Ace

For as long as he was aware, Caius saw himself incapable. Even though he was under the guidance of his uncle, he was mostly absent. Their form of communication throughout Caius’ education life consisted of letters sent to and fro. This was also under Julius’ advice, as it would be more difficult to trace the Reichstadt if the letter went through multiple avenues beforehand.

Caius’ father was an ace of the Caspian Military, and though he studied relentlessly to be the top in his class, he never really found himself amounting to his father’s achievements in terms of flight. This desire to prove himself ate up his entire life, but he convinced himself that it was only because he was never really given an opportunity to prove himself to begin with.

Now who is he proving himself to? The ghost of his father? It is mindless to reach for a ghost, and though he grieved their death, though he missed the smile of his mother. He could not afford to back down now, he could not afford to be taken down by their death, that is why he accepted his uncle’s proposal to bring him to this planet.

What would his father think? What would his mother think? It was all behind him after he grieved their loss months ago, and though this pain propelled him forward, he would not let this be the only thing that kept him flying. What worth does he see in being better than a dead man? What worth does he see in being anchored down by the dead.

He remembered a letter given to him by his uncle, written on the day of their death, it was said in this letter that though their loss may be tragic and crying would be okay, Caius shouldn’t let this get in the way of his dreams, even if the man is dead, he still had one more person to prove himself to, himself.

Now, as he gripped the stick of this very aircraft, he found an opportunity to do so. Over the horizon, he spotted 4 black aircrafts flying in formation, bombers, he presumes. Behind them is an escort group of six Mat-80 “Calico” fighters. He relayed this information to command.

“Copy, Kaiser 1, we will send backup immediately. It is advisable that you avoid engagement as much as possible while distracting the bomber group. Hold it.” Said Command, it wasn’t an easy task for Caius. But as he went full throttle he knew that for him, there was no other option.

Though he felt his heart beat strongly, the music in his head urged him to go on. It urged him to charge forward, and charged forward he did. Within minutes he found himself within radar distance of the enemy Mat-80s who then went after him to pursue.

His first course of action? “Kaiser 1, fox 1.” He kept them within the Ghost’s aiming display and fired his first batch of missiles. It flew through the air in its hot, fiery mass and though the Calico tried to evade, they couldn’t escape the missile, exploding in the sky as they fell towards the jungle-filled ground.

With only five fighters remaining, they chased after him. He did everything he could to make sure they never got a clear lock, from absurd maneuvers to strict countermeasures. At some point he felt lightheadedness from all the Gs he accumulated along the flight, but it was nothing that a bit of gravity candy couldn’t fix.

He spun around and found himself behind an Mat-80 and within seconds, he had a lock, “Kaiser 1, fox 2.” He fired his infrared missiles and like a devil in the rough, it followed the Calico until it blew up and it crashed into the depths below. He felt a rush of adrenaline as he managed a maneuver that he could never perfect even in school. It was almost addicting to him.

Over the distance, Agrippa watched atop the traffic control tower. Through his enhanced eyesight and a pair of binoculars, he could see the boy fighting off swarms of missiles and overcoming them one by one, “Yer a damn ace, kid.” He whispered to himself, this was flying unlike anything Agrippa had seen before. If this was how a noble Caspian flew, then he’d understand how they made their empire so large.

Backup arrived four minutes after the first missile fired, but at that point there weren’t any other Mat-80s that would put up a fight, the backup swept through the bombers in a flash, and the airstrip was saved.

“Fantastic flying, kid!” Agrippa excitedly yelled to Caius. Caius waved at him with joy, this was the first time, in a long time, that Caius truly felt alive. And it was prevalent through the shakiness of his body.

“Thanks, Agrippa. Though if you tell me, a bunch of amateurs is no match for Caspian’s finest.” He gloated, “Bastards couldn’t even use their flares effectively! They would’ve died to regular anti air.”

“Attaboy, if anything you saved us the headache of explaining what happened to your uncle. Nothing he hates more than us having to use our AA.”

“Oh yeah, it would be weird if they spotted an unmarked airbase under Antediluvian airspace huh,” With a nod and a pat on the back, the two went on their way back underground, “Where’d uncle go, anyway?”

*

Uncle Julius was outside the senate hall under a pavilion. He held a stick of cigar and smoked quietly into the artificial night. Though it was artificial, the rain that poured down certainly was not. Indeed with the ecosystem made for sustainability, the ship-city acted like a huge terrarium.

He was deep in thought, a rarity nowadays as he had been setting a lot of things into motion for the past few days. Frankly, he thought, it was a mistake on his part. With all the machinations he had done for this moment, he did not stop to think of his family.

He checked his watch, it was still far from the eighth bell. But even then he wished things would be over already. “Ah, there you are, my friend,” Marcus came up from behind him, to greet him with a smile, “You seem deep in thought, aren't you?”

“Yes, yes, musing about the past and all that. Frankly I’m questioning now about the actions that lead me here.” He flicked his cigar and took another hit.

Marcus looked down, and looked into the crowd of people in front of them, walking past as they went through their day to day life, a feeling of sonder washed over the Vice General, “Yer still dreaming, aren’t you, buddy?”

“I asked myself last night whether or not I’m doing this because I want to, or because I have spent so much time towards it that not doing it would be terrible. Though as I stepped out of that hall and awaited their verdict, I came to my own conclusion.” Another hit, the embers of the fiery candy flew through the rain.

“And that would be?” Marcus asked.

“As it had always been, I will snatch back what was taken under my name and take revenge on those that wronged me and my dynasty, for I am Julius von Kaiser, and the galaxy will tremble upon my name!” The final lights of the cigar flickered as his soliloquy fell under the deaf ears of an indifferent crowd.

The worst enemy of the dreamer is neither critics nor himself, rather the indifference of the society around him. For he believes he is special, but in their eyes he is less than the average man. This was something Marcus could understand, “I’m glad you still have it in you, bud.”

“Ain’t me without it, y’know.” He dropped his cigar to the ground, disregarding public cleanliness through and through as a messenger of the senate came by.

“Consul Seneca wishes to see you.” Marcus and Julius looked at one another, shrugged, and followed through, with Julius leaving his friend behind to talk to the Consul. As he walked through the hallways, he felt a chill run down his spine. As if the menacing aura of the Consul, canceled by the pack of buffoons that was the senate, has now been made manifest.

Julius prepared himself as the messenger opened the door and revealed the office of the Consul. A palace made of wood. It was huge, certainly. On the left hand side was a regular lounge, perhaps for a bit of casual talk with a view of the city outside. It was two floors with the second being reserved entirely for bookshelves, and beneath that at the center of it all was a grizzled Caledonian War veteran.

The messenger shut the door behind Julius as the two stared one another down. “Von Kaiser.”

“Seneca,” Julius walked towards the desk of the Consul, an audible creak with every step of the way, “after all these years, it’s a pleasure to acquire your private audience!” Julius gave a respectful salute before sitting himself down.

“Did I tell you to sit, boy?” The rough yet hushed voice of Seneca rushed through Julius, sending him back to standing oh so perfectly still, like a soldier forced into formation.

“No sir!” Julius shook, Seneca was Julius’ teacher back in the academy, and the looming dread that Julius felt all those years ago could still be felt to this day. That though he saw himself more powerful than the man seated in front of him, he still feared.

Seneca smiled before breaking into a huge laughter, “AHAHA! Ah. Still quite timid, arentcha boy?” The consul mocked him, “Sit back down, we have important things to discuss.”

Julius came back down with nervous laughter, he kept on losing his groove nowadays. But perhaps the fear was only out of respect for the man that made him like this, “I hope it’d be swell then.”

“Ah, that depends, you see…” Seneca was not a man of technology, preferring the papers of yester-epoch over the much simpler technologies of today, though it didn’t help Julius’ dread as he flipped through the papers, “Ah, here,” he picked a paper and started to analyze it, “We agreed to your proposition.

“That’s wonderful then!” Julius smiled at the thought of the approval, that all the troubles of the last two decades were not for nought.

“But,” a but. Julius felt dread once more, “But not by a huge margin, 51-49. I tipped the scales in your favor, don’t worry. But it’s really clear that a vast majority of our senators vehemently deny the idea of you taking control.”

“But that’s what I’ve been doing for the past 20 years!”

“They care more about their pride than winning the war, listen. You’ve won the hearts and minds of the majority, but this minority is still a huge percentage. I fear instability, Julius. I propose you also win out against these senators.” Julius scoffed, ‘win the hearts and minds?’ of senators that care little about him? If It was under his decree he’d have them replaced with loyalists. But it wasn’t in his power to do so.

“Shouldn’t you be the one finding the way?” He retorted.

“A consul!? Colluding with a mercenary leader’s treacherous desires? Bah Humbug! That would cause even more instability in this fine democratic establishment that I have so worked on to maintain!” ‘Bah Humbug’? That word confused Julius a bit but he snapped back into the conversation.

“What sort of democratic establishment would collapse with a bit of disagreement? Has the corruption seeped deep into its core once more!? Perhaps it would need another purge!” Julius slammed the table and stared down the Consul.

“Do not speak those words loudly, boy!” Seneca slammed back, which forced Julius back to his seat… the two sighed silently, at a loss for words, “I have maintained the peace within this Empire for long.”

“What use is internal peace if you are under constant war?”

“The people do not know that, the people off-world know little more than to enjoy the pleasures of Antediluvian life.”

“You do not lead an empire then, but a pack of fools.”

“And yet you want to be a noble? Tell me, is what you’re doing in service to the Empire? Or in service to your desire?” Julius looked back up and tried to maintain his cool.

“Sometimes, interests align, yes? We could count this as the interests of your empire, and my interests perfectly align like complete jigsaws.” Julius’ lips curled into a smile. He thought for a moment as the silence between them grew.

“Yet it is not within the majority of the senate’s interests if that’s the case.” Seneca replied back.

“Choose, then, my Consul. Temporary instability for your empire? Or to win this war?” Julius offered a choice for the Consul.

Seneca thought about it, and quickly, he replied, “We do not promise each other anything insofar. Show me results and I shall show you what I could do for my empire.” An informal acceptance.

Julius clapped, “Wonderful, then that’s settled, yes?” They shook one another’s hand as Seneca grunted. Julius left, it was almost the eighth bell.