Orn was not particularly discouraged by his father
telling him he would not be able to find any trace of his mother and sister.
George Reese had been saying it for years, and this time would be no different.
It wasn't as if Orn was stupid—the odds of finding his mother and sister alive
were slim to none. But he would much rather look for them and fail than not
search at all and keep living with this guilt and worry festering in his heart
like an open wound.
But nevertheless, everything that was needed had
already been arranged. Now it was all about getting on whatever ship the empire
had assigned to him and getting as far away as possible from his father and all
the politics that had been swirling around him lately.
The drop-ship vibrated as it was pulled into a hangar
by the magnetic docking clamps. Orn didn't waste any time—he wanted to be away
from his father as soon as possible. He stood and followed the man toward the
exit, but when the doors of the drop-ship opened, they revealed a rather
unfamiliar sight.
For one, the ship they were docked in was much smaller
than he'd expected. The hangar looked like it could only handle six to ten
drop-ships at most, along with the four interceptors that were currently
secured in their docking cradles. Within the galaxy, as accepted by the
Universal Commonwealth Union, ships were broken into three broad
classifications. Small craft usually had little to no independent space-faring
capabilities—things like maintenance pods used to repair ships, mining rigs,
and personal shuttles. They were not capable of faster-than-light travel and
usually needed to remain close to larger vessels for support and transport.
The interceptors in the hangar were such small
craft—designed to serve as highly maneuverable attack fighters, fast and deadly
but limited in range.
But still... whose ship was this?
"Well, Admiral Cornelius," his father said,
gesturing broadly to encompass the hangar around them, "I welcome you to
your new command ship. The emperor himself named it." A pause for effect.
"It's called THE HONEST STAR."
Orn stood there, taking it in. He was standing aboard
the ship that would fall under his command—his first real command. It was brand
new, all right. He could smell that distinctive new ship scent even from the
hangar bay—a mixture of fresh metal, lubricants, and the faint ozone tang of
recently activated systems.
It was a frigate. He hadn't even been able to see what
it looked like from the outside, but judging by the size of the hangar, this
ship had to be close to five hundred meters in length. That was on the smaller
side for frigates, but it was the best the empire could give to someone in his
position.
Normally, as an admiral of the empire, the ship he
should have been assigned would be either a heavy cruiser or a battle
cruiser—massive vessels capable of projecting power across entire star systems.
But he was an admiral in name only. Usually, most individuals who attained the
rank of admiral had spent years—sometimes decades—building fleets of their own,
racking up the merit and political capital required for such a promotion. By
the time people became admirals, they were already prepared for the role, both
financially and in terms of manpower and experience.
But Orn was a victim of nepotism. His father being who
he was, combined with his recent sham marriage to the Grand Princess, had
fast-tracked him to a rank he hadn't truly earned yet. They wouldn't give him a
ship befitting his official rank, but they could at least try to give him
something good enough to start with.
Orn didn't fully trust the ship, though. He was loyal
to the empire—that had never been in question—but the fact that his ship and
communications officer was being provided directly by the emperor and the Grand
Princess meant that the political and future religious leaders of the empire
wanted to keep a closer eye on him. They were installing their own people on
his ship.
But more than that concern, the ship felt... bare.
Empty. Like a skeleton waiting for flesh to be added to its bones.
"There's a skeleton crew on board," his
father continued, as if reading his thoughts. "They'll help you move the
ship to the Keres-3 jump gate. From here, that journey should take about three
weeks, which will be enough time to ensure the officers you've chosen have
caught up with you." He paused. "Recruitment is currently being
carried out across the empire, but you will not be without soldiers, my
son."
As soon as he finished speaking, a door at the far end
of the hangar hissed open. Two dozen men and women dressed in plain army
fatigues marched in with military precision, their boots striking the deck in
perfect unison.
Almost immediately, Orn began to analyze them. His body
shifted subtly, his stance becoming more defensive as he observed them with a
soldier's eye—noting their bearing, their condition, the way they moved.
"You don't need to be so on edge," his father
said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "These are soldiers from my
Seventy-Seventh Cohort. They've all been out of the academy for a few years
now, and many of them you're already familiar with. You've fought side by side
with them, commanded them on several occasions over the past year."
Orn realized his father was right. He recognized
several faces among them—veterans he'd served with during various campaigns.
And then there was one massive surprise that made his breath catch for just a
moment.
Hera.
"They are my gift to you," his father
continued, his voice taking on a more formal tone. "All their salaries for
the next year have been paid in full, along with bonuses and severance packages
from their time serving in my army. They are yours to command now, my son. At
the very least, you will not have a completely inept crew with you." He
gestured to the assembled soldiers. "With these two dozen veterans and
another five hundred recruits you'll pick up at Keres, you'll have enough
manpower to run your frigate and carry out your missions effectively."
George Reese moved closer to Orn, his voice dropping
slightly. "That is as good a foundation as I can provide for you as your
father. It gives you a better starting point than I ever had when I began. So I
trust you won't squander this opportunity."
He turned, his gaze finding someone in the assembled
group. "And you should take the time to get to know your new bride. I'm
sure you two will get along well enough. Hera—" He addressed her directly
now. "I trust you will take care of him and fulfill every duty required of
you, both as his concubine and as his Second Officer."
Orn's father turned to face the source of Orn's earlier
surprise—his Second-in-Command and the concubine his father had arranged for
him to marry. His rival. His enemy.
Hera Kiranti. Call sign: The
Black Wasp.
"By your command, General! It shall be done!"
Hera's response was crisp, professional, perfect.
Orn rolled his eyes behind his mask. She just knows
how to kiss ass, doesn't she?
His father chuckled, clearly pleased. He walked over to
Hera and placed his hands on her shoulders in an almost fatherly gesture.
"Please, my dear, whether it's in an official setting or not—just call me
Father. You're part of our family now." He smiled warmly at her. "And
I'm sure Orn will take very good care of you."
Then he turned and walked back to Orn, tapping him on
the shoulder as he passed. He headed toward the drop-ship, pausing at the
entrance to leave one final piece of advice.
"Don't take your eyes off what's important,
son." His voice was quiet but carried weight. "Your goals are
admirable—I won't deny that. But if you get distracted in the Stellaris
Cluster, everyone here and everything you might achieve or build will come to
an end." He met Orn's eyes through the mask. "So decide what you're
going to be. A soldier of the empire? Or a child searching for the shadows of a
shattered dream?"
A pause.
"Good luck, Orn."
With that said, Six-Star General and Grand Imperator of
the Aegean Empire George Reese boarded the drop-ship and departed, leaving his
son to face an uncertain future—and a lot of bad blood between them.
Perhaps it wasn't so significant in the grand scheme of
things. Orn had endured a strict upbringing and knew his father would always
remain his father, no matter what happened between them. But this time felt
different.
There used to be a warmth in their relationship. A
warmth that had been there when his father, bloodied and with his insides
threatening to spill out, had fought tooth and nail to protect his young son
from pirates. The same warmth he'd felt when his father had dropped him off at
military school for the first time and prayed to the First Emperor to keep him
safe. Those nights when Orn had woken from nightmares, and his father had been
there to banish the darkness with stories and reassurance.
The grieving period after the attack. His father
indulging—barely—in Orn's hope of finding his mother and sister.
All of that warmth seemed to have bled away, replaced
by cold calculation and political maneuvering.
Orn shook his head, pushing the melancholy aside. He
turned to face his future—the soldiers assembled before him, waiting. They were
all looking at him expectantly. Even Hera stood at attention, professional and
composed.
Orn found it surprising that the woman could be
professional for once. Though, if he was being honest with himself, he was
usually the one who tended to be childish during their rivalry. But then again,
how could he not be? She was ten years older than him, more experienced, more
decorated before his rapid promotions.
Of course, in the Aegean Empire, that sort of age gap
meant almost nothing to a race whose average lifespan was two hundred fifty
years. A lot could happen in that time.
A lot could change.
Orn took a breath and stepped forward, addressing the
assembled soldiers.
"This is a new beginning for all of us," he
said, his voice carrying clearly through the hangar. "Apart from the
temporary crew of the ship, I think almost everyone present knows who I am.
Some of you have seen me fight. Some of you have seen me bleed." He
paused. "Hell, some of you have made me bleed."
A few scattered chuckles at that.
"You've seen me lead. You've seen me fail. And
you've seen me win." Another pause, this one more deliberate. "But
this is not like any of those times."
It wasn't strictly necessary to pause for dramatic
effect, especially among soldiers who valued directness. But being a leader was
about more than just giving commands. He'd seen it in his father, felt it in
the great commanders he'd studied, and tried to emulate it himself. The
charisma required to make people truly want to follow you—to believe in you so
completely they would die before they betrayed you.
The first impression was always important. It didn't
matter if they knew him before now. All that mattered was who they would know
him as from this moment forward.
Orn relaxed his mental barriers just slightly, allowing
a thin thread of Psi to leak from his body. It created a visible haze in the
air around him, like heat shimmer rising from scorched earth. Suddenly, it
seemed as if he had drawn in all the light in the hangar, becoming the only
source of illumination that mattered.
The hangar was still lit by the overhead fixtures, but
the sheer weight of his presence dominated their attention. Everything else
fell away into shadow, into the background. There was only him—and them.
"I will not promise you glory or wealth," Orn
said, his voice taking on an intensity that resonated in their chests.
"Because those things are your right and privilege for
choosing to follow me. My soldiers will get nothing but the best."
He let that hang in the air for a moment.
"What I can promise you is this: We will
venture out into the unknown. Past perilous stretches of space and the
gravitational pull of black stars. Through the cutthroat nebulae and across
galaxies of lifeless planets. We will face horrors lurking on the dark side of
every moon and certain death at the hands of our enemies."
His eyes—glowing faintly behind his mask—swept across
them.
"You are mine, just as I am yours. You will not
die for me without me being ready to die for you first. Your blood is my blood,
and my blood is yours." His voice rose. "We seek out the unending
darkness not to conquer it, but to find and understand ourselves within it. To
go where no one has ever been before. To conquer those who have never been
conquered. To become legends."
He let his Psionic presence flare just slightly, a
pulse of power that washed over them like a wave.
"That is what I promise you. Not riches. Not fame.
But legacy. And legend."
For a moment, there was absolute silence.
Then—
"Admiral on deck!"
The soldiers snapped to attention and saluted as one,
the sound of their voices and their bodies moving in perfect unison. It sent a
fierce lance of pride through Orn's chest, a feeling he hadn't expected but
welcomed nonetheless.
His father had come up from the bottom, clawing his way
from nothing to become Grand Imperator. A commoner with no nobility, no
wealth—a street kid who'd gotten a lucky break and sent himself to military
school with swindled credits. He'd become the best so that when his criminal
past eventually caught up with him, he was too valuable to discard. Two years
in a low-security prison, and then he was back on the deck of a ship, part of a
fleet. Eventually, he'd started gathering his own allies and building an army
of fiercely loyal soldiers—warriors so brave and deadly that it had made him
Grand Imperator.
Orn had been born into that world, never knowing or
experiencing the hardships his father had endured growing up.
Then came the incident. Mom and Elizabeth, lost to
flames and an assault from pirates and soldiers of the Theocracy of the Black
Sun. He'd been powerless to do anything. He'd seen true hardship for the first
time that day.
And he had never forgotten it.
War was in his blood. So was ambition. And his dreams
were so much bigger than what his father wanted to achieve. Grand Imperator
George Reese wanted to conquer the Senate and, through it, gain influence over
a small measure of the vast Aegean Empire.
Orn, on the other hand, wanted to conquer the
stars—every single last one of them.
He didn't want some of it.
He wanted everything.
Orn turned and moved deeper into the ship. He needed to
familiarize himself with his vessel—well, his temporary vessel, if some of
his plans came to fruition.
Hera fell into step behind him, a scowl on her face
that he couldn't see but could practically feel radiating off her.
Orn had to wonder which of the gods he had offended so
badly that his life was filled with so much misery.
Because that's what Hera Kiranti was.
Pure, distilled misery