She began to reach for her helmet when Traskk’s tongue flickered. Pausing, she said, “I need the translator in my helmet to understand what you’re saying.”

  When he didn’t respond, she picked the helmet up, scooped it over her head, then latched it in place. Nothing. She groaned. The Treagon barrier was preventing the software in her suit from working.

  “My suit doesn’t function in here,” she said. “Can we step outside?”

  Traskk’s eyes narrowed. She expected him to refuse but his nostrils widened in a snort of amusement and he stood. She guessed he thought he was being led out into the alley for a fight and was looking forward to relieving some aggression.

  Each part of her suit came to life as it passed underneath the doorway and entered the alley behind Eastcheap. There were aliens of all types nearby but none of them wanted to mess with an angry-looking Basilisk and a Carthagen in full armor. When she spoke next, the sweet tone of her young, human voice was replaced by the mechanical drone of her suit’s voice modulator.

  “Okay,” she said, “say whatever you were going to say inside.”

  A string of hisses was translated to, “I said, I don’t know who you are, I don’t think you actually knew Vere or else I would have seen you before, and if you don’t stop bothering me I’m inclined to rip your face off.”

  Lancelot took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. Part of her, the segment of her personality that refused to back down from any fight and welcomed showing anyone who challenged her what her vibro lances and Meursaults were capable of, gave a smile. It also amused her that the reptile had gotten up from his seat and gone outside just to convey that message, and she appreciated how welcoming he was of the prospect of a brawl. Under different circumstances, she had no doubt she could become good friends with this creature.

  “You’re right. I didn’t used to know Vere,” she said. Before Traskk’s temper could be tested, she added, “I know her right now.”

  The Basilisk’s clawed hands curled into fists. His heavy tail slammed against the ground.

  Lancelot had complete faith that the things Mortimous and Vere said were intended to help. She also appreciated the recommendation to get assistance from one of Vere’s old friends. That said, the reptile was making it difficult for her to keep her composure and not withdraw one or both Meursaults.

  A low growl was translated into Lancelot’s earpiece as, “No one has seen Vere in a long time. I’ll make this easy for you: prove you somehow know her or I’m going to start tearing your arms off, one by one.”

  If anyone else threatened Lancelot in a similar fashion, she would have sliced them apart. Now, though, feeling as if she were losing precious time, she forced her hands to remain at her sides.

  Closing her eyes, feeling calm come over her, she listened to what the woman in the tan robes had to say, then repeated it.

  “You used to sit inside there with her, a fat thief named Fastolf, an old man named Occulus, and a mute co-pilot named A’la Dure. You sat there every day until Baldwin and Morgan showed up. Occulus was killed first, in the Forest of Tears. A’la Dure was touched by a Scyphozoan in the same forest. Fastolf was killed years later at the hands of Mowbray’s guards. Baldwin died in the attempt to free Vere from the lava prison. Morgan died in the blood tunnels.”

  It had started out as a simple game of listening to what Vere told her and then repeating it, but after giving a name to each loss, it became more difficult to continue because of the effect the words had on the Basilisk. In front of her was someone who had lost everyone he had ever known. It had turned him into someone who wanted nothing more than to drink the days away, threatening anyone who tried to befriend him.

  The reptile gave a low gurgle of sadness. His tail went limp and dragged on the ground. His arms reached for her, but instead of clawing at her he hugged her and wouldn’t let go.

  “She didn’t abandon you,” Lancelot said while Traskk held onto her. “I know it seems that way, but that’s not what she intended. She’s on a journey. You don’t realize it yet but she still sees you every day.”

  The Basilisk’s bulbous eyes closed, and Lancelot knew he was doing that in order to keep the tears from escaping.

  He hissed a barely audible question and she replied, “Each night, you have bad dreams. You think they are memories haunting you but it’s actually Vere trying to communicate with you. It’s easier for her to reach you when you’re asleep because that’s when you’re mind is at peace. But you carry so much anger and resentment with you that even then you only ever have a fading glimpse of her voice. She wants me to tell you that you’re not being punished. You weren’t forgotten. She visits you because you’re loved.”

  A drunken Watchneen bumped into them on his way down the alley. Lancelot saw the look that came over Traskk’s face. In that moment, the reptile would have loved nothing more than to have the chance to rid himself of all the pent up emotions going through him. The easiest way for that to happen would be to rip the Watchneen to pieces.

  “It would probably be a good idea if you leave the alley,” she told the alien, trying to do her part to ensure it remained alive a little longer.

  The Watchneen turned and appraised the two aliens standing close together. One was an alien with four arms and full armor that was twice the Watchneen’s size. The other was a Basilisk with claws even longer and sharper than its own. Without saying a word, the Watchneen nodded and disappeared around the corner.

  Traskk turned his attention back to Lancelot. His eyelids drooped with the weight of sadness.

  A hiss was translated into Lancelot’s helmet as, “How can I help?”

  54

  Traskk listened as Lancelot explained the situation.

  “The android I’m following knows I’m nearby. There’s a good chance that as soon as I go back out on the street I’ll be attacked.” She tapped the handles of her four weapons. “Normally, that would be fine. But I can’t allow J to escape.”

  “I’ll get the android while you face the attackers?” he said.

  “It’s not that simple. It will self-destruct if it knows it’s going to get caught, I’m sure of it. I’ll need you to hold the attackers off while I capture J. When the chaos breaks out, it will look like I’m running away but you have to trust me that I’m not.”

  Traskk’s eyelids narrowed. Trust was not his strong suit. It wasn’t for most Basilisks, but especially not for him after everything he had gone through. On the desert moon of Dela Turkomann, a traitor had caused all of Traskk’s limbs to be cut off. His own best friend had vanished without saying goodbye. Now, a stranger was claiming to know someone who hadn’t been seen in years and was asking him to risk his life for her.

  He hissed, “Say something to make me believe you,” then waited for his words to be translated inside the woman’s helmet.

  Vere’s friend, a human woman pretending to be an alien warrior, paused for a moment, then said, “Remember how angry you were when you got back to Edsall Dark and found Scrope? Vere says you and Morgan argued forever over who would be allowed to kill him. Go out in the street and become just as mad as you were that day. If you resent Vere for leaving without saying goodbye, take it out on everyone in Folliet-Bright.”

  He considered this for a moment, then flicked his tail over and over against the ground as the adrenaline took over. His claws flexed. His tongue darted in and out of his mouth in anticipation.

  “That’s good enough for me,” he said and headed down the alley, toward the street.

  55

  As soon as news of the attack on EndoKroy filtered back to Edsall Dark, a new wave of marches filled the streets. People chanted for General Reiser to lead the Round Table. They called for him to order the fleet to disperse across the galaxy, find Arc-Mi-Die, and bring him to justice once and for all.

  “What good are representatives if they won’t represent!” half the people chanted.

  “We need a ruler who will rule!” the other half replied in synchronized yells.

  In between the demonstrators’ chants, people called out Julian’s name with various titles preceding it. King Reiser. Emperor Reiser. Rightful heir of the Sword in the Stone.

  The marches started outside the Great Hall and made their way all throughout CamaLon, passing directly in front of Julian’s home so he knew how they felt.

  Cash and Cimber listened to the citizens of Edsall Dark when they passed the Great Hall. It was impossible to ignore them.

  “This isn’t good,” Cimber said.

  The only reason the comment made Cash smile was because, considering it was coming from a man whose only way of expressing outrage was screaming and curses, it was an understatement of epic proportions.

  “I know. If we don’t do something soon, it will be too late.”

  56

  “They mean well,” Julian said as he and Hector looked out his office window at the street full of protesters.

  “They’ve lost sight of what is truly important and all it took was a warlord no one will remember in another decade.”

  “Hector, he decimated EndoKroy. He’s destroyed colonies all around the galaxy, and he has at least a dozen more Excalibur ships at his disposal. The people have a right to be afraid. They also have a right to expect more from the representatives who have done nothing to offer solutions.”

  Both of them watched the endless stream of men and women, humans and aliens, walking past Julian’s home. Most yelled some variation of the sentiment that Julian was the leader they needed. Some also had signs offering unflattering portrayals of the representatives who sat at the Round Table.

  Hector said, “You would deny them, though, right?”

  Julian’s mouth curled with frustration. “How could I? I can’t turn my back on the people. They just want to feel safe.”

  “There’s a better way. I told you, take my seat. Bring about change without destroying everything we worked to build.” When Julian didn’t reply, Hector added, “I need to hear you say you won’t try to become ruler.”

  Julian’s eyes were locked on the crowds of people outside his house. “You make it sound like I would automatically become Mowbray Vonnegan or Mistus the Brutalizer. It wouldn’t be like that at all. I’m not that type of person. I don’t want to be a ruler, I just want to keep everyone safe. And it wouldn’t be forever, it would only be until the threat was gone.”

  “Do something for me, then.”

  “Name it.”

  “Give the Sword in the Stone back.”

  Julian laughed. “Back to who? It was buried in rock.” When Hector didn’t think the comment was funny, Julian added, “Someone else would just take it. Better for me to keep it.”

  “People will believe anything when they’re scared. The sword makes them think you’re somehow worthy of leading the galaxy.”

  Julian gave a playful smile. “Am I not worthy?”

  “Give it to the Round Table then,” Hector said. “Maybe it will instill confidence in the representatives again if the sword lays in the middle of the table.”

  Julian shook his head and sighed, any trace of joking gone. “Hector, the sword is mine. For better or worse, it’s mine. And the people will have more confidence in the representatives if the representatives ever actually start leading. If they can’t,” he paused and looked back out the window at the masses of people chanting his name, “someone else should step up and lead.”

  “Julian, I can’t let you do that.”

  There was no threat in the words. Hector didn’t clench his fists or move closer to Julian. His voice was even and steady. Even so, Julian turned from the window and appraised his friend.

  “You can’t let me? Who do you think you are to say what I can or can’t do? I was the one risking my life on behalf of the Round Table in the Cartha sector. Where were you? You were bickering at a table.”

  Rather than take the bait, Hector tried to smile. The attempt failed miserably. The two men stared at one another without speaking. Neither knew a third figure was there, present yet unseen.

  Mortimous watched the marches taking place outside Julian’s home and listened to the general’s own words. Behind Julian, the Meursault was perched atop a pair of hooks that kept it mounted to the wall anytime Julian wasn’t carrying it.

  “Beware the tide of the march,” Mortimous said again, but he knew that in Julian’s untrained mind, filled with turbulent thoughts, there was no way the man would be able to hear him.

  Everything was going wrong.

  57

  Lancelot was right. From the alley behind Eastcheap, she saw a mob of aliens waiting in the street for her.

  “Over there,” a Gthothch yelled as soon he noticed Lancelot standing next to Traskk. The group of thugs, drunks, and thieves began toward them. She withdrew both Meursaults and ignited both vibro lances.

  “Hold them off for sixty seconds,” she told her new reptilian friend. “That’s all I’ll need.”

  The Basilisk, his eyes gleaming with the excitement of violence, growled a confirmation. His tail tapped the ground with happiness at once again being needed for a mission.

  As the crowd approached, some with ion daggers, others with handheld blasters, a few with nothing but their claws, fangs, or spiked tails, Lancelot kept her attention at the building that most of the aliens were coming from. After everyone else from the establishment was already crossing the street to kill her, a grey face leaned out of the doorway. The man had no hair, no facial expression. At first glance, his skin looked like flesh. Upon closer examination, though, she saw it had a slightly rubbery texture. It wasn’t a man. It was the same android she had seen back on Sceptor-Major.

  It was J, her link to Arc-Mi-Die.

  She waited for the first waves of brawlers to get within striking distance of her lances. One of her vibro lances impaled the stone skin of the Gthothch who had alerted everyone else. Chunks of rock exploded from his back and he grunted and collapsed to the ground. Her other vibro lance pierced the wings of an alien with thick black hair, antennae, and six short limbs. It plummeted to the ground like a Llyushin fighter struck by a proton torpedo. Other aliens rushed toward her. She brought one of her front feet up and kicked straight out, sending the reinforced armor of her boot into the chin of a human-sized alien that had a shell covering most of his body.

  A man in a dirty overcoat and greasy black hair stopped twelve feet from her and aimed his blaster toward her face. The shot was absorbed into the armor of her helmet. Before a second blast could be fired, she brought an invisible blade down. A trail of vapor passed through the man’s wrist, causing his hand to fall to the ground while it still gripped his weapon.

  Beside her, Traskk tore another creature out of the sky, ripped both of its wings off, then flung the alien twenty feet down the street. The Basilisk then lunged at a Watchneen, maybe the same one from Eastcheap. Even though the alien had razor sharp teeth and claws of its own, it screamed in agony as Traskk first stunned it with a lash of his tail, then followed up while the Watchneen was dazed by sinking his claws into its chest and his snout in the aliens neck.

  Lancelot apprised the situation, then raced down the street, away from the fighting and from J.

  She was confident in her ability to run straight toward the bar where the android had been and cut her way through the hoards of aliens in her path. However, if she did J would self destruct before she got to it. Instead, she ran away from the bar, in the direction of the spaceport and the ship she had arrived on. Her hope was that J would notice her retreat and go back to its other business.

  She made it down eight city blocks in less than thirty seconds. There, she turned right, ran another two blocks, accidently knocking over a human who wasn’t able to get out of her way. After another right turn and galloping another eight blocks, she was only three streets away from where she had started, out of sight of anyone who had been trying to keep up with her. She ran another four blocks past the fighting to be safe, then crossed the street and began up the side alley, back toward J’s hiding spot from the far side of where she had been a minute earlier. In the distance, she could hear the chaos of fighting still in the streets. Her hope was that J’s sensors would be focused on the melee and not on possible threats coming from the opposite direction.

  Before starting her search for him, she saw a group of humans and aliens playing a game of cards and dice on the ground. She asked them if they had an ion grenade or any other type of small explosive. The entire group stopped their game, stood, and faced her.

  “How much would you be willing to pay?” a human male with patches of hair missing and an unshaven face said.

  She withdrew her Meursaults and vibro lances, then told them they would be allowed to live if they handed her one explosive. After that, they were free to get back to their game.

  She couldn’t help but smile as each of them gave visible indications that they were assessing whether or not the eight of them could defeat her. She took a step closer so her Carthagen armor towered over them, then twirled the Meursaults so the gamblers could understand what they were up against.

  “Here,” a different man said. Most of his teeth were missing and the ones he still had were made of metal.

  He offered her a metallic cylinder the size of a human fist. In her giant armored glove, the explosive looked pitifully small.

  “It’s a Cat-3 plasma grenade,” the man said.

  “Thank you.”

  She pocketed the device and sheathed her vibro lances. She was three blocks down the street before the men and aliens had time to consider the peculiarity of what had just happened.

  A block away from the bar where J had been hiding and where the collection of thugs had exited, Lancelot went to the edge of an abandoned building and peered around the corner. The chaos was still in full swing, with Traskk in the very middle of it. Two of the aliens that had hard shells covering their bodies were trying to circle behind the reptile but Traskk’s tail kept swinging in wild lashes to keep them and everyone else away. A gelatinous alien with a metal exo-skeleton was shooting a blaster here and there but was striking other aliens more often than he was coming close to hitting Traskk. The look on Traskk’s face made Lancelot laugh. The Basilisk was roaring and hissing, but he was clearly enjoying himself.