Confederate Dauntless Colonel
A Forlorn Town
A memory a very long time ago
Zolan system
A memory a very long time ago
Zolan system
The speeder pulled into the town square, three acres large, right in front of the steps to the chapel. Two more retinue speeders came up close behind and the Colonel's guard troopers were the first to step out, then the Colonel. The first thing that hit Obrian Farlorn was the wind. It was cold and dry. The sky above was a flat, bright white, with the merest smudges of grey-blue along the horizon, particularly in the north, where the dirty crusts of a mountain range in the distance pushed up into the air. He looked at the sqaure itself. An explosive shell of quite some size had hit right in the middle of it, unseating all the flagstones as if an extremely powerful earthquake had ripped through it. Gravity had re-laid the slabs after the shockwave, but they had come back down misaligned, broken, and overlapping. It looked like the scales of some reptile. The windows of all the surrounding houses had been blown in by the shockwave.
For some reason, he found himself enamored by this chaotic pattern. That, and a strange feeling was occupying his mind. It had been with him the moment he had landed on this cursed moon. Just a bad feeling. He had been getting those more and more as of late. And always around the boy. Despite his love for him, he cursed his brashness in disobeying his commands to come down. He could have obliterated this shanty town from space and they wouldn't have had to take over this town. Sure, it would have raised questions in high command but Obrian could have come up with some excuse. He just hoped that the boy had done his job right.
"Sir?!" His retinue commander, a tall gaunt man in a black storm coat with a carbine slung under his shoulder with a strap, appeared at the Colonel's side. "What's wrong? We're too much in the open, sir, and the town is yet to be declared fully cleared."
"Oh?" Obrian snapped back. "Yes, we ought to move out of the open. Pirates, you never know the unpredictable scum."
He heard the sounds of steps behind him and turned to see a man in combat fatigues walking down the stone steps up to the chapel. He recognized the man as Trooper Andre, the boy's assistant. Obrian knew that the man's face, well-tanned, was always cheerful and his mouth ever-moving. But this time, his face was grim and stone-set. He reached the bottom of the stairs and saluted. "Colonel Obrian, if you may. Captain Farlorn is waiting for you in the chapel."
"Why can't he just meet me here. Don't tell me my little boy got a little pansy? Afraid to get a little cold out here?" He expected Andre to laugh at such a ridiculous statement. But the assistant's face betrayed nothing.
"He insisted, sir. And he asks that you come alone." The retinue commander raised an eyebrow. "It's a private matter he wishes to discuss."
"Sir, I recommend that-" His guard began but Obrian waved him away as he walked up the stone steps to the chapel doors. Again, that bad feeling. Something was wrong with the boy, he would always have been the type to be the one coming down the steps, not sending out his assistant. He pushed open the wooden doors to the chapel and stepped right in.
All the windows of the church had been shattered or smashed. The walls of pockmarked and scared by blaster bolts. Many of the wooden pews had either been hastily flipped over for cover or had been reduced to nothing more than tinder match. He coughed from the thick dust that hung around. The ground was strewn with debris and Harkus had to carefully pick his way through. The boy was sitting on the pew before the altar. It was the only pew that had been untouched by anything. He was sitting before the broken window just before the altar. The ground here was littered by colorful broken plains of glass. The cold evening light fell upon the boy.
"Anak, is there something wrong?" Obrian asked as he picked his way through. "Damn it, I told you to wait for me. We could have wiped this Forlorn place off the map with a bombardment." He would have laughed at the joke at the end, using their noble family name, but again, that bad feeling had robbed him of his famed good humor. It seemed to be getting stronger and stronger as he approached the boy.
"And turned to ash, your guilt." Captain Anakwor Farlorn stood up and turned to his uncle. He was so much like his father. Tall, powerful, with an intense face and bright green eyes like fire. He was dressed in a dull beige officer's uniform. A Zolan nobleman's vibrosword was tucked neatly into an ornate sheath with a red sash. He almost mistook it for his fallen brother in the bad half-light of the chapel. Gone all those long years ago. At that very thought, his heart seemed to fall. He forced back down those sore memories. The boy's eyes as steady and penetrating as targeting lasers. "The last several hours have bee testing for me. Claiming this town was a large burden to bear. Many innocents died. A few dozen so far, my men are still counting and collecting. They were unavoidable. But many more would have died if I had waited for your bombardment. And I would not have discovered the truth of the matter."
Obrian stiffened. "Anak... my boy... what are you talking about?"
"I know, at last, the truth of the matter," Farlorn said coldly. His face was made of stone now, but Obrian could see the fury barely contained in his eyes. Now he was a lot like his father. Determined and unyielding in duty. Obrian felt a shiver go down his spine. "I know at last why you left no survivors, took no prisoners, that fateful mission, the one where father died. I know at last why the combat logs of my father's last moments were censored by someone with the rank of Colonel. I know at last why you became one of the richest noblemen on Zolan so fast. I know at last why you refused to talk about my father. Guilt was writ upon your face every time you spoke of father. I had always assumed it was the guilt that you could not save him. The leader of the band that I purged? He was the only survivor. The only one that had slipped through your iron-gripped grasp. He had information and was very reluctant to give it up. "
Farlorn unsheathed his vibrosword. It murmured waspishly in the cold air. Obrien's bad feeling had become unbearably oppressive now. He knew what the boy was about to say. He prayed that he was mistaken. He couldn't do it if it came to it.
"I know that you had bad debts to bad people. Bad investments or gambling? I do not care. Your debtors were closing in on you quite some years ago. You needed some credits and you needed them fast. So, you came to the pirates. You sold them information on when and where shipments would be vulnerable. Eventually, I must assume you paid your debts. But you didn't stop, did you? The profit was too alluring. You went further. You actually arranged for certain picket and guard forces to be... conveniently out of the way. "
Madness and fear filled the Colonel... Little Anak knew. He knew! After all this time, all his care, the boy had found out! It was the one thing he always dreaded, always promised himself would never happen. His flesh was pale and sweat beaded down his forehead.
"That's enough. Back off!" The doors burst open and Obrien's retinue commander, along with five of his guards at his flank, crashed into the chapel. "You insolent bastard, you are talking to a Colonel. On what authority are you talking on."
Suddenly, ten figures stepped out of the dark places in the chapel. All armed with long-barreled rifles and with white helmets. Two black letters were etched onto the fronts of the helmet. Two letters that made Obrien's heart stop. The two letters that belonged to the one group trusted to keep discipline and duty in the ranks of Zolan's most glorious defense forces. The two letters that belonged to those that had the authority to dole out punishment to even someone with his rank.
MP.
Military police.
"You are a traitor to the people of Zolan. You are a shame upon our record. You murdered my father. He somehow knew I know that now. You killed him and framed his death in that rearguard action. The punishment for high treason is death. And in such unique circumstances, it can be applied in the field."
Suddenly realizing the implications behind the boy's words, Obrien pulled his own vibrosword and flew at the Captain. Farlorn swung his own blade up to block, his grip firm. For a moment, they both locked sights. Obrien's were full of fear and shock. Farlorn, his adopted son, eyes were cold yet utterly filled with fury. The vibrosword met and screamed, throwing sparks and chips as they bit away at it other. For a moment, both of their blades pressed at each other, their physical strength equal. But their swords protested and they broke away.
His retinue guard paused and stared at the unmoving MPs who were simply watching everything unfold, uncertainty warring with duty.
Farlorn raised his finer at Uncle Obrien. Uncle Obrien, the huge man, the laughing, scolding, charismatic giant who had strode into his life from time to time into their family manor, full of tales and jokes and wonderful gifts. Obrien, who had carved toy ships for him, told him the names of the stars, sat him on his knee and presented him with war souvenirs. Now, once-damned traitor and murderer of his own brother. The cold demeanor was fading away rapidly to fury. "I trusted and loved you." Was all the boy said and it stung deeper than any blaster wound could.
Yelling in absolute fury he flew at his Uncle, sword raised.