Personal Memory Log: 00366
12/09/2463.3
Lewis Lawrence, Orator,
Ministry of Remembrance, 1st Division.

Days fly by while I sit at my desk compiling and archiving seemingly endless volumes of data. All of it about the Great War. The Great Galactic War, as those around me were dubbing it, was twenty years of history that almost destroyed humanity, every detail must never be forgotten.

It was almost work, I felt the joy of letting my mind run as I create and consume entire volumes of data. It was pleasing, I had found my calling in these halls and was contempt to spend the rest of my days labouring to compile and record every bit of data into my life's great work.

The War of The Dove I would entitle it.

Then I happened upon a twenty-five-year-old photo of the great dictator and his closest comrades when they themselves were Orators. I took it and studied it. He was young and handsome, well built with a well-groomed mane of black hair.

There he stood, front and centre, arms crossed. Confident as ever while he smiled with his friends. All in their activist fatigues with red lined black tunic and trousers framing their faces. Each one bearing a small golden dove as a medallion holding their collars together.

Only frustration flourished in my mind. I sighed, leaning on my shoulder. That bald bastard was all I could think about. I had hoped to archive his every testament as an impartial observer but my predecessor was right. He has an unforgettable effect on you.

By no means was he an Empath if so his manipulative tendencies could have won him anything he wanted. I sighed, my mind exhausted, twenty years of war to compile into fresh questions for my prisoner. I flip the photo in my hand over and found Garros' writing on the back.

'To my beloved Bianca.
I apologise; I do not expect to see you again in this lifetime. Please do not forgive me for this. I do not deserve it. Please do what you wish while I do what I must. May you find a better life in Eregon. May you find a better man in this land of milk and honey. You deserve far more than this. - Garros'

I raised an eyebrow. The great monster with a lover? I jumped back into action. Searching through every record of the monster available. I found no mention of this Bianca. At once, I considered searching through records of refugees flowing into Eregon but stopped myself.

It did not take much for me to realise the futility of such an effort. The United Republic of Eregon had been plagued by the side effects of Garros' war for decades. There would be no telling how many billions flocked to its star systems in search of a new life.

I sighed rubbing the back of my neck. I leaned back, staring at the mess of paperwork and hard drives burying my desk. I groaned and looked away. Then my eyes fell on the man down the hall in the observation room where the monitor showing the video feed from Garros' cell.

There stood General Hudson. His cane held by both hands behind his back. He was twiddling it, brooding and glaring at the screen, glaring at him. I watched him for some time, and questions spawned in my head. More than I could answer.

From what I knew General Hudson was in command of the United Protectorates of Earth's 3rd Army. He was the first to survive a campaign against Garros' legions at the cost of his son's life. During the Perseus Campaign, all surviving command staff elected him as the Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces of The Coalition.

A damned hero, the one who held the line where all others faltered. Now look at him, every day he stands there, glaring, thinking. What kind of General demands a post like this? What kind of man would stand there glaring like that?

Don't ask me, I am but an orator writing about a different subject. It is not my place to ask and contemplate. So I get back to work, clearing my desk of clutter and finding my key-mat. I place my fingers upon its keys and started from where I left off. The start of the war.

I sat there watching my fingers ramble away about every little detail. As they ran on, I could see it all in my head. Garro's political rise to power, his election as dictator of a nation he renamed The True Republic, the Universal Rights Convention and more.

I took several hours completing, archiving and leaving the draft ready for editing. Next I prepared a fresh batch of questions and documents for my lone prisoner. I stand up with the documents in hand I take my first step and something in my periphery caught my eye.

The old photo of the young dictator and his comrades. Their eyes staring at me, asking something of me. No, daring me to do something. Was I meant to show this to Garros? Would it break him if I did? I shook my head and took the photo, stuffing it into my pocket.

I began my approach back into the cell. The thought of using a memento to break one down with emotional stress was repulsive. It is something I am too familiar with. No one should have to suffer that indignity, no one. Even if was the monster himself.

Step by step I made my way to a new day of questioning. My head started to spin, dreaming of questions and the possible answered they could spawn. In a way, I enjoyed this part of my job, this soft calmness before the plunge, the last minute planning and checking before all is done, it is this that offers reprieve amidst endless hours of heavy contemplation.

I keep up my pace, walking past the old General. Into the hall and opening the first door to the cell. There I find a trio of Praetorians. I enter, walking the long narrow hallway, filled with all manner of scanning equipment and mines set to detonate should any intruder set off the alarms with their possession.

I regarded the Praetorians on the other end of the hall. The closest among them was an athletic man, referred to as a Muse, a born genius, able to comprehend and learn a dozen times faster and better than I could ever hope to achieve.

The Next one was a huge eight-foot-tall monster of a man called a Custodian standing still over us all ready to charge at any perceived threat. His strength, matched only by his nigh limitless capacity for brutality and barbaric violence.

The last one, standing next to him, was one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. She is an Empath, one built to seduce and coerce. Of all of them, I feared her the most, gifted with both a profane understanding of the human psyche and limited telepathy, manipulation is their weapon.

She nodded as I passed her by, I nodded back as she pressed several buttons and the three-foot thick armoured door to Garro's cell hissed to life. I waited in silence as in slowly slid open, revealing the man himself.

I enter with the empath following close behind me. Her presence alone was an alluring distraction. It is hard to explain. A disarming friendly aura radiated from her like the heat of a flame, inflating the trusting nature of people. She stood in front of the door with her hands behind her back as it closed and I took my seat some meters away.

-//-

So starts the second day of questions. I enter, tossing my files onto the table and take my seat. He sits back, seemingly unmoved by this repetition of events. I looked back at the door as it slid close once more.

Once it was shut I sat there for several long moments and we stared at each other while I was at a loss for words. This until I activated the hologram and selected the scenes I wanted to show. At least I had questions to bide my time until I thought of the truly big ones.

I leaned forward, placing my elbows on the table and joining hands as a hologram flickered to life. It showed scenes of slaughter and mass destruction.

"What have you to say of the wholesale slaughter and enslavement of billions of innocents? If you were the hero you claim to be how can you justify this?"

He looked away for a few moments while I watched. Somehow, a sense of disappointment filled the moment before his deep voice drowned it out.

"Before the convention, the True Republic consisted of merely fourteen worlds. Fourteen worlds to against hundreds. The UPE alone dwarfed my domain many times over, let alone the Coalition. All other considerations had to be secondary to efficiency."

I offered my palm.

"Wouldn't it be more efficient to simply employ those people humanely reap the rewards of an operational world?"

"In the long term, yes, but such is war."

"Is that your justification?"

The man chuckles then sighs, shifting about in his chair.

"Dear friend, I don't intend to justify anything. Truth is all that matters."

Admirable, I'll give him that. It is true, he was an Orator in the days I was training to be one myself. The mentality sticks with you, seared into your soul like a tattoo upon your skin. We are Orators, we value truth above all else.

"Since you value truth so much; I can trust that you're not lying through all this?"

He cracks up into laughter. This time harsh and heavy. It's starting to get annoying.

"Trust? You'll know it!"

He nodded towards the praetorian at the door.

"Just ask your little empath over there. Besides what good would it do me now? Especially when the truth is so much more... vindicating."

I grit my teeth together, hands curling into fists, I take a breath to snap back but froze remembering our last conversation. Then it hit me, another question, an old one, one I have wanted to be answered for years now.

"Did you want to be the bogeyman for future generations?"

His glowing red eye snapped its focus onto me, the first hint of interest from the man today.

"If anything I'd be their father."

"A father does not terrorise his children!" I snapped hastily, my temper simmering with irritation.

His hands were joined as he placed his forearms on the cold steel table.

"A father sires offspring does he not?"

I leaned back in my chair, sighing, shutting my eyes and pinching the bridge of my nose. This impossible man. He speaks madness and yet I find myself unable to argue back. He didn't need to explain that last response.

His example will haunt us for generations to come. Ever moulding the beliefs and education of our children through the terrifying shadow of what he had achieved. I almost laughed at the ironic brilliance of it all. Nothing motivates man more than a great evil.

As the hours passed on we carried on and on with question exchanged for answer constantly. Every word painting a new part of a picture I can not yet comprehend. Perhaps I am refusing to comprehend it. Perhaps I lack the wit to do so. If so, I would not be surprised.

When the hour grew late I stood up, nodding my thanks to him and returned to whence I came. I walked, my breath trembling, he was a remarkable creature. Every answer was concise and without hesitation. Every question, bringing out a fresh reaction not quite seen before.

The Empath stared at me with passing curiosity. Her face, cold and unreadable. I joined her and the door slid open with a fresh hiss. She turned around and walked into the guard post with me. She stopped and watched as I went through the routine security checks on my way out.

I walked back down the hallway, this time seeing General Hudson walking away from his place standing before the monitor. That cane of his held closely behind his back. I had gotten used to his strange presence in my halls.

I may be an Orator but even I would not dare ask why he does what he does lest I enrage a Coalition General.

-//-

I almost made it to my seat before I heard footsteps down the hall. I look back and found the empath approaching me. I placed my files on my overburdened desk and stood to face her. She came to a respectable distance and saluted.

I saluted back casually as she eased up.

"I am a civilian, there is no need for that around me."

"You still outrank us in Coalition Hierarchy, Orator Lewis Lawrence, sir." She explained.

I couldn't help but feel my ego inflate in her presence, I almost smirked as she reminded me of my rank. I took her seriously now. Looking at her, I found her mesmerisingly beautiful with long flowing golden hair, bright baby blue eyes, smooth, flawless fair skin and a gorgeous curvy body.

"What is your name, praetorian?"

"Commander Sarissa Martel, 1st Praetorian Company."

Folding my arms I leaned back against my desk, ignoring a pile of papers that fell onto my chair.

"Well? Why have you come?"

"Sir, Garros, is playing you."

I raised an eyebrow.

"What use has he of lying?"

"Well, sir, a man like that does not simply sit around waiting to answer questions. He is up to something. I understand that you bare full responsibility for him and full authority over him he is up to something; all the signs are there."

I offered my palm.

"What would you have me do? Wring it from him?"

"Well... no."

All out of words, she began to worry. Her face was charming as she stood there pouting over her worries.

"Even if we tried it wouldn't work." She muttered adorably just loud enough for me to hear.

"Look, we will only get from him what he wants us to get and for now that is all I am interested in."

She sighed, looking away with those sparkling eyes and all fell silent.

"Sarissa Martel... wait, the Sarissa Martel?"

Her left hand grabbed hold of her right elbow as she sighed again, closing her eyes, she nodded briefly. I stood up, grabbing a pen and notepad, embracing this rare chance.

"The only Praetorian II to ever be successfully created by Dr Martel?! Please, you must tell me your story!"

She clearly showed her discomfort while looking away. Somehow I felt my heart drop. In my excitement, I had committed some grievous offence against her. I wanted to apologise but she spoke first.

"Sure, there are things I have witnessed that should never be kept secret. I'll send you the logs I deem fit, even answer your questions but only on two conditions."

"I'm listening."

"First you ask Garros the questions I want to be asked. Second, you send whatever you publish regarding me to me for editing first. It is my testament you are receiving after all."

I had to fight my urge to even smile at what I heard. Somehow I felt that it might lead to some spontaneous act I'll have no control over. I both loved and hated it and it took all I could not to love her without real cause. Such is the terrible reality of talking to an empath.

I offered my had for her to shake.

"Very well, Commander Martel. I accept."

-//-

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