and retake my position overseeing the security operations in our systems,” Isaiah said. “Quietly, of course.”
“And Cornelius?”
“You and I both know he wants to come home again. This is how we make it safe for him to return.”
Cuthrick chewed on his bottom lip and wrung his hands before peering out of the grand window into the streets below. Isaiah crossed the room and stood alongside him, lowering his voice.
“I have spent the last year trying to make a way for us to fight the Club, finding like-minded people, doing my very level best to get the ball rolling in a way that would position us for a protracted war with them. Not a war of weapons and warships, but of ideas and will. It might take years for us to finally unmask them and set things right, but I want to try. I am trying. This isn’t a revolution I’m planning, it’s a restoration of the things we’ve lost since Kahina died.”
“A restoration…”
“Prism and the systems the Legion maintains can serve as more than a bulwark for the Empire. It can be a bulwark for humanity. We have more resources at our disposal than most in the Empire. Our pilots are battle-hardened veterans. The people we serve trust us to protect them, and we have time and again. But they are not truly safe unless and until we control our own destiny.
“And that’s what this is about — taking charge of our path through the stars. Blazing a trail. Making our own power plays, like the lady said. That is the highest tribute we can offer Kahina. That, and to remember her.”
“When would this power play of yours take place?”
“All I need to do is give the word. But I’m seeking yours first. None of this happens without your blessing.”
Cuthrick exhaled a deep breath from his lungs; a long, tired sigh. Isaiah could sense the weariness in him. They shared the same burden, but now something could be done to alleviate them of it. To set them, the Legion, and Prism on a path to something greater.
“I endorse it. But I will refrain from committing to it until I have a complete plan of action on your part. I need to see assurances from Vespar Faveol and from your friends in Cerberus. I want to be informed on every step of the way.”
Isaiah nodded enthusiastically. “Of course.”
Cuthrick turned to Isaiah and smiled thoughtfully. “It’ll be good to have you and Cornelius back in the fold if this works.”
“It will,” Isaiah replied. “I wouldn’t have risked coming here if I didn’t think it would.”
“Very well. Now, if you’ll excuse me Commander, I need my sleep.” Cuthrick turned on his heel and started towards the door to his study. “And I cannot be seen talking to the apparition of a wanted criminal in my own home.”
“Of course. I was never here.”
His avatar flickered, then winked out as Cuthrick closed the door behind him.
High above Chione, an Imperial Clipper hung soundlessly in the void. Isaiah removed the sensors from his temples, placing them inside his flight jacket.
“And so the wheel continues to turn,” he said quietly, nudging the ship’s controls and pointing the nose towards Prism. He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth upon his face, and sighed.
“Soon. I'll be home soon.”
New Ithaca, Chione
The Prism System
Empire
June, 3304
Rain. Why is it always rain?
Isaiah peered out into the black night from the top of the Seven Veil’s staircase, listening to the storm just beyond pounding at the massive ship’s hull. It always seemed to rain on days and nights of great importance to him. It was as if Chione herself was weeping… for what had come and gone, and what was still yet to come. The air was full of the scent of soil and ocean salt, rich and earthy and warm.
The weather reminded him of another night, not unlike this one, where the course of his life changed forever. His thoughts harkened back to two years ago. To the sight of people gathered in Loren Piazza, holding a silent storm-battered vigil in front of a single flame. To Cornelius Gendymion’s words, echoing over the past two years.
These people needed answers. And I needed them too.
His thoughts turned to what lay at the bottom of the staircase, and what hid in the darkness outside. There would be Internal Security meeting him before he entered the Imperial palace. They’d take him into custody — more of a formality than an actual act of justice — and present him to Ambassador Delaney and Senator Faveol. From there, the proceedings would be short and sweet. He’d have his charges laid out. He’d be sentenced to time served. It would all be handled according to Imperial law. But a price would still have to be paid — house arrest and constant monitoring outside the home in the execution of his duties. But that was small compared to what surely would have been handed down if he had been apprehended otherwise.
The Empire certainly loves its romanticism, even in the administration of a toothless kind of justice.
Isaiah closed his eyes and took a breath, letting the damp night air fill his lungs. The heat made him feel alive. His chest swelled, his shoulders rolled back, his spine straightened. He could feel the weight of the entire universe hang itself from about his neck, like some twisted sort of medallion, threatening to pull him down.
Kahina’s face flickered through his thoughts, then faded.
This is how I choose to remember you.
Isaiah exhaled, opened his eyes, and descended the staircase one step at a time. The rain whipped across his face like hot shrapnel. The floodlights at the opposite end of the landing pad were blinding, but Isaiah could faintly make out the military uniforms of the Internal Security Service.
“Isaiah Evanson!” called a voice over a bullhorn. “Step forward! Present yourself and prepare to be taken into custody!”
Isaiah felt a twinge of defiance well up in his chest. It was like that flame in Loren Piazza only two years ago. The one that had gone out in the storm. Her flame. Now mine.
He raised his voice and shouted back a challenge into the rain and light. “Come and get me!”
Shadows moved at the edges of the lights. Four armored figures emerged, silhouetted against the floodlights. Weapons were raised, pointed squarely at him.
Is this a trap?
Isaiah took a step back, shifting his weight and widening his stance as the figures approached. He angled his right side away from them, and his hand pulled aside his cloak. A steady hand dropped to the holster on his hip.
“That’s quite enough!” called the voice on the bullhorn. The four figures stopped, only feet away from Isaiah. Their guns were still trained on him. “Your grand gesture of defiance is finished,” it added. “Now let these men do as they were ordered and take you into custody.”
One of the troopers lowered their rifle and stepped forward, extending his hand towards Isaiah, palm open and facing upwards. “Your sidearm, Commander.”
Isaiah hesitated. He saw the other three soldiers continue their watch over him. Their helmets masked their faces, but he could sense their eyes tracking his every movement.
They want you to draw on them. They want this to happen. Don’t let it.
“Lower your weapons,” Isaiah said. “Then you can have mine.”
The trooper’s posture slackened. They turned to look over their shoulder, shrugging slightly.
Two more figures emerged from the light, though they were without firearms and armor. As they drew closer, details became apparent. Isaiah could see a plainly-dressed woman with a flash of red hair leading her male counterpart, a balding, wiry man clad in a soaked officer’s uniform. Both of them strode purposefully towards him.
The woman, who seemed to be in charge of the detail, stopped short and whispered something to the trooper, while the man went around and approached Isaiah. He stuck out his hand in the same way the trooper had.
“Give me your sidearm,” he said. “Or I will take it from you.”
Would like to see you try.
Isaiah turned slowly around so that his holster was presented clearly to the man, and with deliberate, languid movements, he drew the weapon and took it by the barrel.
The man took the gun and tucked it away in his raincoat. “Did you enjoy yourself?” he asked.
“Not nearly as much as I’m sure you would have had I drawn down,” Isaiah replied.
The man grinned crookedly. He motioned for the troopers, then gestured to Isaiah.
“Cuff him.”
* * * *
Three hundred years.
Even though his sentence had been commuted, Isaiah’s mind grappled with the term that would have been handed down to him were it not for the benefit of good graces in high places. That wasn’t enough to spare him the pointed looks and hushed whispers of discontent from the few witnesses in the room. Their presence gave legitimacy to the event, but Isaiah found it almost impossible to bite down on his words and speak against them.
Once the proceedings ended, he’d been shuffled along to a private room adjoining the conference room on the third level of the palace. New clothes had been provided, more in line with Imperial fashion than his cloak and Remlok suit had been.
Isaiah stared at himself in the full-length mirror, wearing the colors of the Legion once again. Even after a year in the black, he still preferred the look and bearing of the military uniform. Except this time it was complimented with a belt and an ornamental Holva blade — or so it appeared.
He drew it from its scabbard and examined it. It was off-balance, its blade marred and tarnished with imperfections. There was nothing beautiful or precise about it except the edge. The hilt was made from Giant Verrix bone, but had no design or embellishments commonly found on them. Isaiah idly wondered if he might scrimshaw something on it in his spare time.
A commoner’s blade, no doubt.
With some trouble, he sheathed the saber and studied himself once more in the mirror. There were no medals on his lapel, nor were there any adornments indicating him to be an officer in the Legion. He assumed it was because the opponents of his reinstatement wanted to ensure the shame of betrayal remained at the forefront of the minds serving under his command.
Fine by me. People don’t follow ranks or titles. They follow courage.
Two sharp, heavy knocks came from the door behind him, and a voice called out from the other side. “They’re ready for you.”
“I shall join them momentarily,” Isaiah replied.
* * * *
The first thing Isaiah noticed when he stepped into the conference room was the cloying scent of lavender and lilac. Every time he’d visited with dignitaries of the Empire, the scent followed them. If lilac and lavender evoked thoughts of the color purple, it was because purple was the primary color of Emperor Arissa Lavigny-Duval’s reign.
Isaiah saw the source: the flash of red hair. The woman from the landing pad.
A Shield of Justice.
“Sit,” she said curtly, gesturing to the opposite side of the table. “Senator Faveol and Ambassador Delaney will join us shortly. But I will have words with you.”
Isaiah did as he was told, sitting down across from her.
The woman leaned forward and stared at him intensely. Isaiah could see a deep scar running from her forehead, over her right eye, and down her cheek. A steely glint in the dim light of the conference room revealed that it was a cybernetic replacement.
“Before we get started, I want you to understand something, Commander,” the woman said. Her voice was like a serpent’s hiss, her words dripping with potent venom. “You don’t deserve to be here. Were it up to me, I would’ve had you shot and left you on the tarmac for the Fantail shorebirds to pick your bones clean.”
Isaiah maintained his calm, listening to her as she spoke. He was careful to remain expressionless, lest he infuriate her further.
“That you are the recipient of Imperial grace is an insult to the memories of those you savagely murdered,” she continued. “Your very presence here is an affront to Imperial law.”
“I do not care about the Empire,” Isaiah replied sharply, shaking his head. “Or your law. Or your grace. What I care about is the people I pledged my life, my fortune, and my honor to.”
“What would you know about honor? You, who slaughtered traders in the name of common bandits and outlaws.”
“I am the Necessary Evil,” Isaiah replied sharply, his own voice taking an edge. He stared into the woman’s eyes, trying to sense if he could find a way to reason with her. “If you don’t understand what I mean, then you need only look across our borders to the Pegasi Sector.”
The woman sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”
“Not in the slightest.”
“I was your replacement,” she said, rising to her feet. She lazily walked along the length of the table, circling around it. She drew closer, and sat down next to him on the edge of it. “While you were out fighting for Lady Loren’s memory and waging holy wars in her name, I was here, securing the homefront. Watching. Waiting. Hoping that someone would take notice of the plight of this region of space. I fought anarchies, gangs, pirates. Men just like you. I protected this place. And now I’m being replaced by the person who threw it all away.”
The scent of lavender and lilac was stronger now. She was the source of it. Perfume.
“I know your kind, Commander Evanson,” she said. “The kind of man that thinks he can have whatever he wishes. Lucky for you, you have connections. You have clout. Political pull. But none of that changes who you really are.”
“And what is it that I am?”
“A monster, fit for condemnation. And I will make it my personal mission to see that you eventually pay for your crimes, even if the courts won’t.”
Before Isaiah could reply, the heavy oak doors to the room opened. Adorned in the Imperial regalia reserved for a sitting Senator, Vespar Faveol strode into the room with intent, and perhaps a hint of pride if his gait was any indication.
“Senator Faveol,” the woman said, inclining her head towards him. “Welcome to Chione.”
“I am grateful to be here, Agent Voss,” Vespar replied. He turned to Isaiah and exchanged a slight smile. “Commander Evanson, a pleasure to see you again.”
“Senator.”
Voss caught Isaiah’s gaze as Vespar passed. She gave him a pointed look, then returned to her seat on the opposite side of the table.
“I am sad to report that Ambassador Delaney will not be joining us. The media has received word of this… momentous occasion,” Vespar said, his mouth twisting slightly. “He is enroute to Leeson City to field questions in a morning press conference.”
“As is expected,” Voss replied. She sighed audibly, then brushed a strand of her hair back behind her ear. “There will be many questions.”
“And no easy answers, I’m afraid.”
Isaiah sat down in his chair once more, reclining back slightly. “I take it that this meeting has a purpose and is not merely yet another formality.”
Voss shook her head, exchanging another cross look with Isaiah. “No.This is a personal briefing. The absence of your command staff is regrettable, but it is not grounds to adjourn.”
“Understood. Agent Voss, carry on with your presentation.”
The holofac projector on the ceiling flickered to life, and a three-dimensional map of the Prism Sector appeared between the three of them. Stars faded, while others brightened — an illustrated, visual guide to systems in which Loren’s Legion held assets.
“Our holdings as of this moment are secure, for the most part. There have been rumblings of trouble in some of our lower-population systems where our security is not quite as tight, but for the most part very little has changed since…” Voss paused.
“Since I departed,” Isaiah finished the sentence.
Voss cleared her throat, then continued. “There are three major security threats at this time. The first one is the most obvious — the Kumo Crew. Archon Delaine’s forces may not be as numerous as they once were but there are plenty of them to pose an issue on our borders. For the moment, pirate elements have remained on their side of the demarcation lines.”
“But?” Vespar asked.
“We’re keeping an eye on a particular group out of Hatmehing. They call themselves the Archon Horde.”
Vespar steepled his fingers and peered over them, nodding along to Voss’s explanation.
“The second threat is one we’re not quite prepared for, even if we mustered all of our combat strength and summoned that of the Imperial Navy,” Voss said. Familiar, eight-petaled ships appeared in the display. A path was being carved across human space, and the last system to have been targeted was only a short distance from the borders of Legion space.
“Thargoids,” Isaiah said. “Naturally that is a concern, but not the one I’m most worried about.”
“You should be. There’s very little that can stand up to them in combat,” Voss said. “Our pilots are not suited for engagements with Thargoid vessels.”
“Well then, that will need to change. I will begin investigating avenues of getting our pilots what they need to combat an alien threat — if such a threat presents itself.”
“Continue with your assessment, Agent Voss,” Vespar said.
Voss sighed, and gestured to the display. Two faces appeared — one a haggard, old man, the other a younger version of him. Both sported long beards and more than a few tribal tattoos on their faces.
“There is a re-emergent Reclaimist movement gaining strength here in Prism,” Voss said. “These are the Laniers. The old one is Merten, the young one is his son, Alec. For now, they’ve seen it fit to cause trouble in the tantalum mines. Several riots have taken place and were summarily dealt with, but their rhetoric is escalating.”
“What makes you think they’re Reclaimists?”
“They were part of the original movement in 3300, and the Lanier family has deep ties to the Federation. Merten was a defense contractor, and Alec was a former Federal Marine. Both of them vanished after Kahina Loren reclaimed the system for herself, but they’ve been back in the news. They may have ties to the Kumo Crew or some other associated criminal group.”
“Do we know where they are?” Isaiah asked.
“Not at this time,” Voss said. The holofac cut out, and she frowned at both of them. “This place is not without trouble.”
Vespar nodded, looking down at his fingers. “Thank you for your time, Agent Voss.”
The woman nodded, rising from her seat. “If there is anything else I can do for you, Senator, please let me know. I shall take my leave.”
Voss gave Isaiah one last look before she exited the room, leaving him alone with Vespar.
Brows furrowed intensely, Vespar leaned forward and placed his hand on his forehead, exhaling a great breath. “I had forgotten how much of a burden this position carries,” he said. “If I had known I would spend the last forty-eight hours running on six hours of sleep, I would have declined your invitation.”
Isaiah smirked slightly. “It’s not easier in the world of outlaws, I can assure you.”
“Perhaps not. But I do not see outlaws fielding questions from vultures with holodrones and microphones.”
“Only the good ones, anyway,” Isaiah replied. He watched Vespar for several long moments, getting the sense of the man’s weariness. He shared the same sentiment, and wondered if he could throw himself back into the storm.
“They won’t help us, you know.” Vespar’s words were tinged with sadness. “The Empire at large.”
“If it suits them, they will.”
“It won’t. My enemies already see and plot against me. Yours would have seen you laid out on the landing pad earlier. People regard this plot of space as poor, decrepit. The backwater. Expendable.”
“Do you?”
The corner of Vespar’s mouth tightened. “It is certainly not Liaedin.”
“Nor is it Eravate,” Isaiah replied. “We are both far from home, without the people we love most. Beset on all sides by people who would see us destroyed for our parts in things that ended up being our greatest shame.”
“And now we’re tasked with the possibility of confronting the same sort of dilemma that presented itself to us so many years ago,” Vespar said. “Life is amusing itself with the darkest of humor.”
A father and son, seeking to engineer a revolution in Prism. Isaiah saw the resemblance… and the irony. Revolution spilled off the tongue of every dissenter like drops of rain, equally capable of sating thirst and drowning those speaking it. Only a few months ago, Isaiah himself had been fighting a revolution. Now he was being charged with the responsibility of fighting against it.
“We need to reach out to them,” Isaiah said. “The Laniers.”
“And do what?”
“Offer them a place at our table.”
Vespar laughed loudly. “The Empire already regards us with suspicion. They’ll stage their own coup if we break bread with more revolutionaries.”
“They’d be angry if we achieved peace? That’s more than they could say about their efforts to maintain peace with the Federation — or the Thargoids. And even then, what do we have to lose? Coming to an understanding with the Reclaimists would be quite the way to start your new career as Prism’s Senator. And I suspect it would serve our ends in other ways.”
Vespar nodded his head, but closed his eyes. “I shall… leave that to you, then.”
“Are you okay, Vespar?”
Vespar nodded his head, tiredly. “You’ll have to excuse me, Isaiah. The weight is finally catching up with me, and I’m afraid my shoulders can only bear the burden for so long before I need my rest.” He pushed away from the table, then stood up to his full height. Isaiah did so as well.
“Get some rest, Senator,” Isaiah said. “We’ll have more meetings in the coming week once my command staff arrive.”
Vespar gave a grunt of understanding, shuffling towards the door. “I shall be in my room. Please ensure I am not woken before afternoon.”
“I’ll take care of it, sir.”
As Vespar left the room, Isaiah turned to the windows. The first glint of dawn was approaching, breaking through the cloud cover above the island of New Ithaca. The storm was clearing. The long night was ending. Isaiah closed his eyes and let the warmth of the rising sun wash over him.
It felt good to be home once more.
*Author's Note: A VERY special thank-you to Drew Wagar, who gave his blessing to this story and the continuation of the story of Loren's Legion. Lady Kahina Tijani Loren, Ambassador Cuthrick Delaney and Admiral Brice from the official "Elite: Dangerous" novel, "Elite: Reclamation," were incorporated into Loren's Legion with the express permission of Drew Wagar. Thanks again, Drew!