Captain of the Monte Cristo: a space opera retelling of the classic tale (Classic Retellings Book 1)

by Sarah K. L. Wilson

  “Sir, I do appreciate everything you’ve done—the medical attention and the promise to allow us to make repairs. You’re the governor here and you could have chosen to send us away without help. This is too much, though. I’ve been through regulation screenings. If I had the gift, it would have been detected by now. I’m afraid you are mistaken.”

  Napoleon continued his hard stare for a moment longer and then relinquished. “Perhaps, perhaps. How about a simple wager? I will continue to help you and your crew, regardless of the outcome. If you win, I’ll include a purse with enough to pay off your and Mercedes’ debts to the Company—enough to start a new life.”

  “That’s very... generous. If you win?”

  “When you return to your port of call, look up an old friend of mine who still survives in the Company. I will give you a message for him, and he will train you without any Company biases.”

  Edmond looked at the knight he’d already managed to capture. Napoleon was a Bacarrae master. Still, put against a purse large enough to free both Mercedes and himself from their indentured service, what could one note hurt? Surely there would be no harm in that.

  “You have yourself a wager.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE THING ABOUT EDMOND DANTE that was so troubling was that he didn’t understand the depths of man. He was selfishly unselfish, never realizing betraying his friends to give his enemies a fair chance was the worst of disloyalty. Fernand fidgeted in his chair, letting his musings run wild as the system logged him in. It was a good thing he knew his friend’s passwords—for both their sakes.

  Edmond couldn’t be trusted in political situations, even when he thought he should be. It was only prudent to rummage through his things to make sure he hadn’t gotten himself and the rest of the crew into more trouble than they could handle. Fernand would have been more sympathetic if he hadn’t seen his own chances of rising through the ranks stymied by the lieutenant’s doe-eyed view of humanity and his inability to keep his cards close to his chest.

  It only took a minute of quiet checking to find what he needed: notes and logs from his meeting with Napoleon. Fernand’s eyes widened as he skimmed the sparse notes he had made.

  “Edmond, you fool, you’ve doomed us all,” Fernand murmured to himself. After seeing the name associated with the man’s intended contact, he narrowed his eyes.

  Fernand pressed his index finger to his jaw and asked, “Villefort, can you come here?”

  After a moment, the doors swished open and the other man entered the Captain’s office. “Making yourself at home while the cats are away, Mondego?” he asked, placing his coffee mug down on the desk.

  “That implies I’m a mouse, Villefort.”

  “Well, you did flee the surface and get back on the ship as quickly as humanly possible. Don’t rats flee fire and flood?”

  “There was no entertainment in that hellhole.”

  “What’s Edmond been doing this whole time, then?” Villefort pulled his slate out of his breast pocket, triggered the holo feature, and twiddled with the projection so he could sort incoming messages while they spoke.

  “Fussing over the Captain, flirting with our medical officer—the usual.”

  “Ha. Well, you weren’t always so bitter about his good fortune. I always thought you were best friends.”

  “I was a fool. He’ll ruin us. Worst of all, he probably thinks he’s doing us a favor.”

  “Fernand, what are you talking about? You’re raving a little more than usual.”

  Fernand pulled up the notes he’d found, along with the name of the contact, and moved so Villefort could see.

  “He’s playing Bacarrae with their little dictator.”

  “Sweet mother of—” Villefort jerked up from reading the notes, not quite finished.

  “Yes.”

  “Mondego! I thought you went down to the surface to prevent something like this from happening!” Villefort’s frown didn’t disguise his pale face. He was just as nervous about this as Fernand.

  “That wasn’t up to me. We were separated for interviewing,” Fernand said, crossing his arms. “It was only coincidence that I saw Napoleon leaving the room before our idiot did.”

  “Of course you had to break into his cabins to investigate.”

  “You’ll be glad I did in a moment,” Fernand said, leaning a little closer to Villefort with a wicked grin. “I think I finally understand the source of all your mysterious Company debt.”

  Furious, Villefort’s face flushed, but he turned back to the notes and finished reading what Edmond had recorded. By the time he finished, his face had drained of color.

  “I didn’t know your father was a Napoleon sympathizer,” Fernand said. “It shines a light on everything, really.”

  “That’s what Edmond agreed to in the wager? Psychic training sessions with my father?” Villefort asked. “The interviewers will find that out—he won’t be able to lie to them.”

  “Apparently, Napoleon thinks he has the gift. He must think Dante can get away with it,” Fernand shook his head. “I rather doubt it, myself—he’s never shown any kind of talent before.”

  “It’s a shame you didn’t like Elba, Fernand. Odds are we’ll be back here before long as permanent residents,” Villefort glowered.

  “Oh, I doubt that. We’ll just disappear,” Fernand said. “If we do nothing, that is.”

  “You have a plan?”

  “Of course.”

  “A plan to save us all?”

  “Of course not, but things could work out for the two of us. We might even come out on top.” Fernand cut his hand through the air with a sense of finality. “I’m through pandering to Edmond and saving him at every turn from himself. He’s gone too far this time.”

  Villefort narrowed his eyes, but he nodded slowly. “What do you have in mind?”

  “First, we must promise each other that this cannot leave this room,” Fernand said. “We’ll need to stand united against the investigators.”

  “You’re planning to sacrifice your friend, Mondego. Is this something that you can do?”

  “Villefort, promise me!” Fernand said. “I’ll do my part.”

  Villefort nodded, “I swear.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  WHATEVER ELSE THE PLANET ELBA lacked in terms of luxury and freedom, the medical facilities were top notch. Mercedes had seen little else of the planet or the city; the inspector had even been accommodating enough to interview her in one of the hospital’s private waiting rooms, where family waited for news of loved ones. Mercedes had had no reason to leave.

  With the interview done and after a few hours of sleep, she had just replaced Edmond’s vigil at the Captain’s bedside and sent her fiancé off to rest. He’d looked terrible. Even worse, she had the feeling he was keeping something from her, which was very unlike him. She’d wheedle it out of him later—perhaps in bed—when they were done with this disastrous mission and back in proper civilization.

  Captain Moreau was still unconscious, although his vitals had improved. Mercedes was confident that, with just a little more time, they could safely move the man back to their ship and ferry him home. Because he had been wounded in the line of work, the Company’s benefit plan would surely take care of him, even though it was too early to say whether he could return to work. Mercedes drummed her fingers on her coffee cup, sipping the hot drink slowly.

  Surely some benefit could be reaped from this for the rest of them, as well. Waiting had given Mercedes time to think and plan—an area in which Edmond was woefully inadequate. No matter, she had plans enough for them both, and this mission could very well accelerate their careers, despite the obvious drawbacks.

  As acting captain in a time of crisis, there were sure to be accolades and bonuses awarded to him. The prize ship, while no great craft, still boasted a sound reactor and drive and could no doubt be repurposed within the fleet. Each crew member would get a purse for bringing it home.

  Her quick thinking and inn
ovation had saved the Captain’s life. The company cared little for an individual life, but a captain was a valued asset and hard to replace. True, this incident may push him into retirement, or at least lighter duties, but that was hardly her fault; her skills would hopefully be recognized. An advancement in her career could mean freedom from her Company debts, and Edmond would be secure enough to propose, so they could start a proper life together, instead of sneaking around Company protocol and stealing kisses when no one was looking.

  The only hitch was Elba. Their landing here would raise suspicions, and Company inspectors would ask the kinds of questions that required very careful answers. Napoleon was not to be trifled with, and the Company would think nothing of stating that saving a man’s life was a poor excuse for landing on a political quarantine.

  “What would you have done?” Mercedes murmured to her unconscious captain, his white hair disheveled and his normally alert eyes closed and peaceful. “We acted to save you, but perhaps you would have sacrificed yourself to save us all.”

  “We won’t know until he wakes,” came a voice from the door. It was so sudden that Mercedes nearly spilled her drink in surprise. She turned to see Fernand standing in the doorway, staring at the Captain’s inert form. “It would have been more convenient for everyone if he’d been killed outright.”

  “Fernand!” Mercedes shook her head. “Sometimes I wonder why we’re friends.”

  “I like to think it’s because you’re secretly in love with me,” he said, stepping closer.

  She regarded him for a few moments without speaking, but a smile played around her lips. “Don’t be so sure of yourself.”

  “You liked me just fine in the last port.” He leaned against the wall, at ease.

  “Shhh. I thought you said anyone could be listening.” She stood and walked over to him.

  Fernand leaned in close, his words pitched for her ears only. “Would you like to be with a ship’s captain someday?”

  She chuckled. “Try offering me something I don’t already have. Edmond will become captain from his heroics here.”

  “He might,” Fernand shrugged, looping a finger in a strand of her hair. “Then again, you know Edmond: he might do something to jeopardize us all.”

  “That’s quite a thing to say offhand,” Mercedes said. “I thought you were back on the ship, overseeing the repairs? Do you have ears everywhere, too?”

  “I have ears where they count.” Fernand said. He whispered, his lips so close that she could feel them brushing her ears, “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t know your dear fiancé may have sunk us all.”

  Mercedes narrowed her eyes. “How, exactly? He has a bright future ahead of him.”

  “Does he? I take it he didn’t tell you about his game of Bacarrae with Napoleon?”

  “Bacarrae?” Mercedes’s eyes widened. “What was he thinking?”

  “That he’s Edmond the Blessed—that butterflies and hearts come out when he exhales, and beautiful women fall at his feet.”

  “Fernand, this is serious!” Mercedes said. “What was the wager? What did he lose?”

  “Edmond the Self-Righteous, Champion of the People.” Fernand continued, “Of course he would believe he had a chance against Napoleon.”

  Mercedes grabbed the engineer by the shoulders, at last capturing his attention. “What did he lose?”

  This time, Fernand leaned so close that his lips really did brush her ear in a gentle kiss. “Why don’t you find out for yourself? I’d never ask you to trust me without proof.”

  “And if I find he’s torpedoed his career?”

  “Then it would be a shame for you to sink along with him.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE DOOR SWISHED OPEN AND Mercedes walked into the cabin, brushing her chin-length dark hair out of her face. With the Captain settled, sedated, and looking healthy, she should have been feeling relief. Instead, she felt like she was walking across broken glass. Every step had the possibility of either extreme pain or disaster. Did she dare hope either could be avoided?

  Edmond was bent over his holo-desk, poring over reports. He worked too hard—another of his “too”s. He was too honest, too detail-oriented, and too attentive. Mercedes’ mouth quirked into a gentle half-smile—it was the “too” that had drawn her to him in the first place on the Company orientation voyage. That bright-eyed, overly-perky guy on the officer track had been everywhere that first week; in the moments he wasn’t around, she’d missed him so much that she’d eventually sought him out, just like she was doing now.

  She leaned against the doorframe, letting her hourglass frame curve at its best angle. If the reflection in the windows was anything to judge by, her pose was just the right mix of innocence and seduction. She adjusted it by a hair before clearing her throat.

  “You work too hard, Edmond.”

  His brown eyes were tired when he looked up, but his smile was inviting. “I’m just double-checking everything. Now that we’re underway again, I want to make sure everything adds up for the Company audit. They’ll go over everything we did with a fine-tooth comb.”

  “Stripping your work bare?” she asked while sliding a hand up her side, showing off the violin-curve of her silhouette.

  “Exactly.” He didn’t notice her double meaning as he looked past her at the ship’s crest on the wall. “I want to be sure it’s all honest and above-board.”

  Mercedes swallowed as worry plucked at the strings of her mind. Fernand was right: Edmond was hiding something. She’d almost suspected Fernand of making it all up–it would have been very like him to suspect the worst of someone–but this anxiety wasn’t normal for Edmond.

  “The Captain is settled for the journey. I have a few hours before I need to check him, and you seem to have the journey in hand.”

  “Yes,” he said absently, running a hand through his hair.

  “Are you keeping something from me, my love?”

  If he was, he must have known it would ruin her, too. She hadn’t pulled herself up from a dirt-dweller planet-side life just to be thrust back down to it—not even for those deep, brown eyes and that charming dimple.

  “Of course not,” Edmond said, standing and drawing her into his arms. “Don’t trouble yourself.”

  She felt his heart pounding against her cheek. He was concealing the truth—she knew it just by looking at him and hearing his responses. The bitterness of it made every second more precious and vibrant. His hands on the small of her back, heavy and gentle in their pressure, sent a stab of pleasure-filled pain through her.

  She pulled back and took his face in two small hands. The rough stubble of his jaw made her eyes prickle with tears. If he was lying to her–and he was–this could be the last time she ever touched him like this. This could be the last time she held his chiseled jaw possessively in her hands and tasted his kiss. She indulged herself in a long, lingering taste of him. His soft lips and pliant tongue met hers in welcome, and she deepened the kiss as a pang of sorrow and desire shot from her breaking heart to deep below her belly.

  His hands ran up her sides, slowly exploring, as if he hadn’t done this a hundred times before. Edmond was never too anything in the bedroom—except for maybe too delicious. She met his eyes one last time, just to be sure. They were dark with desire, and his lips parted slightly. If tomorrow she chose to turn to Fernand to protect her–to keep her future from being darkened by Edmond’s–he’d see that as betrayal. He’d never forgive her.

  She had to be sure.

  “Tell me you wouldn’t risk yourself. Tell me you’re safe,” she crooned, standing on tiptoes to brush her lips across his jaw. It firmed under her caress, and he took her shoulders in his hands, thrusting her back to study her face.

  “You have nothing to worry about, Mercedes. I’ll never hurt you—I swear.” His caressing hands smoothing her hair from her face punctuated the affection in his words.

  She traced his smile with her eyes. So lovely a promise shouldn’t have accompanied a l
ie, yet it had. She closed her eyes, leaning in to kiss him again, passionate in her indecisive agony.

  She had a choice now. She could sink with him, letting him believe he could protect her as they both went down in flames, or she could spare herself. She didn’t like to think she was so selfish, but there was no way to save him from whatever promise he’d made if he wouldn’t tell her what it was. Knowing Edmond and his chivalry, he wouldn’t tell her if he thought just knowing about it could incriminate her.

  With her decision made, she opened her eyes, smiling through the jagged pain in her chest. She could give him a last gift–one for herself, too–and a memory to carry beyond all of this.

  She seized the front of his uniform in her fist, enjoying the surprise in his eyes, and led him toward the bed, hips swaying as she walked. He followed her eagerly, spinning her roughly as they reached the bed and scooping her off her feet to lay her gently down. Her heart fluttered with anticipation and her mouth was dry with the bitter sweetness of tasting his passion for the last time.

  “I still can’t believe you’re mine,” he said, his voice husky as he leaned over her to plant kisses from her mouth to her navel. He looked up with a flicker of a smile when he reached it. “I still can’t believe you’ll always be mine.”

  She closed her eyes so she wouldn’t show the hurt in them and wrapped her legs around him as if she really wouldn’t let him go. If only it were so simple—if only she could lose herself in his passion and never surface again. His kisses were fiery hot, burning a trail across her skin the way his lie had engulfed their future.

  CHAPTER NINE

  EDMOND RUBBED AT HIS NECK and shook his tired head to try to clear his muddled thoughts. There had been too much in the last few days with the Captain being wounded, the argument with Fernand about the pirates, and his game of Bacarrae with Napoleon.

  Perhaps he’d been a fool to take the wager, but something in Napoleon’s words had rung true. He didn’t have the courage to stand up to the Company, yet, but if what Napoleon had said was true, he already had the skills to make a difference. This would be a new chapter in his life; if it worked out, he would be able to provide for Mercedes beyond what he’d been able to imagine. Very soon, he could afford to tell her everything, but not before she was safe. It was risky to be sure, but without risk, there could be no reward.