Situated atop a verdant hill was a large but simple looking manor. Its’ milky white paint gleamed immaculately in the midday sun, contrasting heavily with with dark, sloped rooftops. A dozen windows populated the three-story fa?ade, their glass spotless and sparkling. The front porch was wide and inviting, populated by a wooden bench, a small circular table, an ashtray on that table, a well cushioned rocking chair, and a bowl for cat food. Daniel stared at that bowl for a moment, an old memory bubbling to the surface:

  “Take Dio with you, Danny! You’ll need someone to watch your back in the big city. He eats too much anyways.”

  Daniel lingered there for a little longer than he needed to, before wiping away a few tears and stepping inside Grandpa’s house. Inside was exactly as he remembered it. A large grandfather clock ticked away persistently in the corner of the sea blue atrium, kept company only by a coatrack and the yellow poncho hanging on it. Moving into the living room, he was hit with a wave of nostalgia. A comfy emerald couch and dark mahogany coffee table sat in front of the SmartGram against the wall. It had been over a year since he’d seen the place in person. He reminisced for a moment about earlier days, sitting on this couch and fighting with the old man over what they were going to watch. Daniel fought the urge to sit down, instead moving to examine the paintings on the wall.

  One showed a bright white sailboat on a lake, while another depicted an old navy vessel. It was a steel battleship from an era even before humanity had first touched the stars. The painting was so good that Daniel could almost see the ship bobbing on the rolling waves, so detailed that he could make out the tiny figures of men racing up and down the ship decks. It had been one of Daniel’s favorites as a kid, but now he couldn’t help the small pit of bitterness that floated around in his stomach as he looked. It was enough to shock Hardgrave out of his reverie and bring him back to earth. He wasn’t here to bellyache about the past. He was here for the basement.

  He had never been allowed in the basement as a kid, and the old man had always kept the place tightly locked, to the point that even his best efforts couldn’t pry that sucker open. Stonewell had given him the key, an old-fashioned thing made of metal, and now Daniel peered down the black stairwell with a degree of nervousness. The very place that he had looked to with such interest in his childhood now presented a pitiless maw of dark mystery. That nervousness warred with excitement as he flipped the light on and trod down the creaky wood stairs.

  The concrete floor and walls of the basement were surprisingly small for a house of this size, creating an underground room not much larger than his own apartment. They were also a stark, barren grey, yielding none of the normal warmth and comfort of the house above. It was a lifeless and empty place, all except for the chest on the far side of the room. It was a well-built, medium sized thing, carved from handsome blackwood and lined with muted gold. Daniel walked over slowly, the gravity of the moment growing heavier and heavier. He took out the key and slipped it into the lock with a slight tremble. Flipping open the latches, he slowly opened the lid and peered inside. Within were three smaller boxes and a note, scrawled in messy writing. It read:

  “Danny,

  If you’re reading this, it’s probably because I’m dead. Or the next best thing to it. Sucks to be me! Everyone has his time to go eventually, though, and I’m sure I was a stubborn old bastard until the very end.

  Speaking of being stubborn, there is one last thing I need to tell you before I finally leave you be. Something I was too hardheaded to say in this life. I was a Pioneer, Danny. I survived enough missions that they made me a Captain in the 1201st Division of the Federation of Pioneers. If you haven’t somehow found out yet, now you know.

  I’d say I’m sorry for keeping it from you, but that wouldn’t be honest. I kept it from you for your own good, because I feared what the knowledge would do to you. I warned you against this business because I’ve seen what it can do to a man. I’ve seen what our leadership is like. Emperors come and go, and some are better than others, but most of them see us as little more than pieces on a chessboard. It’s not the kind of life a man should live unless he’s got a very good reason. But it’s easy to romanticize, especially for a young and adventurous kid like you. I couldn’t let you be suckered in by a fairy tale.

  But you’re not a kid anymore, are you Danny? You’ve gone off into the world and made a life for yourself, even if it’s a small one so far. You’re a man who can make his own decisions now. Don’t feel haunted by an old man’s ghost. You’d better remember my wisdom, though. In this chest is a memory, a warning, and a gift. Do what you like with each one, but if your eyes are open, you’ll learn from all of them.

  Old Man Roger”

  Daniel read and re-read the letter over and over, fingers tracing the creases of the paper. He had already heard, of course, but it still hit him hard to hear this straight from the horse’s mouth. When he set aside his anger, however, he uncovered another emotion. Doubt. Maybe the old man was right. Hypocrisy aside, the life of a Pioneer might have been something he was tempted to over-romanticize. If he'd known about the old man’s past sooner, then all the words in the Galaxy couldn’t have stopped him from enlisting. But now…

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  He shook the doubt away for now, then picked up one of the boxes. Opening it, he looked inside and found a palm sized, silver, falcon-shaped medal, and an old picture. It was a group photo, taken at a high angle, of around 200 smiling soldiers on a swampy world. Standing near the front of the pack was a broad-shouldered man with storm-colored eyes, smiling mischievously up at the photographer. The old man, back when he wasn’t old. The caption read:

  “1201 Div. Company 6.”

  When he flipped the falcon medal over, he saw an inscription:

  “Duty. Valor. Service.”

  The silver falcon was one of the highest honors an Imperium soldier could gain in combat. The old man must have done something genuinely impressive to get it. Awed, but a little confused, Daniel stared from the silver bird then back to the picture. If the old man had wanted to scare him away from the military, he certainly wasn’t doing a very good job. Setting them back in the box, he opened the second box. This contained another handwritten note, placed atop a single manila folder. In the old man’s handwriting, it simply read:

  “Everything has its price.”

  He then opened the manila folder to find a stapled sheaf of papers, a military action report. Daniel had never seen one before, and he had never been fond of reading. But the important bits seemed to have been underlined or highlighted by the old man, so he just read those:

  “Action Report: Offensive Action on Planet Designation: D1529

  Commanding Officer: Admiral [REDACTED]

  …

  After taking the primary strategic objectives, Admiral [REDACTED] chose to pursue various heavily defended secondary objectives. Against advice from their officer core, Admiral [REDACTED] spread their troops thinly across a wide array of targets. This left ground forces open to significant retaliation…Ultimately, Divisions 862, 1130, and 1201 were forced to perform rearguard actions to allow for strategic retreat.

  …

  Casualty Report:

  Division 862, Company 1: 42% Casualty Rate

  Division 862, Company 2: 51% Casualty Rate

  …

  Division 1201, Company 5: 72% Casualty Rate

  Division 1201, Company 6: 96% Casualty Rate

  …

  End of Report “

  Daniel gave a sharp intake through the nose when he saw the Company 6 number. He sat and stared at it for a while, gears turning in his mind. Everything he had read so far, everything the old man had taught him, suddenly came into stark relief. He looked from the number, then to the picture the old man had given them. 96% of those faces, gone. 192 human beings wiped out. With a small sigh, he set the report down and turned to the final box. Within were two final items, both of which shocked him even more than the report.

  One was a small bag, filled with knuckle sized gems that glowed a bright white-gold. They weren’t reflecting the overhead light, they were literally glowing with natural, internally produced rays of power. Daniel’s gave a sharp intake of breath as he picked up a transparent bag of ten, low grade Meta Diamonds. Often sought after as a power source for Meta tech, even one low grade Meta Diamond could go for up to 10,000 credits. The old man actually had left him a small fortune. But that wasn’t Grandpa Hardgrave’s most important gift.

  That honor was bestowed to the second item. It was a high-caliber revolver, a mighty thing with a long, argent nose. The gun was largely unornamented but in very good condition, each of its components spotless and shiny, even in the low light. Only the mahogany handle showed its age, the polished wood clearly weathered in some areas that no amount of burnishing could fix. Still, it was a handsome thing, and it brought back memories for Daniel.

  Despite his anti-military stance, Grandpa Hardgrave made sure that Daniel knew how to shoot. It was important he knew how to protect himself, the old man had said. He had taken Danny to the range as early as 9, and the young boy had taken to shooting like a fish to water. He was good with everything, but he’d always had a knack for pistols especially. The old man usually just watched and critiqued him, but occasionally he wheedled his grandfather into shooting with him. When Grandpa did shoot, it was always with this .50 caliber XCL Jackson & Crock revolver. Daniel had always been curious as to how the old man had handled the powerful recoil. But Gramps had been muscular, even in his twilight years, so the young man hadn’t questioned it.

  Eventually, Daniel had gotten good enough that the old man wouldn’t let him go to the range anymore, for fear of attracting unwanted attention. He still practiced, but he did so surreptitiously in the remote hills of the countryside. However, the old man would never let him practice with The Jackson, saying:

  “You’re not ready for this yet.”

  Daniel had always thought that Gramps had meant he wasn’t ready to handle the recoil, and Danny had insisted that he was strong enough. The old man just smiled and ignored him. Now, as he read the note attached to the gun, he was starting to understand what his grandfather had really meant:

  “You’re ready. Always shoot straight, Danny.”