Empire's Son: An Epic Science Fiction Novel Series

I opened my eyes and found myself in a room I didn’t recognize. Oddly, it looked a lot like the dojo we used to use on Sundays, but much smaller and there were no windows. Instead, large mirrors lined three of four walls. Rows of shelves with an assortment of workout equipment were on the other wall. The floor was a light wood color, and there was a matted area in the center of the room.

I moved into the training area, but noticed immediately something was different. It took me a minute to realize that I wasn’t as tall as I usually was and my feet were very small.

As I walked further into the room, I saw myself in the mirror across the room. A kid stared back at me. He was maybe nine or ten at most. My mind whirled trying to understand who this kid was, or why I was here. But the kid didn’t seem to mind this strange turn of events. He was still walking and making for the only other person in the room.

Dad.

I saw him there standing in the middle of the small dojo with a grim expression on his face. He was watching the kid’s movements as if sizing him up and not liking what he saw.

My insides felt like they were twisted up into knots at seeing him. And it wasn’t until that moment I realized how much I missed him. My chest began to contract and I was suddenly finding it hard to breath.

Dad.

I tried to say, but nothing came out. It was then I realized that I wasn’t in charge of this body I was in. I was just along for the ride.

“Why didn’t we bring Mom and Eric?” I heard the kid say.

“I told you, Michael. We are doing something different today. Come here. Stand in front of me,” my dad said.

The boy moved to do as he was told and I grappled with my dad’s words. This boy was me, which I should have guessed. He did look familiar, but nothing else did. Not this room, not this moment in time, and certainly not the shirt dad was wearing.

It was dark blue with bold red letters across the front Kill or Be Killed. The shirt puzzled me. Dad wasn’t one to wear slogan shirts and certainly nothing that brash.

The younger me stopped in front of dad. I wanted to rush forward and give him a big hug and tell him I was sorry for the way I had left him, but the younger me just stood arms length away and waited.

This close to dad, I could clearly see this wasn’t my version of him. This one was younger. The lines of his face were a little softer and his hair was dark without any of the familiar gray streaks I had gotten used to over the last decade.

His deep brown eyes peered down at me for a long time, so long that my younger self started to fidget. But I held his gaze longing to be there in person with him. I had so much I wanted to say. So much that I wanted to ask him. It was strange though, because for a moment it felt like maybe dad did know I was there. But I was sure it was just my imagination.

Finally, dad broke eye contact with my younger self and began to speak in the tone I had long ago learned to pay attention to. I knew that whatever this was… it was serious.

“Today, we are going to learn how to kill.”

The words hung there in the small room for a long moment. The younger me didn’t say a thing, and all I could do was think of all the things I wanted to say. But at the forefront was, what the hell?

“I know you are going to have questions,” my dad said breaking the heavy silence, “but there will be a lot of them I won’t be able to answer today or in any future trainings like this. But I assure you that one day you will understand everything I am doing and why we must do what we are doing. For now, Michael, I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

My younger self simply nodded his head like a good son who had complete faith in his father.

“Good.”

“Your brother and mother aren’t here today and won’t be in any of our special trainings because what I am going to teach you is very dangerous. I hesitate to even teach you, but I am concerned that there will come a day where I can’t be there to keep you safe, especially considering some of the life choices I have made. So the best I can do is to give you the knowledge to protect yourself.

“But this knowledge can also be dangerous to yourself and to others, so it’s important that it only be used when necessary and only under certain circumstances. For that reason, when you leave this room today and future sessions, you will remember none of this training.

“These memories will only be released if the right circumstances arise. I have already laid the parameters of that within your subconscious.

“Starting today, I am creating a memory chain that’s linked together with my shirt as a visual cue and the verbal cue of ‘Today, we are going to learn to kill’. These will be the signs you are looking for to fully release the lock and memories behind it. Concentrate on these, Michael, and they will show you the way.”

My younger self blinked up at his dad not at all understanding what he just said. But I did. And I knew he wasn’t talking to my nine year old self any more. He was talking to me, or the version of me he knew would be remembering this memory.

My heart fluttered as I realized what this was. This was one of my locks releasing. That’s why I couldn’t remember this memory. My dad had locked it away.

“I don’t understand,” I heard my younger self speak up.

“As I said,” Dad responded with a quiet and patient voice. “You don’t have to understand, but one day you will.”

“But I don’t want to learn how to kill.”

To my surprise my dad smiled. “I know, son, and that’s one of the things I love about you. You don’t have a desire to hurt anyone, and it’s been a challenge to get you to train in Earth’s martial arts with the rest of the family. But sometimes there are incidences when we have to do things we wouldn’t normally do to survive. This is why I am teaching you, and this is why when the time comes, you will do what you need to do to survive.

“Now, I need you to focus on those two things I told you to focus on. Don’t let anything distract you. Embrace the silence and embrace the words. See them. Hear them. Be them.”

Once again, I knew my dad wasn’t really talking to my younger self. He was talking to me––the future version of me. Through my younger self’s eyes, I concentrated on the shirt, the words.

Kill or be Killed.

Today, we are going to learn to kill.

At first there was just a flicker in my mind. Like trying to change the channel on the television. But then I was back in the room with the younger me and younger dad––nothing had changed.

I remembered the brief training I had with Master Kiev. He had been very specific about how to access a lock. He claimed it was all in having the right focal point. Once you knew the right key, it was then a matter of concentrating until the memories released.

So I did that now. I focused all my attention on the key my dad had clearly pointed out to me. The shirt and words loomed in my mind, and I held them until it was all that existed. The words becoming a mantra, a living extension of myself.

Another flicker came and I could make out a different version of me. This time I was a little older. Maybe by a few years. I saw myself reflected in the mirror. He was in a wide legged stance that matched my dad’s, and he was eyeing dad’s moving hands, attempting to move them in exactly the same way.

The movements were unfamiliar to me. It kind of reminded me of tai chi in the slow and smoothness of the flow, but the positioning of the hand and arms were unlike any tai chi movements I had ever learned.

The memory around me flickered again. Now I could see myself as a gangly teenager. I was in the wide legged stance again, but instead of following along with my dad, I was going through the forms on my own.

Dad stood nearby, watching my every move like a hawk. The slow and graceful movements from my previous memory were now turned into quick and sharp actions. What once looked like a graceful dance, now looked like a deadly encounter of gabs and strikes.

After my teenage self was finished with his form, he turned to dad. “Like that?”

“You’re getting faster, but it’s still not quite right.”

My teen self sighed. “Seriously, dad? How many times do I have to do this? We’ve been at it all afternoon. And you still won’t tell me what all of this is for.”

Dad walked up to me with a small towel and water bottle. “And I told you, there is much I can’t answer. You just have to trust me.”

“But these moves aren’t even something I recognize. This isn’t taekwondo, judo, or even krav maga.

Dad put a hand on my shoulder, and even as a teen I still had a little ways to look up to, but not by much.

“This won’t be anything you have ever seen. But I assure you, it’s just as effective, if not more so.”

My younger self opened his mouth to speak, but dad cut him off with a hand in the air. “I know this is frustrating for you, and you have many questions, but now is not the time to answer them.”

“Then, when? Because I can only remember these trainings when I am in this room with you. Otherwise I forget them altogether. I don’t even understand how that is possible. This makes no sense at all, dad. Are you using one of New Horizon’s super secret gadgets on me or something?”

“One day, I will explain that too, but for now, I need you to––”

“Trust me,” my younger self finished in a huff. “I know. You’ve said it multiple times during every single one of our sessions. I get it. It’s just… I get the feeling there’s a lot you aren’t telling me. And I’m fifteen now. I’m not a little kid any more.”

“I know, son. And your mom and I have talked about when the right time to tell you everything will be, but it’s not going to be today.”

My teen self sighed in resignation, knowing he wasn’t going to get dad to budge. We both knew that look and tone well. “Fine.”

“Let’s run through it again.”

“Seriously?” I complained, mopping the sweat from my forehead.

“I haven’t even taught you all the proper leg work yet. We have a long way to go before you can master this. Besides, we have thirty more minutes before your mom wants us home for dinner, so let’s use it to go through another set.”

The memory flickered as my teen self set down the towel and water, and positioned himself to begin again.

The next memory I was much older. I was closer to my current age. Maybe three or four years younger. I was sporting my MIT shirt. It wasn’t faded yet, so this must have been my early College years. I caught the logo in the mirror as I moved.

Or at least my College self moved. His motions smooth and graceful. It was like he was dancing across the floor, and I was just along for the ride. I was impressed with his speed. He was much faster than the last memory I had seen. I could barely glimpse my hands as they moved almost as if on their own accord.

“That’s good, Michael. Why don’t you take a break? You’ve been at it for two hours straight.”

“Why? This is what we’ve come here to do isn’t it?” I heard my voice speak in a cold tone, a tone I knew all too well, even if this was the first time seeing this particular memory.

The College me pulled up short right in front of our dad. He stood still except for the heavy rise and fall of his chest.

“You have something to say to me, son?” Dad responded with a heavy voice.

“Why? What’s the point? You won’t tell me anyways.”

“We really going to do this again?”

My younger self threw up his hands to his sides. “What did you expect? That I wouldn’t wise up and realize you are pulling some fast one on me? Just because I can’t remember these little episodes when I walk out of this room doesn’t mean I can’t put two and two together.”

“Oh, and what have you discovered?” Dad said crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“That you’re not telling me or the rest of our family the truth about something big. What about I don’t know, but it has to be something about me specifically, or you’d have Mom, Eric, and Emmaline in here learning these damn forms too.”

Dad looked thoughtful for a moment before he spoke. “You’re right, it is big, and it does have to do with you. It has to do with your birth father.”

My College self stiffened. “What?”

“You’re not an idiot. I’m sure you’ve figured out you and I aren’t actually genetically related. I mean we look nothing alike.”

“So?”

“I suppose you’ve also wondered why we never talk about our time before coming to New York, or your early years?”

“Well, yeah.”

Dad took a big sigh before speaking. “I can’t go into details, but let’s just say that I took you and your mother out of a very bad situation. That there was violence involved and you were hurt badly. Your mom and I were afraid for your life, so we ran away from your father’s family. We came here to hide.”

I could feel the eyebrow on my College self raise. “Really? And being a CEO of a multi-billion dollar company is considered hiding?”

Dad shook his head. “It’s complicated. Let’s just say that there is a possibly that your father’s family might find us. If they do, I need to make sure you can protect yourself.”

“But what about mom? Won’t they come for her too?”

“Possibly, but she has other ways to protect herself. This is a way for you to do that.”

“Okay, but-”

Dad held up a hand. “That’s all I can tell you for your own safety. Please, Michael, I really need you to trust me on this.”

My College self opened his mouth to speak again, but must have thought better about it, and simply nodded.

“Good, then let’s see those forms again.”

The memory flicker, and this time I jumped to a version of myself were I was moving in a blur and so was my dad as we faced off against each other.

This time the connection to my younger self felt different. We weren’t separate anymore. It was like it was me in the memory. I could feel everything as if I had been there, even down to the things I was thinking.

There was no talking between my dad and I. There was no protesting. There was just the two of us moving like we were dancing with death. The thing that shocked me the most was the furiousness dad attacked me with. It was a level I had never seen him reach during our normal family trainings. This was my dad unleashed.

Somehow I knew that if I didn’t block, his strikes would do serious damage. The memory told me that we had been going at it for several minutes and I was already feeling the strain as his attacks rained down on me. I also knew that the fighting wouldn’t stop until first blood. I had yet to win a bout with my dad. Today, I could feel the determination to change that.

So when I saw an opening, I struck out with quick and forceful strikes using the base and sides of my palm. I managed to land a hard enough blow that he stumbled back. Blood gushed from his nose. A thrill went through me, but my victory was short-lived by the overwhelming guilt at hurting my dad.

“I’m sorry,” I said appalled at all the blood running down the front of his Kill or Be Killed shirt that was terribly faded now.

My dad smiled like he didn’t even notice his nose was a fountain of cascading blood. His grin looked genuine. There was even a glint of pride in his eyes.

“Don’t be, son. That was a good hit. I’m proud of you. Don’t ever be sorry for getting in a good hit, or defending yourself. Not ever.”

Again my memory flickered, but this time there were a string of memories in a long procession. It was every memory attached to the shirt he wore Kill or be Killed. And the sessions beginning with the words he spoke,” Today, we are going to learn to kill.”

From beginning to end, I could see each memory clearly. I could understand each moment perfectly. And yet, the memories rushed through my mind so fast they were a blur. It left me feeling a little dizzy and more than a little sick, but where once there had been a blank, a whole new set of memories lay like they had always been there––never forgotten at all, just waiting to be remembered.

It was like a light switch had been flipped suddenly on, and it now illuminated what I could not see before. There were years upon years of the special practices with my dad spanning from my youth through my young adults years.

We had spent hours each session together perfecting something I didn’t quite understand, at least not at the time. But over our time together, I began to understand the underlying concept of the strange maneuvers he was trying to teach me. And he wasn’t just trying to teach me forms, he was also teaching me the concept of fighting for myself, of fighting for my life and to act accordingly.

“It’s called quat-lo, and its main objective is to attack in as quick and deadly a way as possible, most especially against those who are called Protectors.” I heard my dad’s voice explain to one of my younger selves.

“They are the best of the best, son. Where we are from, there is no one better trained in hand to hand combat. If you go up against a Protector, you have to be ready to kill.”

I remember protesting, asking him for the hundredth time where he had gotten his information and where we were from, but as always, he kept that information firmly to himself.

Now, as I looked back over all the memories, I could recall my growing frustrations, but even more clearly, I could recall my dad’s resoluteness and his seeming infinite patience. He knew the truth of it it all, and he knew that one day I might need this information. He also knew it would be an uphill battle, that I would fight him every step of the way.

And still he persisted.

Because he knew what he was building. He knew what was on the line. More importantly, he did it, because he loved me. That lesson above everything else stood out like a blinking neon light to me.

My heart shifted.

And instead of all the fear and anger that had been a storm inside of me, it was replaced by the blinding light of love. And I knew that no matter what, I could not, would not go down. My dad had given me too much, and I had too much still to live for.

And so, I gathered up all those moments I had spent with my dad. The ones in my new memories and all the other ones too. I pulled them close and I infused them with all the love I felt for him in return.

I realized that perhaps this wasn’t exactly what dad had been trying to teach me after all. That he really did want me to be able to strike out and kill. And I certainly felt capable of doing so, but in that moment, I also knew that it wasn’t so much about what I did, but why I did it.

And that’s when I felt the new memories become a part of me like they were a living thing. I felt the movements. My muscles remembered the flow, the dance, the progress of each of the forms. I could do them slow. I could do them fast. They were an extension of me. More importantly, I could feel their power, the purpose behind each move and how to use them to counter the moves of other people. Just like my dad had taught me.

I was ready to kill.