Free The Last Praetorian by Mike Smith Page A

had thought to himself when the
Magistratus from the ‘Chamber of Commerce, Business and Shipping’ had made his
entrance a short while ago.
    Observing the scarred man sitting across his desk it
occurred to Jon that he embodied everything that was wrong since the collapse
of the Empire.  A figurehead for an organisation that profited from human
misery.  With the death of the Emperor the Empire soon disintegrated, the once
mighty Imperial Fleet disbanded, until it reached the point that this far out
on the rim the fleet had mostly abandoned this sector.  As was often the case,
when there was no strong rule of law it attracted a certain stain of humanity,
ones with few moral scruples. 
    Trying to keep the distaste from reaching his expression and
only succeeding slightly, he answered the question that had been put to him. 
“I am sorry but I must decline the offer, although I do agree that it sounds
extremely generous.”  It was obvious from the surprised expression that flashed
across his guest’s face – that it was not the answer that he had been
expecting.
    “Could I inquire why you have decided to reject the chamber’s
extremely generous offer?” Mallart asked in his silky-smooth tone of voice. 
The tone had been irritating Jon ever since the meeting had commenced. He had
continually fought the urge to look over his shoulder to check that the
representative wasn’t trying to stick a knife in his back.
    “Well,” Jon replied, “we could discuss the various growth
potentials for the business, my loyal customer base, etc. but what it really
comes down to is a cultural clash I am afraid.” 
    “A cultural clash?” the representative replied in a
bewildered tone. “What sort of cultural clash?”
    “It mostly has to do with the differing ways we conduct
business really,” Jon explained.  “For example we believe in fair business
negotiations, honest contracts and punctual delivery.  We do not threaten to
kill, enslave or otherwise kidnap our customers if they do not agree to our
terms of business.  We most certainly do not transport slaves, smuggle weaponry
or any other contraband goods and we most definitely don’t steal the
aforementioned goods if there is a greater potential for profit and then murder
the client.  As I mentioned, a culture clash I am afraid,” Jon explained
concisely, with a straight face, not letting any of the malice he felt show.
“Furthermore,” he went on to explain.  “I question how long I would actually
live to be able to spend that very generous offer, seeing that I hear of the
three previous companies that you have acquired two of the owners are now dead;
with the third missing.”  Jon finally let a hint of malice into his statement.  “Let’s
be honest,” he continued.  “The Chamber comprises the worst scum sucking,
murderous, thieving, raping bastards in this entire sector.  You can take their
offer back to them and shove it up their ass... and if one more of my ships are
attacked, one more member of my crew hurt there will be nowhere in this system
or the next to hide from me.  I will hunt you down one-by-one, turn your ships
into a pile of radioactive dust and cut you into so many pieces that it would
require a micro-singularity scanner to find a trace of you.  Now get off my
station!” Jon yelled.  “Before I stick you in an airlock and blow you out of it
myself.”
    The Magistratus from the chamber blinked once in surprise
then with a resigned expression replied.  “Well as you have decided to turn
down the chamber’s generous offer it would seem that there is nothing else that
I can say.  I doubt that they will be coming back with another offer.  Good day
Mr Radec.”  With that he shuffled to the door, which slid open smoothly to
permit his exit. 
    Jon confirmed that the door was fully closed before turning
back to the stars once again.  He would not have put it past the crafty old
bastard to shoot him in the back to save his