39

The female guard slung her rifle over her shoulder and took Rath by the elbow, hauling him to his feet. The van’s driver joined them at the rear door, and fell into step on the other side of Rath without a word. The cavernous cargo bay held numerous other small craft, of varying sizes and shapes, all of them shrouded under tarpaulins. Rath guessed they had not been used in some time. He spotted a stack of engine lubricant cans, their yellowed labels peeling with age.

This place feels like a museum.

His guards marched him out of the bay, through several dimly-lit corridors. Rath saw no other crew members. Finally, they arrived at an interior door, and the male guard pressed a security panel in the wall. The panel looked to have been repaired several times. The door slid open, and Rath was ushered into a conference room with a low ceiling – six grey-haired men and women sat around the table. At the center of the table, a young man Rath’s own age stood. He wore a dark blue uniform, with the insignia of the Interstellar Police stitched on the lapels.

I recognize him, Rath realized. I’ve seen that face hundreds of times in old news footage and in history books.

“Welcome, Rath,” the man said, smiling. He gestured to Rath’s guards. “Free him.”

They removed Rath’s chains, and then the disruptor collar around Rath’s neck. Rath saw the diagnostics screen appear on his heads-up display. With a rush, his implants came back online, the enhanced sensations flooding over him as if he had just emerged from deep underwater. He could hear the sigh of air coming out of a vent on the far side of the room, and smell the cracked leather of the conference room seats. He breathed a deep sigh of relief.

Rath felt the ship shudder, and heard the engine’s pitch change. We just went to FTL.

“Do you know who I am?” the man asked him.

Rath nodded. “I know who you appear to be,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “But you’re supposed to be dead. Long dead.”

“Indeed I am. And you’re supposed to be in jail,” the man pointed out. “It seems neither of us are very good at doing what we’re supposed to do.”

“Who are you really?” Rath asked.

“I am exactly who I appear to be, Rath Kaldirim.” He put both fists on the table and leaned forward, meeting Rath’s gaze without flinching. Rath saw the fire in his eyes, then: the famous charismatic energy that had inspired men by the thousands to join his crusade. “I am the man that started the Third Colonial War, and the man that will win it – for the war is not over, not yet. I am a traitor, an Interstellar Police officer, and a revolutionary. I am the worst nemesis of the Federacy, and its final hope for salvation.”

“Anders Ricken,” Rath said.

Ricken smiled. “The same. Now, come: join us.”