This was confirmed a split second later when the blade lit up, putting the ion knife on display.

  Without thinking, Julian’s right hand dropped to the handle of his Meursault. He spun toward the man in black robes he had just passed, the man he now realized hadn’t been the Soothsayer at all.

  92

  It wasn’t an easy decision, but Cash and Cimber realized they could no longer wait for Hector to talk Julian out of whatever plot he had schemed. Although Cash respected Hector, he knew that even those held in high esteem had faults and that his friend’s was his stubborn idealism. By the time Hector came around to understanding what had to be done, the galaxy would be under tyrannical rule once again. Cash prided himself on not suffering from the same romantic notions that kept Hector’s hands tied. If his friend couldn’t sway Julian from his goal of claiming the Round Table throne, Cash and Cimber would do it for him.

  He had pulled the black hood over his head so his identity wouldn’t immediately be known. If he was lucky, Hector and Julian would confuse him for a vagrant. When he heard them coming down the stone path, he forced himself to keep his head down. To his surprise, neither man said anything to him as they approached the spot where he was leaning against the wall. If the general, who carried the Sword in the Stone with him everywhere he went, took note of Cash before he was within striking distance, the plan would fail.

  “Give the Round Table fewer voices,” he heard Julian say on his way past him. It was enough for Cash to act. Glancing down to the end of the path, he saw Cimber was also in position and ready.

  The next thing he knew he was throwing off the hood of his robe and withdrawing his own ion knife. He activated the blade and drove it toward Julian. As he did, he let out a cry consisting of a single word.

  “Traitor!”

  93

  Even after he left his officer’s quarters and returned to the command deck, Brigadier Desttro found himself replaying the previous battle in his mind. After watching it hundreds of times, every aspect was grilled into his memory. The part he kept going back to was the new technology that the three flagships had fallen victim to. A team of a dozen specialists had been tasked with thinking of all the different ways the Hannibal technology could be used. Desttro considered the possibilities they had given him while making sure his fleet was prepared.

  All was quiet on the command deck of his Hellship. The preparations were done. Each ship’s crew understood what to do and how the strategy of the battle would fluctuate depending on what the Juggernaut did.

  All around him, officers were checking their stations.

  “Sir, they’re here.”

  He turned to acknowledge the ensign who had alerted him, then walked across the deck, closer to the main viewport. As large as the Juggernaut was supposed to be, he still couldn’t see it because it was thousands of miles away. His ship’s display system brought up a hologram that showed the invading vessel on one side of space and his fleet on the other—opposing sides of the battlefield.

  “How long until they’re in sight?”

  “Ten minutes,” the ensign said, then frowned. “No, wait... five minutes. No, uh, two minutes.”

  “Well, which is it?” Desttro snapped, no patience for variables at this point in the confrontation.

  “I’m not sure, sir. I’m showing hundreds of projectiles coming our way,” the young officer said, shaking his head, trying to make sense of what was happening.

  Desttro gave the order for the Hellship to raise its shields. A lieutenant on the other side of the deck entered the command.

  The incoming objects were metal cylinders but they weren’t missiles or torpedoes. Some flew past the flagships. Some to the sides. Others stopped in front of the Round Table fleet. Desttro knew exactly what they were and was determined not to allow the Hannibal to have any advantage.

  “Begin targeting their portals,” he said.

  A moment later, the Hellship’s cannons burst into life, shooting at the thin metal projectiles before they had a chance to expand into circles of energy. The other vessels alongside him did the same.

  Right away he noticed that the cannons weren’t destroying the tubes. Whatever they were made of was impervious to traditional lasers. The blasts did send each projectile flying away, but under the Hannibal’s command they could conceivably make their way back toward the flagships again. With hundreds of the projectiles floating in space, it would take all of their cannons to continue keeping the portals away.

  Desttro turned back to the ensign. “How far away is the Juggernaut?”

  Outside the viewport, a portal broke into life. From it, an object of unbelievably immense proportions began to emerge.

  “They’re here, sir,” the ensign said.

  94

  Lancelot knew she was going to be shot at as soon as she appeared at the bottom of the ramp. There was no way a room full of aliens, each hired to protect Arc-Mi-Die, would give her a chance to explain why she was there. Not to mention that the explanation—she was there to kill the very warlord who paid them—wouldn’t earn her any points. She guessed the only reason they hadn’t destroyed the ship already was that they needed to verify J wasn’t aboard. Anyone else was going to be torn apart by laser fire.

  Toward the rear of the vessel, she pressed the button for the ramp to lower. Standing to the side, a spot the goons wouldn’t be able to see her, she withdrew all four of her weapons. With a thud, the ramp hit the hangar floor.

  “Come out with your hands up,” one of Arc-Mi-Die’s mercenaries called.

  A sensor inside her helmet displayed slightly more of the platform than what she could actually see with her own eyes. The henchmen were all roughly in the same positions, each with a weapon pointed at the ramp, ready to fire.

  Without anything else she could do, she was off and running.

  She made it down the length of the ramp in two long, galloping strides. The reaction from the aliens was instantaneous. The entire room blazed with light from dozens of blasters opening fire at the same time. Some hit her, but many of the goons’ reflexes were a fraction slower than her sprint. Luckily the pair of heavy blasters were among those that missed. Streaks of energy from four different handheld blasters struck her side. Another two hit her shoulder. None of the blasts slowed her momentum and each was absorbed into her armor. She was off to the right side of the ramp and closing the distance between the nearest mercenary so the tripods wouldn’t have time to swivel toward her.

  Against so many adversaries, speed was her biggest asset. However, her good fortune didn’t last long. She tried to keep racing around the room as fast as possible but knew if she took a turn too fast her legs could go out from under her. If that happened, all of the laser blasts would catch up with her and she would never get back up to her feet. Even at a near sprint, one shot managed to strike the back of her helmet, jarring her for a moment. Another hit the middle of her back. Three others pelted her left shoulder. Even though the armor was doing its job, she knew she couldn’t allow the hits to add up. The blast-proof coating would eventually wear down and, under continuous fire, begin to deteriorate. If that happened, any subsequent blasts could be lethal.

  The first alien she targeted had glistening skin and at least six limbs that she could see. It was standing behind the heavy blaster that had been rolled into the hangar. The choice of targeting it first was an easy one; if she got hit by one of its blasts, even with her armor in peak condition, the damage would be devastating.

  She pointed a lance so the tip connected with the underside of the turret. The alien fired at the same time the cannon’s turret was punched up toward the ceiling. A thick streak of blue laser erupted. Sparks flew from the hangar ceiling. With her other lance, she impaled the tentacled alien through its chest. Its six arms thrashed for a moment. By the time they fell still, she was already off, racing toward her next target.

  Another blast hit her back and another her rear hip. A pair of combat bots flew through the air, trailing directly behind her. Both unleashed a near continuous series of blasts that would have been strong enough to seriously injure or kill someone without armor. With her Carthagen suit on, the shots had no immediate impact other than to gradually wear down the integrity of the armor.

  She came to an abrupt stop, turned, and brought both Meursaults down in an X. Two streaks of silver vapor criss-crossed in front of her. The pair of bots fell from the air and clanged against the floor, both cut perfectly in half.

  Having run all the way to the other side of the hangar, still working her way around to the front of the ship, a blur passed in front of her visor. A split second later, an explosion erupted at the vessel she was next to. The result was a smoking hole the size of a small animal. If the shooter had aimed a few inches to the left, her helmet would be rubble and her face would be missing. The destruction to the ship meant one thing: someone had a grenade launcher and had a clear line of sight on her.

  Temporarily ignoring the other combat bots, she found the piece of filth in possession of the weapon. It was a human male, middle-aged, with one normal arm and one made of metal. The grenade launcher he was holding was so large that the man had to strap it all the way around his torso. Even then, each time he shot a projectile, the kick-back knocked him slightly off balance.

  Another puff of smoke flashed from the end of the launcher. Lancelot jumped as high in the air as her suit would allow. The grenade passed under her, causing more damage to the shuttle behind her. With two huge holes in its side, the ship was likely beyond repair and the mercenary had just gone from making a decent living to having a lifelong debt he would need to pay to the warlord for property damaged. She used his poor aim as an opportunity to cut two more combat bots out of the air.

  Eventually, though, one of the grenades would hit her unless she did something about it. The open mech had other plans, however. Before she could race across the hangar, it saw her intentions and stepped in her path.

  The mech’s pilot was a green alien the same size as the human with the grenade launcher. She could tell from the way the unit was exposed in front that the mech was a tremendously old version. It would still be packed with weapons capable of ripping her apart, though. The alien’s antennae moved back and forth in excitement as it targeted her. Over the mech’s shoulder, a pop sounded, a puff of smoke rose, and another grenade came arcing over and toward her. This one she was ready for and brought the tip of one of her lances up to deflect the grenade’s trajectory. It landed diagonally away from her, taking out another combat bot with its explosion.

  Before she could do anything else, the mech brought up two heavy cannons and a thermal launcher. Her first instinct was to race at it and drive her lances straight through its midsection. She knew, though, that there was no way she would close the distance in time. And even if she did, the thermal fuel would melt the armor off her while she was still wearing it. From what she had heard, it was an excruciatingly painful way to die. Instead, she jumped backward and to the side, away from both the grenade launcher and the mech, to the relative safety and protection of the far side of the transport.

  She drove one of her lances up toward the corner of the ceiling and impaled another combat bot. The remaining five hovered outside her attack range, pelting her with blasts. The four hTrungs came for her next. The pack of them lumbered around the back of the ship, each with misshapen teeth that hung down past their chins. Blisters covered their skin and they had ears as large as their fists. They looked to weigh about five hundred pounds each, almost all of which was muscle. The bulk of their weight was in their legs, which were twice as thick as the armored legs of Lancelot’s suit. Most important of all, though, was that each carried a pair of ion axes.

  Her first instinct, as much as she hated any form of retreat, was to back away and assess a better way of attacking them. The sound behind her, though—the mech walking in her direction—ensured she was trapped. Without a better plan, and with the annoying combat bots still raining blasts down on her, she charged.

  The hTrungs snorted as she raced toward them. Each brought their ion axes up to chest level to greet her. Instead of running through them, however, she went over them. Ten feet from plunging straight into the heavy aliens, she leapt, switched her grip on her two lances, and drove them downward as she sailed over the group. Two of the hTrungs gave loud grunts as the vibro lances drove down straight through the top of their heads. She impaled the aliens so deeply that she was forced to give up her grip on the lances. Two of the hTrungs fell dead on the ground. The other two roared with anger and chased after her.

  Rather than attack them, she raced toward the half human, half Vonnegan stationed at the controls of the other heavy blaster. Until that point, the mercenary had no clear shot and had been smart enough not to fire. Unlike the man with the grenade launcher, he knew a missed blast would cause tremendous damage to the rest of Arc-Mi-Die’s possessions. Seeing Lancelot charge him, he grinned and unleashed his first volley.

  The sensors in Lancelot’s helmet were able to detect the release of energy from the blaster’s containment cartridge a split second before the laser was channeled out of the barrel and fired at her. At that same moment, she brought her front knees to the ground, rolled over her shoulders, and saw a thick blast of laser streak past the spot where her head had been. Coming out of her somersault, still dashing at the tripod-mounted blaster, she looked behind her just long enough to see that one of remaining hTrungs had been obliterated by the blast.

  A second streak of laser ripped past her. This one was so close to her that even as she tried to side step it, she felt a blast panel at her shoulder tear off. A warning inside her helmet indicated she was completely defenseless on that one portion of her Carthagen suit.

  She was at the heavy blaster, Meursaults ready to attack. The only problem was that she was out in the open, which meant the human with the grenade launcher would have a clear shot. Even before she brought a Meursault down on the mercenary behind the heavy cannon, she saw him turn and focus not on her but on the human with the grenade launcher.

  “No!” the human-Vonnegan man shouted.

  Rather than bring a sword down at the mercenary behind the heavy cannon, Lancelot dove to the side. It seemed cruel for the human to slaughter a member of his own group, but it was a smart move. If Lancelot had killed the gunner stationed at the tripod, she could have used the weapon herself and had free reign to unleash blasts on everything else inside the hangar. Arc-Mi-Die’s ship would have been destroyed from the inside. The human with the grenade launcher understood this, and so he shot a grenade directly under the three legs that the cannon was mounted on.

  The explosion, combined with the eruption of the cannon’s energy cartridge, was large enough to envelop Lancelot as she tried to jump away. A secondary sensor in her helmet indicated minor deterioration on more than half of the back side of her suit. The gunner was dead, though, and his heavy cannon scrap metal.

  She dashed back to where the four hTrungs had been, where her two vibro lances still were. The last of the aliens was lumbering toward her with his ion axes in hand. Under the florescent light of the hangar, both energized blades shone with a feint yellow tint. A long bead of saliva hung from either side of the alien’s mouth as it grunted at her.

  A flash of light made her squint. The combat bots were focusing their attack on her helmet. In fact, they were smart enough to focus specifically on her visor. The distraction almost cost her her life. An ion axe came racing down at her chest. She dodged to the side but the hTrung continued the stroke, chopping off the front half of one of her artificial arms. At the same time, it dove forward and tackled her to the ground.

  Its two paws gripped her two long arms at the wrist so she couldn’t move or hit it. But her third arm, still free, beat the alien over its face repeatedly. She broke one of its teeth. She broke its nose. Still, the hTrung roared and kept her pressed to the ground. The hangar floor rumbled underneath her, and she realized the alien’s goal. It was going to hold her there until the mech could catch up and kill her.

  “I don’t think so,” she said, ignoring its bruised and battered face and reaching beside her. Her hand scrambled, trying to find one of her Meursaults.

  Her fingertips brushed against the side of it, then took hold of it. With all of her strength, she drove the blade through the hTrung’s chest far enough that part of the invisible blade poked out the back, a feat she only recognized because of the red and silver mist that appeared in the air above the alien. It grunted and lost its strength. She pushed it off, picked up the other Meursault, and drove it down across the alien’s neck. Its head rolled across the hangar floor before coming to a rest.

  She sheathed one of her swords and reached down to withdraw the pair of vibro lances from the previous hTrungs. With the mech unable to move fast enough to track her down and the human with the grenade launcher moving even slower, she focused her attention on the remaining combat bots. One of them got too close and was easy to cut into pieces but the others, seeing her attention turn to them, kept an even greater distance as they continued to pelt her with blasts.

  With a smile no one would be able to see, she picked up one of the ion axes from the dead hTrungs and threw it as hard as she could. It embedded itself into the side of one of the combat bots. The machine dropped to the ground and began to smoke. She did the same with another axe, aiming it two feet in front of where the combat bot’s course was taking it, then throwing it with a snap of the wrist. That bot also dropped from the air, clanged against the ground, then began offering meaningless beeps.

  The mech was finally catching up to her. She picked up another axe and threw it as hard as she could. It lodged into the mech’s armor, inches away from where the alien was exposed. In response, the mech launched a pair of laser blasts and a thermal grenade. She moved to the side fast enough to dodge the grenade. Both blasts, though, hit her squarely in the stomach. She stumbled backward, feeling as if she had been punched in the gut.