The thermal grenade was going to explode before she could get her defenses ready and get clear of the threat. Instead, she fell on the floor and rolled toward one of the fallen hTrungs, yanking its body in position so it was between her and the blast. The thermal grenade exploded two feet away from her. The alien in her grip, her only form of a shield, melted away to nothing. A warning in her helmet noted that two of her armored gauntlets were severely damaged.

  The human with the grenade launcher was also coming around the side of the transport. With only a moment to decide her next move, she ran away. The boom of her metal boots against the hangar floor made it impossible to know for sure but she thought she heard the alien in the mech suit laugh as she retreated. It infuriated her enough that even though she knew the mech pilot would be dead in a matter of seconds, she thought about turning right back around and killing him face to face.

  “Don’t let your pride get in the way of your goals,” Vere had told her on many occasions. “I almost did and it nearly killed me.”

  It was advice Lancelot took to heart. It only took her a second to race around the far side and the rear edge of the transport. The human with the grenade launcher was still trying to figure out where his target had gone when she raced him down from behind. Both of her vibro lances ripped through his back before he knew what happened.

  Without withdrawing them, she walked closer behind the man, who was stumbling and gurgling blood, and hugged him from behind. Rather than offer him comfort, she took control of his grenade launcher while he was still harnessed to it. With a puff of smoke, a grenade arced through the air and hit the back of the mech. An explosion engulfed the mech in orange flames. The armored unit stumbled forward, its back still facing her.

  “Who’s laughing now?” she yelled, immediately sending another grenade into the mech and then, for good measure, a third.

  When she was done, the mech was a pile of twisted and charred metal. No trace was left of the alien pilot that had been inside. Satisfied, Lancelot withdrew her lances from the dead human. As she did, the man crumbled to the ground.

  The remaining combat bot, rather than attack her with weapons that were useless against her armor, exited the hangar and flew away. Lancelot followed it as far as the hangar door, where she paused. There was only one way to go.

  “Arc-Mi-Die,” she yelled. “I’m coming for you.”

  There would be traps and defenses along the way, she was sure. It didn’t matter.

  As soon as she stepped forward the hangar door closed behind her. Slowly, one cautious step at a time, she made her way down the metal passageway.

  95

  Hector turned just in time to see Cash throw back his hood. Horror washed over him as he saw his friend, ion dagger in hand, lunge forward.

  “Traitor,” Cash yelled and he went for Julian.

  Hector knew what was going to happen. The entire thing seemed to play out in slow motion. The light reflecting off the energized dagger. The look of hatred on Cash’s face. Cimber, also in black robes, running down the stone pathway to join in the attack.

  It unfolded in front of him and yet he knew by Julian’s muffled cry that he was too late to do anything about it. The first jab of Cash’s ion knife plunged into Julian’s ribs before Hector or General Reiser could say or do anything. Julian’s hand began to reach down to withdraw his sword, but the knife stuck him a second time, this time in the belly.

  Julian stumbled backward, where he collided with the stonewall. He tried to say something but instead only let out a pained groan. Any strength he had to withdraw his Meursault, the famous Sword in the Stone, abandoned him, and his legs gave way under his weight. He lay with his back against the wall, struggling to breathe.

  “What are you doing?” Hector shouted, his gravitronic metal hand reaching out and taking Cash by the throat without a single thought about the possibility of the ion knife in his friend’s hand coming for him next.

  Cash gagged. His face went red. He tried to focus the little bit of air trapped in his throat to say something but the iron grip around his throat prevented any noise from escaping. Hector loosened his hand slightly. At the same time, Cimber got to where they were standing. His hood had fallen back as he ran down the walkway and a crazed expression filled his eyes.

  He too uttered a single word, “Traitor,” then plunged his ion knife into the soft spot between Julian’s shoulder and his chest.

  Compared to the injury to Julian’s chest, this third strike was trivial. Julian barely seemed to notice it compared to the agony that came from the injuries to his stomach and chest.

  Hector slammed Cash against the nearest wall before spinning and punching Cimber’s wrist so hard that the man not only dropped his ion knife but had surely suffered a shattered wrist as well.

  “What are you doing?” Hector hissed, unable to control himself.

  His eyes were wide and angry, the same look he must have had fighting for his soldiers’ lives in the blood tunnels years before. It was the same sense of rage and of wanting to utterly destroy something that had made him understand that he needed to abandon war if he ever wanted to have a chance of being a decent person.

  “He was going to betray us,” Cash said through hacking coughs, getting back up to his feet while one of his hands cupped his sore neck. “He was going to betray the entire Round Table, the entire galaxy.”

  Cash’s ion knife was still in his other hand. He took a step closer to Julian.

  “This is madness,” Hector said, every muscle in his body rippling, daring Cash and Cimber to come closer.

  Cash held his hands in the air to show he meant no harm. “We had to protect the Round Table. He was going to call himself emperor. I’ll kill myself if I’m wrong but I’m not.”

  Cimber, holding his destroyed wrist in the palm of his other hand, trying to stabilize it so it didn’t move, winced as he took a step forward. “He was working with Octo and Winchester to get the other generals behind him. Once he had the military, he was going to take over.”

  “I wasn’t,” a voice said weakly from behind them.

  The three of them looked down at Julian as the general tried to collect himself, tried his best to keep breathing. Hector hovered directly in front of his injured friend.

  “Move near him and you’ll regret it,” he said over his shoulder and neither Cash nor Cimber stepped forward.

  Julian gasped and said, “Don’t be foolish, Hector. Couldn’t you see what I was trying to do? Take a crown? I’m not a child. I was trying to gather the people behind one idea.”

  “Of you as emperor,” Cash said, pointing an accusing finger at the war hero who was still sitting on the ground, his back against the wall.

  Julian tried to get back up to his feet but his body was failing him. “No,” he gasped. “To bring peace.”

  Cimber stepped forward, was going to move even closer until Hector swiveled to face him.

  “Don’t you see?,” he said to Hector. “He’ll have an answer for everything. He just happened to be given the Sword in the Stone. He just happened to encourage the people to chant his name. He just happened to be seen everyday at the Round Table. He’s a viper, and he’ll keep having answers for everything until we silence him.”

  Julian tried to push himself up to one knee but even this was too much for him and he groaned and fell back against the stonewall. His breathing was raspy and the color was draining out of his face.

  “My allegiance has been as constant as the Northern Star,” Julian said softly, almost too low to hear. “No one has shown an everlasting oath the way I have.” He nodded upward toward Hector. “Not even him. I’ve seen the galaxy lit afire with lasers and missiles. I’ve seen the spark of life extinguished more than anyone should ever have to see. And yet I still serve.”

  Hector could tell that his friend meant to yell this last part, but Julian was so weak it was barely audible.

  “It’s true,” Hector said, his back to Julian, his massive shoulders broad enough to encompass Cash and Cimber.

  Cash took another step forward. The knife in his hand was mostly covered by the long sleeve of his robes hanging down over his arm.

  “Hector, I know you see what we see. Julian can talk his way out of any situation. But remember what you saw with your own eyes. You saw the way the people rallied behind General Reiser. You saw the way he enjoyed every minute of it. He even made sure they saw him with the Sword in the Stone, allowed them to believe that stupid story that whoever possessed it should be leader.”

  “No,” Julian said, his eyes closed. “It wasn’t like that at all.” His eyes opened for a moment, couldn’t focus on anything, then closed again.

  Cash raised his empty hand and placed it upon Hector’s shoulder. “I know this is difficult,” he said. “I don’t like it anymore than you, but it’s what we had to do.”

  He reached his other hand forward, put the handle of the ion knife into Hector’s palm. At first, Hector refused to take it. Only when Cash’s hand, tiny in comparison to Hector’s, pushed his friend’s fingers into a curl did Hector allow himself to hold the weapon.

  “I meant what I said,” Cash whispered. “I’ll gladly die if what I did was wrong. You’re wiser than all of us combined. You decide. If you think I want to gain something in this other than preserving the Round Table, drive the knife into my gut. If you think Julian had ulterior motives, if you think he was trying to become an emperor, stand with Cimber and I.”

  Hector looked down at Julian, whose shirt was covered in blood. His friend made no attempt to grab a hold of his Meursault because he knew he didn’t have the strength or coordination necessary to stand, let alone swing a blade. Julian’s neck was bulging under the strain of struggling for each new breath. He was making constant, tiny gasps. His eyelids kept fluttering open and shut.

  Hector observed all of it, thought about everything that had led to this moment. Even he realized he was at a crossroads where it was impossible to do anything but take one of two paths.

  He had known Julian for decades. They had graduated from the academy together. They had been friends ever since. Their wives were friends. If Hector had ever decided to have children, he had no doubt his offspring would be friends with Julian’s son. But he had also known Cash for many years. Not as long as Julian, but a long time nonetheless. Both men were people Hector considered to be honest and dependable. And yet he had to choose a side.

  There was really no decision to make, though. History had taught him that much. Two thousands years earlier, the CasterLan king, Henor the Peaceful, had been the victim of an attempted assassination by his own wife and son. Afterward, he trusted no one. He had both relatives executed, along with all of their known associates. It was said the king, known as Henor the Vengeful from that day forward, only allowed his youngest son to live so the crown could be passed down. The pacts he had entered into with neighboring kingdoms were all strained as Henor demanded anyone from those realms who had dealt with his wife and son also be executed.

  Four hundred years later, the already despotic Vonnegan ruler, Murdred the Violent, survived an attempted coup. What came next was one of the largest mass killings in galactic history. Murdred didn’t only kill everyone involved in the failed takeover, he killed their families and their family’s friends. He didn’t stop there, however. He went as far as killing everyone who bore a slight resemblance to the people who attempted the coup even if they were completely innocent—his insane way of reminding the Vonnegan citizens that they best not be connected to a betrayal in any way at all. It was said Murdred only stopped killing because his advisors told him it could result in a collapse of the entire civilization if such a large chunk of the population was eradicated.

  Galactic history was full of rulers, some who were already predisposed to violence and others who had never hurt a bug, all of whom had faced betrayal from those within their inner circle. None of them remained unchanged afterward. All of them began to lash out and protect the power and influence they possessed. Many hoarded even more power, becoming authoritarian dictators who relied on absolute rule in order to ensure their own safety.

  In front of Hector, stabbed three times already and struggling to breathe, was a general capable of rallying most of the Round Table representatives and the vast majority of its fleet behind him. The people loved him, looked to him as their savior. Julian would die unless Hector got him medical attention right away. But if Julian lived, how would he ever be able to look at someone from the Round Table and trust them? If Reiser hadn’t already entertained the idea of becoming ruler of the Round Table, he would be forced to after recovering from the attack. If Julian were allowed to leave the stone passageway, there was no telling what type of person he might become.

  Hector closed his eyes and hovered closer to where Julian lay with his back against the wall. All of the air in Hector’s chest escaped him and he felt as if he were going to suffocate out of pure misery.

  “Help me get out of here,” Julian said, his voice strained and weak.

  When he felt Hector’s hand on his shoulder, Julian’s eyes opened and he focused on his friend. Hector was unable to meet his friend’s stare. If Julian lived, there was a greater chance than ever that the Round Table would be led by a tyrant. Deep down, Hector believed that wouldn’t have been his friend’s initial intention. After being attacked, however, surely Julian would want revenge, would want to solidify his power. The fingers of Hector’s gravitron hand gripped the ion knife that Cash had given him.

  Julian saw this and groaned. “You too, Hector?”

  Hector leaned forward. With his normal arm he pulled Julian toward him so they were almost hugging. He wanted to remind Julian of all the stories they had both learned—of Henor the Vengeful, Murdred the Violent, all the others. He wanted to tell Julian that he wished they could switch places. Hector would gladly die on the ground if it meant his friend could be healthy and save the Round Table.

  Instead, he said nothing, only pushed the ion knife through Julian’s back until it pierced his heart and almost came out the front of his ribs. Julian let out a wheezing breath, then fell still.

  When it was done, Hector didn’t move away or release his grip on the weapon. Instead, he continued to hold Julian against him so his friend’s cheek rested against his own. His gravitron hand let go of the knife, which was still embedded in Julian’s back. His eyes closed and he wished he had the strength to stab the knife so far through Julian that it would burst forth and stab his own heart. After all, it felt as if it already had.

  96

  The Round Table flagships unloaded their cannons, one after another, on the tiny capsules that could explode into the Hannibal’s portals at any moment. None of the projectiles were destroyed by the lasers, but they were blasted miles away before whatever guidance system controlled them was able to recall them back toward the fleet again.

  “How many do you count?” Brigadier Desttro asked the officer to his side.

  The lieutenant sat hunched over a holographic display depicting the nearby space. “Computer says there are nine hundred and eighty-seven, sir.”

  Desttro shook his head. Not because he was irritated by the large amount of possible portals that could burst into circles of energy. Not because he felt the portals gave the Hannibal an advantage that he wasn’t prepared for. But because the number—nine hundred and eighty-seven—might have been random or might have been extremely significant to the Hannibal. It could have been that through their superior technology they had found that specific number to hold some kind of cosmic significance. Or maybe it was the number of portals they had taken into battle against some other adversary the Round Table knew nothing about. The point was, he didn’t know. He shook his head because that by itself was a reminder that they understood absolutely nothing about the enemy they were entering into combat with.

  He hoped the same went for the Hannibal—that they would be perplexed by the number of flagships in front of them and by the varying types of crafts and arsenals—but he somehow doubted the foreign invaders would be the least bit concerned.

  He remembered back to the three warnings the Carthagens had given in the Orleans asteroid field back when he was commanding one of the flagship’s in the fleet led by General Reiser. One had been a reflection of the Round Table’s own ships. Another had been a recreation of a battle that had turned the tide of galactic struggles. The Carthagens surely knew more about the galaxy than most civilizations if they were able to create an accurate depiction of a battle they hadn’t even been present at. And yet their third and ultimate warning wasn’t of anything familiar to Desttro and the others. It had been a holographic projection of a single large ship with four mechs of varying colors. The Carthagens had created that image because something they knew about the Hannibal that made them believe it would make anyone who was familiar with them turn back for home.

  He broke out of his stupor and focused on the main viewport out the command deck. The Juggernaut was close enough to be visible with the naked eye. And it kept getting closer.

  “Open comms,” he said.

  An ensign to his side nodded, then answered, “Comms open, sir, in three, two, one...”

  Desttro was going to tell the Hannibal that if they turned around now the Round Table fleet would allow them to leave without being fired upon. Before he could, though, the capsules floating in space stopped moving toward the Round Table flagships and exploded into circles of light, each in position to form a multi-tiered wall in front of the Juggernaut.

  Desttro signaled with his hand for comms to be taken down, waited for the nod of the ensign’s head to let him know the order had been carried out, then said, “A dozen probes. Launch now.”