A lone man who carries the name of the Empire's ultimate shame and anonymity, ‘John Smith.’ Stripped of everything from his past, cast out and stumbling through the world he sees everything he grew up believing with new eyes. The harsh realities of his world nip at his flanks and heels every day of his new life, while memories and painful traumas of his old life plague his days and even nights. ~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~ Samson opened his eyes with a splitting headache and dry mouth, feeling slightly disoriented from the flooding rush of his life's memories over two decades prior. The series of dreams had assaulted him like the days they had happened all tumbled together. The first was pleasant, but the second left him feeling like he was still experiencing it. It took him several breaths to realize that he was indeed older and these injuries were fresh, not inflicted by the dream. The confusion between the threshold of waking and jarring dreams was disorienting, made worse by the fog of painkillers. He was stiff and sore like he had spent all day lifting weights, not stretched after and then had laid stationary for hours. The glare from the lighting was oppressive, like it was being shined directly into his brain straight through his closed lids. With an irritated groan he turned his head to the left. The stabs of pain, and protesting muscles in his neck and back made him wish he hadn't. Cracking his eyes, knowing he wasn't going to be able to sleep anymore, the three human shaped shadows solidified into Persephone, and her mother and father. Samson's painful irritation at waking up in such miserable conditions quickly turned to confusion as he looked around the unfamiliar room, washed out in glaring light, turning his eyes only. Since everything else hurt to move, including his grumpy waking up face, he decided not to push his luck. Why everyone was looking at him was disconcerting. Why he was in a strange bed was puzzling. How he arrived here was confusing. And why Lady Celine was in a similarly uncomfortable bed next to him was baffling. Persephone leaned forward and shoved something cold between his lips. Her only instruction was, "Open." Curiosity giving way to trust, Samson realized it was an ice chip. The sweet explosion of cold and wet water in his mouth tasted better than any meal he had ever had. The prone Lady Celine was the first to sarcastically assault him, "So Mister 'First Gladiator of the Empire', what has been running through your head the last three quarters of an hour?" Baffled by the question, a different question of his own arrived in his mind. All he could croak through his dried tongue and lips was, "Time?" Lady Celine looked sunken and pale, in her bed. The fluid tubes running into her from every direction indicated 'hospital' of some kind as his brain started coming up to speed. Phyllip grumbled, "Almost time for dinner, and time for you to answer the question."

A lone man who carries the name of the Empire's ultimate shame and anonymity, 'John Smith.' Stripped of everything from his past, cast out and stumbling through the world, he sees everything he grew up believing with new eyes. The harsh realities of his world nip at his flanks and heels every day of his new life, while memories and painful traumas of his old life plague his days and even nights. ~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~ Yesterday Afternoon: "Alright, what do you want to do first? Today we have stacks of fun, personal signatures on volumes of paperwork, or unit strengths and status reports, or intelligence estimates, or profit and loss statements, or subordinate corporation 'issues'?" Before his friend could finish collecting thoughts to finish the retort Thomys cut him off, "Yes you are." Thomys adjusted the stack of hard copy folders on his lap. His leather shoes and silk wool blend slacks, supported by the massive desk. "You are the Chief Executive Officer, Director of the Board, single largest equity holder, and I might add debt holder, in the Chroynos Stellar Hegemony Power and Utilities Holding Corporation. Thanks to the devious maneuverings of your grandfather and his hostile takeover expertise and steadfast consolidation efforts of your father, we control an Empire too. You also just happen to control the entire block of voting stock for the holding company that control our Military Corporations that secures our interests on, what is it now, on fourteen hundred, residential, agricultural, resource and industrial solar systems?" Phyllip grumbled and kicked his feet off the desk to the floor, while flipping the top cover of the folder open. The pen he had tried so desperately to forget, found his hand and it started moving down the top page. He read it quickly, and stated "Honor Graduates on the top as usual I see." Thomys nodded once. The confirmation was unneeded. The commissioning documents were always ordered like that. Phyllip ripped his signature into the top document, flipped to the next page, and ripped the next signature. This quarter's commissioning cycle had only five hundred new officers. But each was represented by a beautifully carved Certificate of Commission. Phyllip read all of the Honor Graduate Commissions, that top ten percent represented the most qualified officers and he liked to be familiar with their names. He didn't remember them all, but it never hurt to try, and he did. Phyllip signed as Thomys watched and shuffled several thick folders, in his lap. The last four hundred fifty moved as quickly as the first fifty. Phyllip tried to slam the folder closed but it just drifted softly into place without a sound. He palmed the documents and slid them back across his desk to Thomys. Neither action satisfied his frustration, so once his feet were comfortably back on top of the desk, he threw his expensive pen across the room at the window. It made a very satisfying clattering whack on the window, ten meters away, before falling silent to the thick carpet. Phyllip's nose wrinkled as he sneered at the unsatisfying conclusion. Thomys interrupted his foul mood, "Ah, so that's why you're being such an ass today." He pulled the certificates off the desk and slipped them perpendicular under his stack.

A lone man who carries the name of the Empire's ultimate shame and anonymity, 'John Smith.' Stripped of everything from his past, cast out and stumbling through the world, he sees everything he grew up believing with new eyes. The harsh realities of his world nip at his flanks and heels every day of his new life, while memories and painful traumas of his old life plague his days and even nights. ~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~ Yesterday Afternoon: "Alright, what do you want to do first? Today we have stacks of fun, personal signatures on volumes of paperwork, or unit strengths and status reports, or intelligence estimates, or profit and loss statements, or subordinate corporation 'issues'?" Before his friend could finish collecting thoughts to finish the retort Thomys cut him off, "Yes you are." Thomys adjusted the stack of hard copy folders on his lap. His leather shoes and silk wool blend slacks, supported by the massive desk. "You are the Chief Executive Officer, Director of the Board, single largest equity holder, and I might add debt holder, in the Chroynos Stellar Hegemony Power and Utilities Holding Corporation. Thanks to the devious maneuverings of your grandfather and his hostile takeover expertise and steadfast consolidation efforts of your father, we control an Empire too. You also just happen to control the entire block of voting stock for the holding company that control our Military Corporations that secures our interests on, what is it now, on fourteen hundred, residential, agricultural, resource and industrial solar systems?" Phyllip grumbled and kicked his feet off the desk to the floor, while flipping the top cover of the folder open. The pen he had tried so desperately to forget, found his hand and it started moving down the top page. He read it quickly, and stated "Honor Graduates on the top as usual I see." Thomys nodded once. The confirmation was unneeded. The commissioning documents were always ordered like that. Phyllip ripped his signature into the top document, flipped to the next page, and ripped the next signature. This quarter's commissioning cycle had only five hundred new officers. But each was represented by a beautifully carved Certificate of Commission. Phyllip read all of the Honor Graduate Commissions, that top ten percent represented the most qualified officers and he liked to be familiar with their names. He didn't remember them all, but it never hurt to try, and he did. Phyllip signed as Thomys watched and shuffled several thick folders, in his lap. The last four hundred fifty moved as quickly as the first fifty. Phyllip tried to slam the folder closed but it just drifted softly into place without a sound. He palmed the documents and slid them back across his desk to Thomys. Neither action satisfied his frustration, so once his feet were comfortably back on top of the desk, he threw his expensive pen across the room at the window. It made a very satisfying clattering whack on the window, ten meters away, before falling silent to the thick carpet. Phyllip's nose wrinkled as he sneered at the unsatisfying conclusion. Thomys interrupted his foul mood, "Ah, so that's why you're being such an ass today." He pulled the certificates off the desk and slipped them perpendicular under his stack. He pulled on one of the bottom folders and glanced at the cover before pushing it across the desk to Phyllip. "I guess that explains why you didn't want to sign the things this quarter or last."