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

by Sarah K. L. Wilson

  “To the side!” he called without needing to. His knights turned their shields to the side just in time to meet a rush of shadowy figures charging their flank. Fernand’s assassins flitted in and out of sight, gaining power from the shadows cast by the trees. The quarters were too close for his archers, so Dante ordered them back, sending the occasional arrow to the hidden assailants behind their wall to keep their heads down.

  “Break formation and make a firing lane!” he bellowed as he strode forward and added the might of his own sword to the dancing and whirling assassin fighters. His knights were hard-pressed, but they fell back to his commands, breaking into a pincer that left a clear path for his wizards and the special skill, “fire lance,” Dante had assigned them.

  Spears of flame pierced the shadows and crashed into several of the assassins not quick enough to get out of the way. Their screams were lifelike, and the flailing, burning forms lit up the shadowy gloom of the sparse forest for a moment before they fell to the ground and lay still. The other attackers, their shadows momentarily gone in the firelight, were exposed, and they fell to the swords of Dante’s knights. The assassins faded away, running in a frantic retreat.

  Dante whooped and gave chase with his knights by his side. They ran from the woods and into the broken city, where most walls were no higher than Dante’s head. More of Fernand’s assassins fell to arrows in the back as Dante’s archers stopped to fire rushed shots. He let the thrill of the hunt and of imminent victory wash over him as, for a second, he stopped watching Fernand’s mind, his need for revenge overtaking all else now that it was so close..

  You are undone, the other man’s voice was mocked in Dante’s head. He realized his folly; he’d done the same thing to the Red League, after all, drawing out the enemy and leading them into a trap.

  He called his units to ground, but he was too late. Small bombs flew from the surrounding buildings and the resulting explosions filled the space with smoke and fire, a menagerie of shadow and blinding light. It was the woodland knights’ turn to scream for the relief of death as they burned, clawing at their clothes, the cruel chemicals layering everything in hellish napalm. Dante clawed at his armor, pulling it off as the sticky stuff nearly burned through it and branded parts of his arm with searing pain.

  Small clashes of solo battles rang out in the billowing smoke, and it was only by the leaderboard that Dante knew the fight was now evenly matched. He no longer had the advantage of numbers, and his forces were being beaten back amidst the surprise attack.

  The pain was immense in his arm and he fought to gain control of his thoughts once again, in order to direct his units. He split his mind and gave the pain to his other self, so he could focus on the task at hand. Fernand’s avatar stepped from the shadows and drew two wickedly curved short swords with skulls gleaming at the hilts. The man was always showing off—always so cocky. He had changed. He’d gotten worse.

  “Time to finish this,” Dante said through the normal channels.

  “I’ve got a surprise for you, as well. The restraints in all the other control pods have been disabled, yours included,” Fernand said, stalking around his enemy. “Sometimes a mortal blow will kill a player in a full-immersion rig, but now it definitely will.”

  With lightning speed, Fernand struck.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  DANTE PULLED HIS UNIT BACK and the blow that would have normally been pushed aside by his breastplate instead cut deep into his already-hurt arm. Pain filled his shoulder as the bio patches registered the hit. He looked in dismay as the special attack did its most significant damage, disabling his own special ability for a period of time. He’d been saving it, but now it was useless.

  He recoiled from the strike, but managed to put the pain away in his other self, retaliating with a one-handed low-guard slash when Fernand thought the pain had overwhelmed him. The man only barely parried the attack before dancing away warily.

  The next attack came quickly as a thrust of a master duelist, but Dante turned aside. Fernand went with it and spun around behind his opponent. It was at an awkward angle for his knight, but it gave him more than the upper hand. Dante felt a hand on his shoulder and was suddenly thrown through the air to land roughly on his belly. Pain flared throughout his body, and he saw red for a moment before shaking his head to clear it. A rough hand grabbed him by the back of the neck, dragging him up. He was suddenly face to face with Fernand.

  “There’s only two of us left, now,” Fernand said, punching Dante in the gut with his free hand before holding one of his short swords to his enemy’s throat, “and that means you’re all out of surprises.”

  “Not quite,” Dante said while he gasped for breath. He stared into the eyes of Fernand, even as his mind sought out the man’s mental equivalent. “You wanted to know who I was.”

  He focused all his thoughts and mental powers in a torrential attack against the other man’s psyche. He called upon the assistance of the Monte Cristo and fed the memory of every tortured night, every hoarded experience of pain he had lived with in the Chateau D’If right into Fernand’s mind.

  The shock on his face was more than satisfying as he staggered back, dropping his blades and holding the sides of his head as if they’d explode. His face paled, his hands shaking at his side.

  “How? Those memories...” His eyes met Dante’s, fear thick in his gaze. “Edmond?”

  “Yes.” Dante let his expression finally show the full measure of his hate.

  “You died in prison—I saw the report, myself.”

  “Do I look dead to you?”

  “Not dead enough!” Color rushed back into Fernand’s face as he launched a special attack, summoning magical blades and whirling into a storm of cutting swords. His aim was off, though, and Dante was able to defend with his sword, pushing the attack away. He locked his normal blade with Fernand’s magical one, grinning when they met face to face.

  “That’s what you hoped, wasn’t it, Fernand? It would have been so much easier if I’d have died, just how it would have been easier to kill the crew of the pirate ship we took.”

  Fernand redoubled his attack.

  “Did you think no one would ask you to pay for your crime? I’m here to put a knife in your back the way you put one in mine.”

  Fernand swallowed, retreating as he gathered his thoughts, but then his expression cleared. “No, it’s impossible. You’re an imposter after my company. It doesn’t matter who you claim to be—it’s only the two of us left, and only one of us can walk away from this. You die today.”

  The magical blades spun again, but with focus and determination, this time. Dante met him with showers of sparks in the smoky air. Distantly, Dante was aware of other small battles, but neither he nor Fernand were interested in being interrupted. This was between them; he’d always known it would come to this.

  “You took years away from me! You took Mercedes away from me! You raised my son as your own!” Dante spat his accusations like poisonous darts, rage powering his strikes to come harder and harder. Fernand was forced back a half step at a time. “It had to be you! Only you would have devised this plan. Villefort only cared about money and Mercedes had herself to save, but you would have betrayed me easily. Why? To save your career? Your reputation? We were friends, Fernand! Friends don’t do that!”

  “Friends?” Fernand panted from the effort of defending himself. “How could anyone be friends with you? Dante the Blessed! Dante the Golden Boy! Dante, who looked out for everyone above his friends—above his fiancée! I saved Mercedes from you! I saved Albert from a life in which he would always come second!”

  “You didn’t save them—you sentenced them both, Fernand, because you never put anyone above yourself!”

  “And what would you call this little revenge of yours, Dante? Selfless?”

  With a furious attack, Dante spun Fernand to the ground, his weapon inches from the man’s throat. It was here at last: his enemy on the ground, weaponless, vulnerable, and at his mer
cy. Rage filled him, drowning out all else.

  Fernand looked up at him with cold eyes, too proud to plead, but not too proud to die.

  “Edmond, no!” Mercedes’ voice cut across the landscape just as he was about to take the final blow. His eyes widened with surprise. She’d entered their battle, but why? Was her husband dear to her, after all?

  “For the sake of your own soul, Edmond, don’t taint it with revenge.” Her avatar looked exactly like her as she glided toward them. “You were never this man, Edmond. Have mercy on us.”

  No mercy, the ship said in his mind.

  “Mercy?” Dante’s jaw dropped at the thought of showing mercy now, when his revenge was so close he could almost taste it on his lips. Her eyes were dark pools as she pled with him. Had she pled for his future with Fernand as she was pleading now for his? Jack had accused him of losing his humanity and now Mercedes did, as well. His head spun.

  Don’t listen to her. Seize what is yours.

  He hesitated, only for a moment, but it was enough for Fernand.

  The man sent out a psychic blast so powerful that it sent him flying backward. The blast was indiscriminate with destruction sent in all directions. He rolled across the landscape, his vision black for a moment, but he forced his mind to be strong and protect itself. He felt the ship reinforcing his barriers, protecting him from the worst of it.

  I felt that, the Monte Cristo said. If you didn’t have my protection, I’m not sure even you could have withstood such a blow.

  The thought echoed in his mind as he pulled himself to his feet. A few feet away, Mercedes laid in a limp heap on the ground. Dante felt himself grow cold. Ignoring his own safety, he rushed to her side.

  His emotions were so jumbled that he couldn’t have said which was most prominent. Fear for her safety mixed with old bitterness and lingering hope. Her avatar was dead—that meant nothing on its own. He forced himself to hope, but then he felt it.

  The resonance between him and Albert shuddered with grief as his son mourned. She was gone—gone before he ever had the chance to ask her why she had made her choices. His feeling of loss overwhelmed all the rest until, for the first time in years, his desire for revenge seemed to fall away. Loss hollowed his heart and he blinked back stinging tears—the first he’d cried in more than a decade.

  He was cold and numb. It felt almost as if he were watching himself from far away. Fernand strode toward him, his eyes only on Mercedes.

  The man’s face was haunted, drawn, and pale, as if he had watched his own death. He looked small, like he were of no more importance than floating debris in an asteroid field. Dante swallowed. Did it even matter if Fernand lived or died? Did it matter if he was ruined or wealthy? He had wanted so long to make him pay, but now it felt so empty.

  Hot and searing, tears formed and fell from his eyes. His world spiraled around him, as if the anchor had been lost, and in a moment of horror, he saw himself standing beside Fernand and the fallen Mercedes and could no longer see any difference between himself and them..

  Mercy. Mercedes had asked for mercy, and it wasmercy he would give to her husband. He lifted his sword and killed Fernand’s avatar with a single overhead blow, not bothering to make it dramatic for the crowd. If his victory was hollow to him, it should be for them, as well.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  DANTE STARED AT THE STARS in the distance through the massive porthole on the viewing deck as his ship pulled gently out of her docking slip. The Monte Cristo was the only ship he’d ever known who didn’t need her Captain at the helm for such a careful maneuver, but then again, the ship technically didn’t need him, at all.

  I might not need you, but I do find your company educational. This idea of mercy still escapes me. She asked you to be merciful to her husband by sparing his life, yet you used the same word when you killed his avatar.

  She thought I would kill him, I think. She didn’t realize I only planned to strip him of everything.

  You mourn her. It occurs to me that perhaps you didn’t want revenge on her, after all.

  Perhaps he didn’t. His emotions surrounding Mercedes were still tangled and confused. Above all, he felt loss, but for the first time in years, he could remember what they’d had before her betrayal. His memories were filled with fondness. If only she’d told him she was pregnant—if only she’d had the faith to trust him. Perhaps she hadn’t known, herself.

  The hatch opened and Dante turned to see Jack walk through.

  “I believe I owe you an apology,” he said, still looking at the stars

  Jack looked around the lonely observation deck, as if checking to be sure no one else was there.

  “You came through for me, Captain, and we’re leaving this place whole and together. I think that’s enough—we don’t need to get flowery about it. Are you done with all of this, now? Can we move on and find a new start somewhere? We certainly have the money to try.”

  Dante had liquefied Mondego Industries in the days following his win, leaving his entire crew fabulously rich when their shares were drawn up.

  “I’m done with it, Jack, but I think that something—between us, at least—needs to change.”

  “Oh?”

  Anxiety colored Jack’s eyes and Dante let it sit for a moment before finishing,

  “I think, from now on, you should call me Edmond.”

  Jack laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “Consider it done. Where’re we headed, Edmond?”

  “I was thinking Davrini Hacken.”

  “Well, at least you have the wardrobe for it.”

  “Exactly.”

  A shuttle is hailing us, the ship said.

  A shuttle?

  It is Albert Mondego.

  Dante reached out with psychic fingers toward the resonance that was an almost constant buzz, vibrating in tune with his own psychic aura. Albert?

  He’d never tried this outside the game, and he certainly hadn’t in the days following Mercedes’ death. When he’d emerged from the arena, the look in the boy’s eyes had seared him to the core. He knew that kind of hatred—he’d been seeing it in his own mirror for as long as he could remember.

  My mother told me something before her death. I need to know if it is true.

  Ask your question.

  Can I come aboard?

  In answer, the ship latched onto Albert’s shuttle, drawing it into the bay below.

  “Your son?” Jack asked, looking out the port window.

  “Yes,” Dante said. He didn’t know what he would say to the boy. How would he explain the deception he’d used to destroy his family and future? How would he explain how sorry he was becoming for ruining the life of the only family member he’d had?

  “Let’s hope he doesn’t take after you. I’ve seen enough of revenge.”

  Dante ran a hand through his hair. Was that what the boy was here for? He could feel the ship guiding Albert up to the observation deck, moments away. If he was here for revenge, Dante wouldn’t stop him. He would never be able to lift a hand against his own son.

  Is that more humanity talking?

  The hatch opened again and Albert entered, his young face tight with determination and his eyes as hard as rocks.

  “I think I’ll leave you to it,” Jack said, nodding acknowledgment before leaving the room.

  Albert strode to Dante, squaring his shoulders. His eyes were red around the rims and his fists clenched nervously at his sides. The older man swallowed, but kept his posture relaxed. There was no need to frighten his son—he wouldn’t stop him from whatever he was here to do.

  “You’re my father. My mother told me while you were in the Bacarrae game before she...” he paused. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

  “It’s true.”

  “You used me to get to my parents, and now my mother is dead and my father is alive, but utterly ruined.”

  “Yes.” It was the hardest word he’d ever spoken. His revenge was dust in his mouth.

  Albert drew himself
taller, like he was summoning the courage for this moment. Here it was: Dante’s fate. “I don’t believe in revenge,” the boy’s voice shook as he spoke. “My mother always said it hollowed the soul.”

  She’d been right about that. Dante’s eyes widened, curiosity and surprise filling him in equal measure.

  “I think you owe me something, though, now that you’ve taken everything.”

  “Anything.” The boy could have anything Dante had to give—he only had to ask.

  “A chance to get to know my real father.” Albert’s brown eyes looked just like his mother’s when he said, “I’m coming with you. For now, at least.”

  Edmond Dante’s eyes stung, tears leaving hot tracks on his cheeks. He hadn’t felt anything like this in so long that he wasn’t sure what it was, at first. It was relief, certainly, and wonder, but it was also something more.

  Humanity? the ship asked.

  In a way, Dante replied. It’s love.

  THE END

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  JOHN GUNNINGHAM lives in the flatlands of Saskatchewan with his wife, two kids and two pure bred shelties. He writes spec fiction and the odd poem when he’s not forced into life’s necessities of family, day jobs and sleep. He’s currently working on several short and novel length projects with an eye towards self-publishing. One project among them a collaborative effort with fellow Canadian Sarah K. L. Wilson. johngunningham.blogspot.ca/

  Daydreaming is what SARAH K. L. WILSON does best. When she was a kid, her family took long road trips and she spent a lot of time looking out the window and daydreaming stories to entertain herself. Now she writes them down and entertain other people. She find run-of-the-mill stories boring and she loves philosophy, so if you want something different and with a mind-bending twist then look no further.