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Authors: Zachary Jones

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BOOK: Refusing Excalibur
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Victor didn’t believe him, but still the arm looked nice. He wasn’t an expert on prosthetics, but he knew technology, and what he saw looked advanced.
The prosthetic was made of a light-absorbing matte black composite material.
“Has this been sized for me?” Victor asked.
“No,” Quill said. “Doesn’t need to be.”
Victor looked down at the stump resting in the sling on his chest, wrapped in a layer of bandages.
Can’t say I’ve enjoyed the experience of having one hand. And my life has been hard enough. So why the hell not?
He pulled the sling over his head and let it drop to the deck. A part of him, the part forged in the halls of the Savannah Naval Academy, wondered what the proper etiquette was for putting on a mechanical arm in the presence of a world’s de facto leader. But most of him was eager to have a right hand again.
He unwrapped the bandages from his stump, which was still red from healing. He then picked up the prosthetic from its case and stared at it for a moment, holding its open end toward him.
He plunged the stump of his arm into the opening, glad to feel only minor pain. The sleeve expanded to fit his arm, and his flesh tingled. The open hand twisted side to side as it aligned itself with the bones of his arm.
Victor flinched when the hand snapped into a fist. He stared at the clenched fist for a few seconds and then
opened
it.
“Oh, wow,” Victor said, as he flipped the hand around, wiggling the fingers. It felt almost like his real hand. “That was fast.”
“Yes,” Quill said. “That prosthetic is cutting-edge. It interprets the signals from your nervous system and adjusts itself accordingly. Therefore, acclimation is almost instant.”
“I see.” Victor tried to pull off the hand with his left hand. It didn’t budge. “What’s holding it in place?”
“It anchored itself to your bones,” Quill said.
“Bones?” Victor said incredulously. “It didn’t even hurt.”
“I take it that you like it?” Quill asked.
“It’s better than a stump, that’s for sure,” Victor said.
“Good,” Quill said. He snapped his fingers. Instantly the side door opened again, this time for a line of servants carrying covered trays.
The servants set the trays on the table and then laid out plates, cutlery, and glasses in front of the four mercenaries.
Then the servants removed the covers, revealing a cornucopia of fine food. The sight was appetizing, the smell more so.
“Don’t wait for me,” Quill said with a wide smile on his face. “Dig in!”
“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Gaz said. He picked up a whole roast chicken off a platter and dug into it with his spiked teeth.
Victor tried to ignore Gaz’s less-than-perfect table manners and served himself a slice of steak.
With a fork held in his new hand, he stabbed a small morsel he had cut off and guided it to his mouth. The meat was succulent, but Victor was more impressed with how well the hand worked.
Victor ate with relish. He was once again reminded how he hadn’t had a meal this good since the last one his mother had cooked.
All of a sudden, he dropped his fork on his plate with a half-chewed piece stuck in his mouth as his appetite disappeared in a sudden wave of nausea.
Victor swallowed the last of his food, then said, “Excuse me,” and stood.
The others watched him; even Gaz stopped ripping apart another chicken to stare at him with concern.
“Is there a problem with the food?” asked Holace Quill, looking up from his filleted fish.
“No, no. Nothing is wrong with the food. I just…” He felt his stomach churn. “Is there a bathroom?”
“Yes, my servant can show you,” Quill said.
“This way, sir,” a well-dressed man said.
Victor followed the servant out the main door, his mouth firmly clamped shut lest he risk throwing up all over the deck. The man stopped at a clearly marked men’s room just on the other side of the corridor of the main hall.
Victor pushed open the door and walked in, making a beeline for the nearest stall, and promptly threw up the fine food he had just eaten.
He was dry heaving by the time the wave of nausea passed.
He tore some tissue from a wall dispenser in the stall and wiped his mouth before throwing it into the toilet and hitting the Flush button.
He then walked over to the sink and ran the faucet, splashing cold water on his face.
God, I need to be more careful about where I am when I think of home,
Victor thought.
Probably best if I just tried to forget
.
He filled a cup resting next to the sink and drank some water, swishing it around his mouth before spitting into the sink. The nausea disappeared, along with his appetite. Which was probably for the best. He washed his hands and left the bathroom.
Outside, instead of the servant who had guided him to the bathroom, Victor found Holace Quill waiting for him.
“I’d like to talk to you,” Quill said.
“If this is about what just happened, I—”
Quill interrupted him with an upraised hand. “It’s not that. I’ve been meaning to speak with you in private.”
Why?
Victor thought. “Uh, what for?”
“I think that we have much to discuss, Captain
Victor Selan
,” Quill said.
Victor’s blood froze. “How…?”
“I’ll explain in my office,” Quill said, turning to walk down the corridor. Neither of his bodyguards were in sight.
Victor followed the high councilor to his office, which was comfortable, but surprisingly spare. It seemed more suited for actual work than impressing guests.
Quill sat in the office chair behind his desk as Victor walked inside. “You probably are curious how I know who you are.”
“I am,” Victor said.
“You look a lot like a young diplomat from Savannah I met a couple years ago,” he said.
“Daniel.”
Quill nodded, “Yes, Daniel Selan. He made a very compelling case for an alliance between Mustang and Savannah. I’m sorry about what that beast Quintus Marsh did to him.”
Victor nodded. He was surprised how much it still hurt to think of Daniel’s murder, after everything that had happened afterward. “I assume you want to do more than just express your sympathy.”
Quill smiled and nodded. “Quite right, Captain. I’ll be direct. With Savannah destroyed, the Free Worlds will be Emperor Magnus’ next target for conquest.”
“And you want my help fighting him when that happens,” Victor said.
“Exactly,” Quill said.
Victor folded his arms across his chest. “Why should I help you when you did nothing to help my world?”
Quill’s expression was apologetic. “I am truly, truly sorry about what happened to your homeworld. I never thought even the Lysandrans were capable of such savagery.”
“They were after twelve years of war,” Victor said.
“Evidently,” Quill said. “Which is why Mustang and the Free Worlds in general must be ready to oppose the Lysandran Empire when they finally get around to invading us. Otherwise the Free Worlds risk suffering the same fate as Savannah.”
Victor’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps they deserve it. My brother visited most of the Free World asking for help. All he got was a public execution.”
Quill pointed at Victor. “Don’t condemn all the Free Worlds for the actions of one despot.”
“I’m not. Just for their inaction,” Victor said. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll take my money and go.” Victor stood, his arms falling to his sides.
Quill gave Victor a smile, cold as ice. “I don’t think it’s money you’re interested in.”
“And why do you think that?”
Quill chuckled. “Because I’m good at reading people. What you experienced, what you lost, that does not inspire greed. That inspires vengeance. Something I can give to you.”
Victor crossed his arms again. “How?”
“Help me put together an alliance of Free Worlds strong enough to not only to oppose the Lysandran Empire but defeat them, drive them back to their homeworld. Then I’ll give you Magnus Lacano to do with as you wish.”
A hunger rose within Victor. He saw the path laid out before him. He nodded slowly. “All right. But there’s just one more thing I need before I agree to help you.”
Quill smiled in triumph, resting his back against his chair. “Name it.”
“I need a ship.”
Part II
Blackhand
Two Years Later
Chapter 12
The first months after his return to Lysander had been triumphant for Magnus. The people screamed, “Emperor Magnus!” as confetti rained down from the tall towers of New Pergamum. Similar scenes had awaited him on the vassal worlds during his victory tour of his empire.
Then, precisely six months after Magnus had burned Savannah to a cinder, the Imperial economy collapsed due to a combination of the heavy debt burden the empire had taken on during the war and the near annihilation of its merchant fleet by Savannan commerce raiders.
Magnus was as angry now as he had been the day he gave orders for Savannah to burn. Even in death, the wretched planet and the dregs of its people were still the scourge of his empire. Three-quarters of Magnus’ fleet were now in storage. Tens of millions of unemployed soldiers, sailors, and marines flooded the empire’s depressed job market, driving the unemployment rate above 30 percent in some areas.
The days spent planning battles were instead spent listening to the bleatings of nobles and businessmen.
Lord Taylor Daelus, a short middle-aged man with mouse-brown hair, currently spoke. He was the head of the Imperial Chamber of Commerce. “Your Majesty, you have thousands of warships sitting in mothballs doing nothing while I have goods gathering dust in warehouses waiting for freighters that never come. I propose that some of those warships be refitted as freighters and placed in service with the Imperial Merchant Marine. They would replace many of the merchant vessels lost during the war.”
Magnus fought the urge to roll his eyes as he looked down from his throne. “Lord Taylor, your proposal has the same problem as simply building new freighters has. It requires money the empire does not have at the moment.”
“This would be less expensive, Your Majesty,” Daelus said.
“But not free, and further it would be depriving our forces of warships they may need in the future, thus hurting the security of the empire,” Magnus said. He glanced to his left, noting Lysandra’s empty seat. It was not unheard of for the Imperial heir to be late for court, but, thus far, she had not showed up at all.
Where is that girl?
“Your Majesty, the empire is at peace. Do we really need so many warships?” asked Daelus.
“Peace is simply the break between wars, Lord Taylor. When the next war comes, I intend for my empire to be ready for it,” Magnus said. He waved his hand. “You are dismissed.”
Daelus moved his mouth, as if to protest, but wisely bowed instead. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
Magnus nodded and rose to leave. The herald cried out that court had now ended.
Exiting through a side door, Magnus removed the Imperial crown, a simple circlet of interwoven white gold wires and blue sapphires, the colors of House Lacano, and placed it on a pillow held by a servant.
He then went to his private study, depositing himself in the thick leather seat behind the old hardwood desk that had been with his family since the Fall.
He opened a drawer, and pulled out a cigar and lighter. He lit the cigar and took a long drag from it, exhaling the rich tobacco smoke in a prolonged sigh. It had been an unending day.
A knock came at the door.
“What is it?” asked Magnus, irritated at the intrusion.
“General Solari is here with your intelligence briefing, Your Majesty,” the guard said.
Magnus had forgotten. “Send him in.” He took another pull from his cigar as the rotund man in the black uniform of the Imperial Marines walked in.
Uther Solari was short and bald as an egg. It was hard to imagine that, many years ago, he had served as an infantryman. Now he was the head of Imperial Intelligence.
Solari bowed. “Your Majesty.”
“Uther, welcome. Do you have something interesting for me today?” asked Magnus, drawing circles in the air with the smoking tip of his cigar.
“Why, yes, Your Majesty,” Solari said. He walked up and set his tablet on the desk. “We found him.”
Solari could be speaking of only one
him
. “Where?”
“Mustang, Your Majesty. Apparently Captain Selan has had remarkable success as a mercenary in the Free Worlds,” Solari said.
“
Hrmm
.” Magnus leaned back into the cushions of his seat and took another long pull of his cigar as he thought. The lifepod he had placed Selan in had disappeared from its orbit over the sterilized cider of Savannah. The ships he had left to stand watch over Selan didn’t detect any vessels picking up the pod. It had simply vanished. Now it appeared Savannah’s last son had somehow made his way to the wealthiest of the Free Worlds.
BOOK: Refusing Excalibur
9.83Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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