Lancelot took a deep breath, then exhaled. “I’m not sure.”
“What will happen to me?” Julian asked in a way that revealed not fear, but acceptance of what might come next.
“I’m not sure of that either,” she said.
The medical bots continued their work. Every once in a while Julian grimaced or flinched, but for the most part the substances they had used to numb his pain receptors worked to keep him comfortable as they lasered the pieces of his skull back into a seamless whole.
As he suspected, he did have another replacement hand. Like the other bio hand the bots had given him, his right hand was now also slightly blue and rubbery in texture.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” he said, glancing at where his ion knife was hidden in the thick armor glove of his CAB.
“I don’t blame you,” she said. “It was the only chance you had of winning. I would have done the same thing.” Then, having reattached the small arm that fit next to the ribs of her armor, she added, “But you still lost.”
“Yes.” He closed his eyes for a moment, then added, “But if I was younger—”
“No,” she said, holding up a hand. “I still would have defeated you.”
His eyes closed. “True.”
After his skull was repaired, the medical bots used fine lasers to heal the skin around his head. Lancelot watched as Julian tried to ignore the smell of his own flesh burning as the lasers ran in lines across his scalp.
Every once in a while, she got the impression that Mortimous was there, watching and seeing how she would react next, but he never presented himself nor said anything.
Finally, the medical bots turned and offered a series of beeps.
“You are done restoring him?”
The bots beeped again.
“Thank you,” she told them. “You may go.”
The bots all offered a pair of beeps, then rolled to the stone door, waited for it to move aside, then rolled forward again. Without moving his head, Julian looked out the side of his eyes, waiting for the door to close. Lancelot thought of all the possible questions he might have and which one he would ask first.
After the door thudded closed and they were alone, he asked how long she had been there.
“Since I was a girl.”
He stared at her in expectation of more detail. She stared back. When he sighed, knowing he could ask a thousand questions, she chuckled.
“My father was on the run. He knew the reputation the Carthagens had for isolating themselves but he was stuck in the Orleans asteroid field and was running out of options. A single Carthagen came to see why we were there and my father explained that he needed to find a place to keep me safe.”
She shook her head, remembering that part of her childhood. Then she reached up with her two real arms, the longer ones that had held the Meursaults during each battle, and unclipped the fasteners that held her helmet onto her armor. For the first time in all of their duels and all of their conversations, neither of them had a helmet on. Her hands brought the helmet softly to the stone floor with the care of a warrior who knew it was more than a simple piece of armor. It was her identity, her life as she knew it.
She had never bandaged her injury or even wiped the blood away from her mouth. The cut was still wide open and her mouth, chin, and neck were all covered in blood.
When he started to say something, she said, “If you apologize for doing this, after I crushed your skull, cut your hands off, impaled your shoulders and feet and your stomach, I’ll kill you right where you lay.”
He cringed and tried to nod, but a bolt of pain shot through his head. He groaned and only said, “Okay.”
She used a wet cloth to wipe away the dried blood on her face, giving no indication that it hurt to touch the open gash that ran from her chin to her mouth.
“Why are you protecting them?” Julian asked.
Lancelot shrugged. “This is where I ended up. Where else am I supposed to go?”
“Where’s your home?”
Again, a shrug. “I’ve been here since I was little. This is the closest thing I have to a home.”
“A human woman with two Meursaults who can defeat any Carthagen and any invader.” He offered a pained smile. “Even the supposed Terror of the Cartha Sector. The wonders of the galaxy never cease.”
“The Carthagens never stood a chance against me,” she said. “Not just because I took their Meursaults from them, but because the Dauphin don’t let them fight to the death. There aren’t enough Carthagens for them to be able to sacrifice a warrior during the duels. When a fighter knows he can be defeated without really losing anything, he also has nothing to win. I was the only one, a human fighting inside a suit of armor designed to look like the Carthagens, who really had to fight to survive. If they ever found out who I was they would have made sure I died right there.”
“You didn’t say what happened to your father.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. The Carthagen who saved me couldn’t protect him as well. He had to leave the Orleans asteroid field. I assume Arc-Mi-Die had him killed but I’m not sure.”
“Arc-Mi-Die?” Julian said, trying to turn his head but stopping when the pain flashed again.
Lancelot was lost in a memory, however, and didn’t notice. “Bookknow couldn’t have saved both of us. There was no way. It was hard enough for him to create a new identity for me. My father wouldn’t have lasted long once he left Orleans. It’s funny, one of the only things I remember him telling me back when I was little was that we all become a star in the galaxy after we die. At the time, I thought he must surely know all about how the galaxy worked and I remember trying to pick out where my star would be in the sky.” Her head lowered and her voice sounded grave. “Now, the idea just seems foolish.”
“I’m sorry about the life you’ve had,” he said.
Both of them knew it was an absurd thing to say, and even more preposterous when said to one’s captor.
Lancelot laughed. “Don’t feel sorry for me. Sorrow only breeds more sorrow. I’m not interested in that.”
“What do you want instead?”
Lancelot cocked her head to one side and looked at him as if he were asking something ludicrous. “To be feared, of course. It worked for my uncle. Fear in others is what kept me alive here for so long. And it will continue to work for me.”
Again, Julian tried to turn and look at her but the pain was still too severe. “Who are you, really?”
She got to her feet. All four armored boots—the front two real and encased in armor and her hind legs artificial limbs—stepped closer to him. She stood over him as he lay on the blanket, her towering figure looming over him. Her long blond hair fell down over her shoulders.
“My name is Arc-Mi-Joan.” She saw him cringe even though he hadn’t moved and knew it was because he understood what was coming next. Her voice grew louder: “Daughter of Arc-Mi-Rome. Niece of the warlord Arc-Mi-Die.”
64
Most colonies on otherwise inhospitable planets were built on the planet surface. Less common were colonies designed to float above a planet’s surface, most often to remain above the cataclysmic storms that raged below. The colony at Tertiary-Omega was one of these exceptions. It wasn’t positioned anywhere within the planet’s harsh atmosphere. Instead, it orbited the crimson and purple planet like an enormous satellite.
The colony had originally been a small space station. As galactic travel expanded and more portals were built to connect each part of the galaxy, the space station kept growing. Eventually, a scientist proposed building a containment field around the station and converting it to an open colony rather than an enclosed set of pressurized structures. In the time since, the containment field had been expanded four times to accommodate the growing population and additional structures. The colony of Neo-Tertiary-Omega, or NTO, had become the largest orbiting colony in the entire galaxy. Almost one billion people lived there. There was a city proper as large as CamaLon. Surround
ing the city were suburbs and farms and even a man-made river that flowed in a zig-zagging circle around much of the colony. It had three different spaceports and five different municipalities. It had become such a hub of trade and influence that a portal had been built near the planet even though none of the other celestial bodies in the sector had significant populations.
NTO was the site of Arc-Mi-Die’s second promised attack. The Excalibur Armada ship was only a minute away from the colony when it registered on the defense systems. Seconds later, a squad of Havoc spacejets was launched. They soared away from the colony and reached the Excalibur vessel less than thirty seconds after the first alarms were signaled. It was an amazing response time by any standard. Their proton torpedoes and cannons did nothing to deter the giant vessel, however. Knowing no one was able to get inside the Excalibur ships and use the propulsion system within them, each Havoc spacejet pilot had been trained to look for an engine fastened to the back of the ship. This would be the Havoc spacejets’ primary target. However, none of their weapons could penetrate the vessel’s shield.
Seconds later, the Excalibur ship passed through the colony’s containment field. The ship, as large as it was, was dwarfed by the colony. The Havoc spacejets were still unleashing a barrage of laser fire and proton torpedoes at it. Ten seconds later, the giant vessel detonated.
Its explosive might was great enough to spread across each part of the floating civilization. After all, it was a ship capable of destroying Mowbray’s Supreme Athens Destroyer with one blast. A colony had no chance of withstanding a blast of that intensity.
NTO’s city was changed in an instant from a bustling and vibrant hub to a mass of steel beams and fire. The surrounding suburbs fared no better. The farms were turned to ash. Fires spread across the fields, killing the animals that had managed to survive the initial explosion. The river that flowed in twists around the colony turned black and became clogged with bodies and debris. Less than a thousand of the one billion people who lived on the colony would survive and these were the ones who happened to be in miraculously safe conditions at the time. A banker who was inside an enclosed vault. An examiner who was testing out a new freezing technology built inside a hardened bunker.
Everyone else was dead.
65
“What should we do about Lancelot?” the middle Dauphin asked the other two.
Even with no one else in the elders’ chamber, they were aligned in a ritualistic row in front of the displays that kept the asteroid’s systems functioning. Beside them, a stone panel slid aside to reveal additional holographic displays. On one, the Round Table vessels were launching probes to determine where threats might be located. On another, the Carthagen warriors, minus Lancelot, were regrouping for another attack. There was no image of the inside of Lancelot’s quarters but there was one of the corridor that led to it.
Ever since Lancelot had carried a large object down that tunnel and into his personal quarters—a blanket covering whatever it was to prevent anyone else from seeing it—the elders had begun to worry about their best warrior. To the leaders of a struggling alien species, that one covert act was more worrisome than any amount of disrespect the warrior had shown.
The display they looked at revealed medical bots going in and out of the room, as well as the occasional appearance of Lancelot when the Dauphin beckoned for him. However, the large object he had carried inside had never been brought back out.
The third Dauphin said, “Lancelot must realize we know the Round Table’s leader is in there. Swordnew and the others saw him carry the body away and it hasn’t been seen since. And yet our own warrior has never mentioned it to us. Very troubling.”
“I fear we are losing our greatest fighter,” the first elder said. “If we have not already.”
“What should we do?” the middle Dauphin asked again. He shifted his gaze from one display, where Curveddeath, Swordnew, and the others were coordinating their next attack on the transports, to one with a view outside Lancelot’s door.
The meaning of the question was obvious to the other two. Would it be better to have the other warriors eliminate Lancelot than it was to wait for Lancelot to betray the entire species?
“We do not know what he intends.”
This was true. Lancelot might be losing faith in the cause, but that didn’t mean he would actively fight alongside the humans against the Carthagens. What other reason could there be, though, for Lancelot to keep the leader of the Round Table in his private quarters unless they were planning something?
The middle Dauphin said, “We must also admit that we do not know if the other warriors could defeat Lancelot if we gave them that order.”
“We never should have allowed him to have both Meursaults.”
This comment was ignored by the other two Dauphin because there was no use in worrying about the past when the present offered enough problems.
The elder to the right said, “We cannot afford to lose the rest of the warriors in a fight against one of our own. It would be a death sentence for all of us.”
“Something else then?” the first Dauphin asked.
He turned to a darkened display and ran a finger through it. Holograms illuminated to reveal a series of floating symbols. Each had three black circles, the size of Carthagen fingertips. All three Dauphin would have to press a circle at the same time in order to activate the system. One of the symbols was of a Carthagen skull, illuminated in blood red. Another was the symbol that looked like a bomb erupting. Yet another was of cracks forming in a large rock—an asteroid crumbling to pieces.
The middle Dauphin shook his head and said, “Not now. Give Lancelot more time. I still have faith in him. If the time comes, we can consider these options then.”
The other two Dauphin nodded, but did not speak. The three elders turned back to the display that showed the corridor outside of Lancelot’s room, watching and waiting for any sign of what their warrior intended to do.
66
A little gray reptilian creature hissed, and the Round Table software translated him into Basic: “How could Arc-Mi-Die do this?”
A hairless human woman said, “Doesn’t he understand we need more time to discuss this?”
Hector’s hands, the one of flesh and also the one of metal and energy, were curled into fists, ready to smash the Round Table to pieces. His lungs felt empty, the way they would if he had been punched in the gut and needed to get his breath back. His eyes were closed as if a spell had been cast on him and he were asleep.
Winchester had a solemn tone when he spoke. “You cannot expect a warlord to act rationally.”
A MaqMac blurted a series of chirps that were translated to, “We were discussing this matter in good faith. For him to destroy another colony while we were addressing his demands is—”
Beside him, Hector felt Cimber rise to his feet and sighed, knowing that whatever was going to happen next wasn’t going to be good.
“Do you hear yourselves?” Cimber shouted, slamming his hands down on the thick wooden table. “Do you hear how foolish you sound? Did you really expect a vicious warlord to stand by idly while the Round Table debates endlessly?” Saliva flew from his mouth as he yelled. “Well, the galaxy doesn’t work that way. You all had days to come to some kind of agreement. The sad truth is you could have had years to discuss it and you still wouldn’t have been able to decide on anything. Each of you, every last one of you who bickered for the past few days rather than actually trying to find a resolution, is to blame for what happened on NTO.”
Hundreds of voices, alien and human alike, burst into outrage as they defended themselves. A Feedorian flitted above his chair, his wings allowing him to hover above where everyone else was sitting. A red Basilisk slammed his tail against the ground and roared. Octo rolled his eyes. Winchester shook his head and yawned.
Shaking with rage, Cimber sat down.
Cash stood in his place and picked up where his friend left off, although without screaming. “And yo
u know what the worst part is? In a few minutes we’ll go back to pointless arguing and still nothing will be settled.”
“Quiet,” Hector said to both of his friends.
Neither was interested in listening, though.
Cimber stood again. “You all just keep going back and forth like children. Another colony will be attacked and you’ll do it all over again, acting like the galaxy should come to a stop while you bicker.”
Hector shook his head. “Cimber...”
Cash said, “Meanwhile, a warlord is showing the entire galaxy just how ineffectual you are. While our forces are lost in an asteroid field.”
“Cash...”
Silence fell over the Great Hall. Most of the representatives had a look of outrage at being spoken to that way. Some were stunned at what had been said and stared wide-eyed at Cimber and Cash.
“This is ridiculous,” Cimber said, pushing his chair back and leaving the room.
Cash followed a moment later. Hector remained in his seat but his eyes were closed. He wished Vere were there to tell them what to do.
67
Margaret and Portia were two of the many onlookers who assembled periodically in the gallery that circled above the Great Hall. From the ring of windows that looked down at the Round Table, they could see every representative. They also witnessed the entire outburst as it unfolded.
“Don’t focus on them too much,” Portia said, putting an arm around Margaret and walking her toward the exit.
Julian’s wife stopped and turned. Portia’s arm fell from her friend’s shoulder when Margaret moved to the side.
She looked down at the hundreds of representatives again and said, “I hate to even be thinking what I feel like saying right now. I don’t even want to utter the words.”
Portia tried to smile but failed. “It’s okay.”
“You can’t tell anyone I ever said this.”
“Okay...” Portia said, not knowing what was going to be said next, not sure she wanted to hear it.
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