39

“Five dead and seventeen injured, your grace,” Captain Sully reported to me on the bridge. “All of the wounded are recovering in the medical bay.”

“Is everyone accounted for in the Achilles?” I asked.

“All fifteen hundred settlers are in the ship, your grace. We are ready to depart on your word.”

It was almost midnight, several hours after the assassination incident. I looked down at the airport tarmac filled with police cars and fire trucks, sifting through the debris. They’ve already collected the bodies of the four men, quickly identified as Swiss citizens living near Zurich. They were mere strangers to each other and still organized this attack. What should have been a brief but pleasant ceremony completely turned into chaos. Fortunately, no immigrant died thanks to the nanites’ healing. In a few weeks of further treatments, their wounds wouldn’t even leave a scar, but I couldn’t say the same for their trauma.

I sent a draft to Jason and Tom in response to this terrorist attack and their attempted assassination of my and my family’s life; I worded it intentionally. I emphasized that five innocent children were harmed. The footage from the media booth had been used extensively throughout the news cycle for the past hour, including me cutting a door in half with my sword and the Praetorians killing those men. The drones and star-fighters swarmed the airport, dispersing the protesters outside the gates, but that only caused a massive riot that lasted hours to contain. The entire First Fleet showed above Zurich, drones and nanites flew everywhere to form a perimeter around the Royal Ship Achilles, and several news networks already called me a warmonger for killing those men.

Did they forget I was attacked first? Couldn’t they see they tried to kill my brothers and me? Attempted to kill dozens of people? I’ve already sent Daniel and Isaac back to Segerstrom Station with Amelia, Rachel, and my father on a shuttle for their safety.

I was fucking pissed. I walked off the bridge and marched toward the brig.

Uncle Nathan, Freddie, Ben, Ochoa, and Tom had been busy with our new guest for a few hours. Most of the Praetorian Knights were special forces from different organizations worldwide—Navy SEALs, SAS, GIS, The French Foreign Legion, Army Rangers, Sayeret Matkal, MARCOS—and they knew interrogation tactics better than I did.

“These machines have studied humanity for over twelve thousand years. They know our biology, how we work, and what makes us tick. And so on.” I told the assassin before the interrogation began and handed out Uncle Nathan and the knights’ nanite boxes for them to control.

“Have you ever felt a nanite as thin as a needle wiggle into your brain, poking into your insula and the anterior cingulate cortex? Do you know what those are? The latter is the pain center of your brain. The insula is your risk-reward behavior, and I can manipulate that to let you tell me everything. My nanites will activate every nociceptor in your body, make you feel like you’re burning alive, and once we’re done, you will tell my Praetorians everything you know. And remember, I, alone, can order the nanites to stop. Begin.”

Daniel and Isaac were well-beloved by the crew long before any children were at Segerstrom Station. Now that their life was threatened, a crowd of soldiers and plenty of the Achilles’ crew waited outside the brig. I caught them whispering what they’d do to the prisoner if they were given a chance to be alone with him, but they stood in attention when they saw me enter and bowed their heads when I walked past them.

I entered the brig to Oskar’s screams.

Oskar Fuchs, or Mikhail Morozov, sat on the opposite side of the table while Uncle Nathan and Tom talked to him in the interrogation room, bound by cuffs. It took Prime seven hours to find his true identity (or one of his many aliases) and sifted through Zurich’s CCTV footage for the past week. He arrived in the city three days ago and made contact with the other four men and a long-haired blonde woman, but we rarely get to see her face. At least we confirmed that he worked for the Russian Foreign Intelligence. We asked him who she was for hours, but he held on long while Uncle Nathan fiddled with the nanites from a control board wrapped around his wrist.

I could see that he was on his last strands.

“Nina,” he whispered weakly.

“Full name?” Uncle Nathan demanded lowly, his voice reverberating across the interrogation room.

“That’s all I got. Nina. I’ve never met this woman before in my life.”

“But she hired you?”

“Yes.”

Jason watched behind the glass, gritting his teeth. I walked over and stood next to him. “Contact the Swiss government and issue a manhunt against this woman.”

“The Swiss are not gonna like that,” Jason said. “They don’t like any foreigners dictating what they do on their turf.”

“A member of their Federal Council just got assassinated, Jason. I think they’ll be more than receptive to my demands.”

Jason nodded. “I’ll get right to it.”

“Any word?” I asked Ben, standing close by.

Ben shook his head. “Still the same thing. At least we know he works for the Russians.”

“Did Alexei send him?” Jason asked.

I scoffed. “It wouldn’t be the first time Russia sent out an assassin to solve their problems. Any word from Alexei?”

“They denied it.”

“Of course they did.”

“But they do want him back as a prisoner. He is a Russian Citizen acting independently, and they promised they’ll punish him themselves.”

More like a slap on the wrist. “That’s not gonna happen.”

“I said the same thing to the Russian Ambassador, who just arrived an hour ago and demanded to speak to you personally.”

I raised my eyebrow. “Did he now?”

“Yes. What do you want me to tell him?” Jason asked.

I bit my inner cheek, repeatedly listening to Uncle Nathan and Tom asking the same question for several hours. Mikhail wasn’t going to budge anymore. We tapped him out.

“You may call up the Russian Ambassador. I’ll meet him here in the Achilles,” I said.

I waited for the ambassador by the observation deck at the aft end of Level One, a rectangular room about a hundred feet wide and fifteen feet tall with a panoramic tempered glass ceiling facing the night sky. It was popular amongst the crew to watch the stars and Earth in orbit during a flyby. A small crowd of civilians had gathered to watch my proceedings, along with several legionnaires and centurions. Even the big man who saved me, Drum, and his brother, Cole, watched from the sidelines. They all bowed when I entered the chamber. Word had gotten out that I was to hold an audience with the Russian ambassador, so the room became a makeshift throne room.

Prime One informed me of the ambassador’s arrival via the shuttle, disembarking onto the hangar bay. I sent Kyle, Ben, and Jason to meet him, but he did not come alone. With him were six bodyguards, two Swiss Federal Council members, including Councilor Senn, and two journalists carrying filming cameras. I reckoned the ambassador covered all his bases with as many witnesses as possible. I didn’t care at all who watched. Someone tried to kill my family, but all everyone wanted to talk about was how and why it was all my fault.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Fuck around and find out,” they said.

“If he didn’t claim to be emperor, none of this should have happened.”

“He’s a child. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

“He’s a murderer. Did you see how he killed that man?”

“He’s anti-free speech!”

And on and on and on, repeated all over the news.

People were hurt, but everyone seemed to take a piss out of everything as if it was a big joke. At least Councilor Senn kept his distance from the ambassador when they disembarked. After all, he witnessed his friend get killed on the stage.

I followed the ambassador’s movement from the cameras through the datapad as they approached the observation deck. The Russian Ambassador, Dimitri Pasternak, was a balding man in his late fifties who walked as if he carried a big sack around his waist. When he walked into the hall, he turned up his nose at the audience around him, probably not expecting me to allow them in to watch our talk and planning on making a fuss.

But now, his tactics changed. He marched with purpose toward the throne I sat, flanked by Alono, Smitty, and a dozen more Praetorian Knights decked in full nanite armor, who placed their hand at the hilt of their sword. Uncle Nathan and Tom stood with their entourage from their respective ministry.

They’ve seen the force shields in action when the policeman shot at my knights and me; their bullets were ineffective against an imperial soldier. They weren’t scared of the ambassador’s half-a-dozen guards even when they strolled in with military-grade rifles strapped at their backs. I allowed the weapons in, not intimidated in the slightest. Kyle, Ben, and Jason walked up to the platform and stood at the foot of the platform. Only Kyle, a senior member of the knights, climbed up the steps and stood close to the throne, his frame imposing menacingly from where I sat.

“I was hoping we could speak in private,” Dimitri said, looking around the packed room.

I turned toward the two journalists filming from the side and smiled at the ambassador. I guess not that private. “You are in my ship, ambassador, my domain. Where I come from, I hold court and always have an audience.”

Dimitri suppressed a laugh. “Right. Your court.” He turned to watch the display around him, pointing to the imperial flag as if it was the most ridiculous thing he had ever seen. “I forget that you are royalty now, is it? Forgive me; I’ve always seen you as a white American guy, still. You talk like an American, walk like an American, and quack like an American.”

I smiled, not entirely lost between the lines of his words. “Yes, Ambassador. I was American, born and raised there. If you haven’t been paying attention in the past five weeks, I am the forerunner who controls the space stations you’ve seen floating in the sky. That’s me,” I said, intentionally talking to him like he was a child. “And I’m the guy who blew up the quartz multiple times and grounded two on San Francisco. How many aliens have you fought, ambassador?”

Okay, I was being slightly petty, but I couldn’t ignore striking a jab there.

And Ambassador Pasternak did not appreciate that jibe one bit. He straightened his back and said, “I am here to negotiate the release of Mikhail Morozov. He’s your prisoner, but on behalf of my country, we wish to implement the appropriate punishment for his crimes in accordance with our law.”

“And what do you consider appropriate, ambassador? A monitor attached to his ankle? House arrest? A year in prison? Or the Gulag? Perhaps inside a re-education camp? Does your system allow a two-decade sentence? How about life on the nature of his crimes? He attacked a foreign power that is not at war with your country, unprovoked, and killed a Swiss official.” I glanced over to Senn standing from the side. “Councilor Johan Vogel died after being shot through the head. Did you forget that part?”

Dimitri glared at me. “We simply ask for an extradition treaty. Nations do these things out of goodwill. To be civil.”

“Are you talking about the same man who organized a terrorist attack against my people by running a truck over them? I doubt that’s civil.”

“Aside from the unfortunate death of Councilor Johan Vogel, Everyone came out fine. I’ve read the reports.” I noticed Councilor Senn and the other Swiss Council member stifled their scowl.

“It’s thanks to the life-saving medicine of my tech ambassador. It was good that we did not have a higher casualty…well, except for the terrorists. You already know how I dispatch them.”

That earned a low chuckle from the crowd. However, Dimitri wasn’t dissuaded. “He’ll meet Russian justice.”

“You say it like it’s a good thing.”

“A true leader shows mercy and restraint.”

I stood up suddenly. “He tried to kill my brothers! Children!” I roared. “If Alexei has a problem with me, he deals with me personally. Not through some no-name back alley fucker!”

The room grew suffocatingly quiet. They could hear my knuckles cracking as I curled them, my shallow breaths as the rage coursed through my veins. Even Dimitri was taken aback.

But then he regained his composure when he realized the cameras were still rolling, smiling a little at my outburst. He was proud he got the rise out of me, and I slightly regretted it. “The President of Russia is a patient and level-headed man and has nothing to do with your attempted assassination, boy.”

“Your grace,” I corrected. “When you are on this ship and within my presence, ambassador, you will address me as your grace.”

Dimitri froze. I didn’t know whether it was because of how I looked at him or how the crowd salivated for a fight, but he held his tongue. Whatever retort he was about to make, it died in his throat.

I turned my head toward Nick Ochoa. “Bring out the prisoner.”

I remained standing, watching Dimitri grow smaller and smaller under my gaze. A minute passed, then another. Jason fidgeted uncomfortably where he stood, but the other soldiers were itching for a different fight, focusing on Dimitri’s bodyguards with glowering hunger. The room reeked of malice.

Nick returned with Mikhail in tow, bound by steel handcuffs. Aside from the scruff marks on his face when Smitty and Tom tackled him into the tarmac, he looked unharmed.

Well, besides what I’ve done inside his brain.

Mikhail looked at me, then to the ambassador with that smug regard. He was untouchable, and anything I would do to him in this throne room would cause a diplomatic incident. Everyone in the world already knew I was walking on thin ice with the other world leaders, appeasing them with everything I got for the sake of working together. So that they could recognize my country and the people who wanted to join me. Was that too much to ask? I wasn’t hostile toward them, but never once had they lent a hand against the quartz, always keeping me at arms reach, asking insurmountable amounts for my resources, but rarely giving anything substantial back. If they continue to have their way, I was a mere piggy bank—their new Middle East.

They tried to assassinate me. What’s stopping them from doing it again? What’s stopping them from succeeding next time?

“The prisoner is yours, ambassador,” I said. “You may all go.”

Mikhail hesitated at first, brows furrowed, trying to read my face to see if there was some trick. He read the crowd’s disappointment with my verdict. I waited for him to walk toward the ambassador, took him a few seconds until his legs began to move. Dimitri clasped him on the shoulder, and even at this distance, I could hear him mutter, “We’re getting you home, son,” he said in Russian. He didn’t seem to care if I understood Russian or probably didn’t know I had a universal translator.

Dimitri turned to me. “Thank you, Mister Segerstrom. I assure you that there will be a trial, and this man will answer for his crimes.”

I wasn’t bothered that the ambassador failed to address me again correctly. I didn’t care much about that because his respect for me was nonexistent from the beginning, and I wasn’t here to coddle and fish for it. The only thing that bothered me was Mikhail’s blank stare at the ambassador’s words. He didn’t even try to look surprised or offended that his comrades were planning to put him in prison. He expected to be free, and the ambassador did, too. Sure, there would be a trial, but it would be filled with the ugliest circus you’d ever seen, packed with monkeys, showboating for the entire world’s entertainment. He was going to get a fucking slap on the wrist.

Dimitri guided Mikhail toward the door, trailed by his armed escorts. The two journalists remained filming where they were.

“Ambassador Pasternak, before I forget,” I called out.

I pointed at Mikhail’s still-bound hands. With a swift motion of my finger, the blades hidden inside the handcuffs sliced through his wrists, severing his hands.

Mikhail screamed.

The intense plasmic heat from the cuffs cauterized the exposed flesh and bone before it detached from his limbs. The nanites from within were released, and they swarmed Mikhail’s eyes, tearing through the sclera and iris before they worked their way down his throat and severed his tongue. Mikhail dropped to his knees and spat his tongue out, Blood pouring out of his ears, nose, and mouth.

Dimitri screeched in horror, swarmed by his men, rifles raised, pointing at my legion and me. My legionnaires picked up their rifles in return and aimed at them.

I raised my hand. “At ease,” I said calmly. “At ease, everyone. No one shall fire a single shot. A forerunner bullet would crater your torso before you blink, ambassador.” The legionnaires reluctantly lowered their weapons, but Dimitri’s guards did not.

With a seething glare, Dimitri turned to me and shouted, “What the hell is the meaning of this?”

“I’m doing what you said, Dimitri. A true leader shows mercy and restraint. So, I’m letting him live,” I said. “I believe you will show him Russian Justice, but first, I want to show you mine before you go.”

I casually walked down the platform steps toward Dimitri as if taking a boring stroll. “His hands are mine, so he may never fire a single shot. His eyes are mine, so he will no longer gaze upon another person with hate and contempt. And his tongue is mine so that he may never speak of vile things.”

I glanced over at Jason's worried expression briefly. Fear and revered, right? I thought. When it comes to my enemies, I will start with fear first. I caught Uncle Nathan frown, but Tom Hennig and Ben Amendola seemed pleased by the turn of events. Even Nick looked almost giddy.

I stopped right in front of Dimitri, inches away from his face. “This is the Emperor’s Justice, Dimitri. My Justice. Tell Alexei that if he ever provokes me again, I won’t just collect their hands, eyes, or tongues. I’m collecting heads.”

I pivoted my heels, walked back to the platform, and sat on the throne. “Oh. And the next time you grace my presence, ambassador, you shall address me as your grace, or I will have your tongue, do you understand?”

Dimitri froze. He looked down at Mikhail’s squirming form, moaning and crying, stumpy wrists trying to cover his bloodied mouth.

“Dimitri, I asked you a fucking question,” I said, my voice low and sounding bored. “Do you understand?”

Dimitri nodded. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, your grace.”

I let the silence linger a little longer between us. “Good. Now, you may go.”