Desttro considered his options. He could have some of the other flagships deploy even more mines. Or he could have them release their compliments of fighters to join the Helljets. Or he could do nothing and see how the battle unfolded.

  The dull grey mech appeared from a portal to Desttro’s right. The four Helljets that had been racing after the white mech narrowly avoided it, each managing to swerve away without receiving any damage.

  “Watch out,” Desttro muttered under his breath.

  The grey mech swung his right arm in a wide stroke. The scythe he was holding didn’t come close to actually hitting the ships, which were all racing off to the far edge of the battlefield. However, the curved blade unleashed a wave of energy, the thickness of which looked like a fluid stream of lasers rushing away like an electric current. The wave of energy caught up to the middle two Helljets while the other two broke off into evasive maneuvers. Both ships disintegrated into pieces before erupting into a short-lived burst of flames.

  That settled it.

  “Tell Brigadier Endger to deploy half of her Thunderbolts. Tell Captain Trock to do the same for his Llyushin fighters. Make sure all of them know exactly where the gravity mines are located.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  A moment later, he looked out the side viewport of the Hellship’s command deck and saw the hangar doors raise from one of the Athens Destroyers and one of the Solar Carriers. From each, roughly two dozen fighters soared out of the confines of the flagship and began racing after the mechs.

  The entire time, he knew, the battle was slowly drifting closer to his fleet. The Juggernaut was creeping forward behind a shield of portals that were also inching toward the flagships. In response, the gravity mines were smart enough to drift backwards as well, as did all of the ships under Brigadier Desttro’s command. They were safe from being sliced apart by the portals, but they were unable, so far, to stop the Juggernaut’s extremely slow march toward Edsall Dark.

  “Ensign, how far have we moved backward during the course of the battle?”

  The officer swiped a finger through a holographic display, then tapped on the air in front of him twice. “Five hundred and twenty miles, sir.”

  It sounded like a lot but it really wasn’t. On the surface of Edsall Dark or some other planet, it would have been the difference between an army defending the capital or being overrun. Out in space, however, where celestial objects were measured in millions of miles or light years, it was nothing to be concerned about. It did reveal, though, what the Hannibal’s ultimate intention was. They didn’t care about the flagships in front of them; they wanted to find the next base of civilization and destroy it. And they were in no hurry to do so. Without firing their cannons, without coming to a stop, the Hannibal were letting Desttro know exactly how irrelevant he was to them.

  At a portal directly in front of him, the white mech reappeared. It aimed its ion bow and sent an arrow of energy across the battlefield, where it pierced the cockpit of a Thunderbolt. The fighter continued ahead without changing course, its pilot likely dead already. The craft would continue to fly into the abyss of space until it happened to run into some random object or get pulled into a sun’s gravity field.

  The same mech shot another arrow at a different Thunderbolt. The pilot managed to evade the ion arrow but swerved into a gravity mine. A wave of black energy burst outwards in the shape of a ball, then immediately collapsed in on itself. The Thunderbolt was no more, and the white mech returned into the portal from where it had appeared.

  “If that happens again, I want every cannon we’ve got to decimate the mech.”

  “Yes, sir,” his weapons officer said.

  Further down the battlefront, he thought he saw the black mech but it was difficult to tell unless something other than infinite space was behind it. It must have been the enemy, though, because the HC Ballistic Cruiser stationed nearby unleashed a pair of cannon blasts. Two thick streams of laser burst from the front corner of the Cruiser. Instead of hitting the target, the pair of blasts entered the nearest portal and instantly reappeared on the opposite side of the battlefront, where they hit one of Desttro’s Havoc Gunships.

  Desttro, his lips squeezed together in irritation, brought a closed fist up to his teeth.

  “Send a reminder to every other flagship,” he said. “Only fire if they’re sure they’ll hit their targets.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  A moment later, when the white mech appeared from a portal close to the one where the black mech had previously been, the HC Ballistic Cruiser refrained from firing. Instead, the white mech had an easy shot at a Llyushin fighter. A streak of laser soared from the ion bow and pierced the fighter’s engine, causing a chain reaction of failures that resulted in the ship bursting into a brief explosion of blue and white.

  And still they were slowly being pushed backward, toward Edsall Dark and the area of space Desttro was supposed to be defending.

  100

  Facing the two Woghort guards, each of which were ten times heavier and stronger than an athletic human male, each holding a glowing ion axe, many things could have happened. They could have tried to overpower Lancelot. If they got within reach of her they could tackle her, hold her down, and drive their axes through her armor. They could have withdrawn grenades from their pockets and forced her to back away or else be disintegrated. Or they could have reached over their shoulders for an assault blaster that was strapped to them and started pelting her with lasers. She knew, though, from how Arc-Mi-Die’s mind must work—never trusting anyone, always sensing the next possible deceit—that he wouldn’t give his last layer of protection weapons that could cause him damage from a distance. That meant the Woghorts would have their ion axes and nothing else, and that made her smile.

  Pointing both vibro lances forward, she lunged ahead. Before the guards could snort in panic or move away, both were impaled through their fat guts.

  She maintained her grip on both lances, pushing the Woghorts backward in stumbling, staggered steps as the weapons pressed further into them. Both cried out with a whimper and dropped their axes. She turned her helmet slightly to face Arc-Mi-Die, who was still standing in the back corner of the chamber.

  “Really?” she said, “I expected better from—”

  A pair of automated turrets popped out of the ground, directly in front of the force field protecting the warlord. Both clicked into place and were firing before Lancelot could look for her next move.

  The first blast zipped over the shoulder of one of the Woghorts and came directly at her helmet. She barely moved to the side in time for it to hit her shoulder instead of something more critical. A sensor inside her visor said the shot was strong enough to strip away the protective blast-proof coating. A second warning flashed to indicate that another direct hit of the same intensity and location would go straight through the armor. She didn’t pay the warning any attention, though, because she was focused entirely on the threat in front of her.

  Bringing her two lower hands closer together, the straight beams of the vibro lances moved toward each other as well, forcing the impaled Woghort guards to follow their lead. For a moment, the two henchmen were in between her and the turrets and she was protected. In the next instant, both guards were shredded to pieces by the next round of laser bursts. After that, instead of holding two heavy guards with upturned noses and foul-smelling skin, all that was left were remnants of their tattered clothes draped over her lances where the Woghorts had been.

  The next blast zipped past her face. The next after that hit her hip, sending a jolt of pain through her midsection and making her stumble back a step.

  “You were saying?” Arc-Mi-Die said with a taunting laugh.

  As fast as she could, she ran to the side of the chamber. The turrets had no problem swiveling and firing to keep pace with her. One blast hit the side of her front foot and sent her tumbling into the wall. Another incinerated a blast plate that had been protecting her abdomen. Warnings flashed inside her visor, telling her that both sections of armor were no longer useful in offering protection.

  Knowing she was going to get hit at least one more time, she braced her back feet and wound back with her lower right arm. The vibro lance in that hand went hurtling forward like a javelin. A burst of laser rocketed out of the turret and hit the tip of the lance, dispersing energy in all directions across the room. The lance sailed directly into the turret’s opening until it was wedged deep inside, causing a rupture in the metal barrel, making the turret useless.

  Before she could react to the other cannon, it sent a blast directly into her sternum. She was knocked backward four feet. Her stomach burned. Air wouldn’t come into her lungs. She tried to breathe but couldn’t. A warning inside her helmet showed that another direct hit to her abdomen would be lethal. While she was trying to catch her breath, another blast came at her. Instinctively, she put out the same hand that had thrown the vibro lance. The entire hand, the entire arm, dissolved in a split second and was gone.

  She wound back with her other vibro lance and let it go at the same time another blast rocked her. This shot hit the edge of her helmet and carved out a three-inch crescent above her left temple. A quarter of an inch closer and it would have take off part of her skull instead of the metal protection around it.

  All of the sensors inside her helmet went dark.

  The lance she threw didn’t have the perfect aim of the previous one, but it did hit the target. Instead of entering the barrel of the heavy blaster, it pierced the stand that kept the turret swiveling. With much of its base gone, the turret’s automated programming tried and failed to target Lancelot.

  She got back up to all four feet, stumbling, still trying to breathe after getting the wind knocked out of her. Each time she moved a sharp pain coursed through her ribs and she knew it was likely that one or more were broken.

  Instead of being concerned at her approach, Arc-Mi-Die was still laughing. It infuriated her to see both of his mouths grin as he watched her stumble forward.

  “I love your determination,” he said. “You and I could make a great team.”

  “You don’t have a strong track record of working well with others.”

  He shrugged, still smiling. “True. Very true. But I could change for someone of your capabilities.”

  She walked toward the containment field while they spoke. He had no weapon that she could see but he still seemed unconcerned as she crossed the room.

  “I’ve been looking forward to killing you for a long time,” she said.

  This seemed to earn his interest. His smile became less exaggerated and his eyebrows arched in confusion. “Oh? I assumed someone sent you here to kill me on their behalf.”

  It was her time to laugh. “In a way, I suppose many people did. Most of all, my father.”

  The warlord nodded in delight. “Sorry. That doesn’t really narrow it down for me.”

  She was tempted to take her helmet off as she continued forward. Her two Carthagen arms were missing, as were both of her vibro lances, but her pair of Meursaults would be more than enough to exact her revenge.

  “My name is Arc-Mi-Joan. Daughter of Arc-Mi-Rome, your brother, whom you killed.”

  The warlord didn’t just laugh, he clapped all four hands together in applause. “Ah, that certainly narrows it down.”

  The fact that she was here and he still didn’t care, that he had killed her father and didn’t think he was going to pay for it even as she came closer, drove her into a fit of rage. Without meaning to, she let out a scream. With her helmet’s synthesizer no longer working it was her normal voice that echoed in the chamber.

  Arc-Mi-Die’s eyes narrowed. “Activate auxiliary defenses,” he said.

  Immediately, a series of four clicks sounded and Lancelot heard some type of gas being pumped into the room. She had no doubt that it was some form of lethal poison. Normally, her suit would keep her safe from such dangers. However, with a hole in her helmet and two of the prosthetic Carthagen arms missing, too much of the suit was compromised.

  An incredible amount of the gas was being funneled into the chamber, swirls of green filled the air. Arc-Mi-Die would be safe, of course, behind the containment field. A quick calculation told her that even if she jumped forward, into the protective field, she would carry some of the toxin on her suit. Without thinking of anything other than killing her uncle, she pulled back a panel on her chest and pressed the emergency release. Every ounce of oxygen reserves she had in her suit was released through the slits of her armor. The force of the air pushing out created a temporary vacuum of space between herself and the poison.

  The trick offered her enough time to jump forward, into the containment field. As soon as she passed through it, though, she realized she had also passed through a Treagon barrier. Her front two legs went limp. That was why Arc-Mi-Die hadn’t stop smiling, because he assumed she would either choke from the poison or be defenseless once she passed through the barrier that prevented any kind of energy. Any mercenary relying on a blaster would fail at his mission. Any android with a blade would be equally unsuccessful.

  Lancelot, though, relied on no such source of energy. Not only that, she still controlled half of her suit of armor. The warlord was taking his time, coming toward her, all four clawed hands ready to tear her face apart.

  She smiled and said, “This has been a long time coming.”

  Two crescents of vapor passed through the air. Finally, Arc-Mi-Die stopped laughing.

  101

  When the knock sounded on the front door, Talbot wasn’t sure if he had been sleeping or had been awake. Each day was a blur of the hours passing, with him not being able to account for them other than knowing he was happier on Edsall Dark, doing nothing, than he had been amongst the stars trying to be somebody he wasn’t.

  “Mom?”

  Margaret didn’t answer. And as Talbot came back into gathering his senses, he realized his mother would have no reason to knock on her own door. Rubbing his eyes, he walked downstairs. Through the fogged glass next to the entrance, he saw the wide frame of a man large enough to fill the entire doorway. Hector’s hover platform hummed with energy as it kept the man’s torso a couple feet off the ground.

  “I’m sorry, my father isn’t here,” Talbot said upon opening the door.

  “I know.” Hector had a difficult time making eye contact. “Do you mind if I come in? We need to talk.”

  “You and me?” Talbot said, knowing he sounded young and dumb, but he stepped aside and let Hector hover into the room, then closed the door behind him.

  When his father’s friend spoke, his eyes looked down at his hands, one real and one made of metal and energy, and Talbot got the impression the man was trying to force out words that didn’t want to be spoken.

  “Talbot, do you know the difference between someone who is noble, wise, and honest and someone who is mighty, bold, and self-serving?”

  What Talbot wanted to say was, “Why are you here? What’s happened? Where is my father?” What he said instead was, “Can’t they be the same person? Can’t someone be noble and mighty, wise and bold?”

  Finally, Hector’s eyes came up to look at Talbot and for the first time he smiled.

  “You truly are a Reiser,” he said, shaking his head. “Yes, I suppose they can be both.” Any sense of happiness immediately retreated again, replaced once more by despair. Hector continued, “You aren’t going to like what I have to say but you need to hear it.”

  They looked at each other for a moment. Talbot knew he was supposed to say something, anything, but couldn’t think of what would be appropriate at that moment. Selfishly, he wished Hector would go away so he could return to daydreams of a better galaxy.

  Hector’s eyes closed for a moment, then he said, “We are in unprecedented times. I would rather die than be in the situation I have found myself.”

  Talbot realized he was holding his breath, that he was afraid to make any noise at all let alone speak. The man in front of him was supposed to be one of Edsall Dark’s greatest heroes and yet Talbot saw someone who was not only missing half his body but all of his spirit as well.

  Hector’s eyes met Talbot’s. “Your father is dead.”

  Talbot didn’t cry or yell or even stand and walk out of the room. He merely asked how it had happened.

  “I did it. He was plotting to take over the Round Table. I wish it hadn’t been necessary.” His voice lowered and he seemed to be lost in the memory of another conversation. “I tried to dissuade him. I tried to talk him out of it.”

  Rather than speak right away, Talbot tried to take stock of his emotions. He wasn’t angry or sad. He was numb. Both his body and his mind were without any feeling, and he knew it must be the shock of what he had been told.

  “I loved your father as a friend. I thought of him as a truly honorable man. But no one can try to install themselves as ruler or emperor. Not after the struggle we faced to create the Round Table. I had no choice. I couldn’t let it happen.”

  “He was always talking about the next conquest,” Talbot mumbled, knowing he was trying to justify what had happened, still unable to truly grasp any of it. A thought crossed his mind and he said, “Is that why you’re here. To kill me as well?” There was no fear or accusation in the question, only curiosity.

  Hector’s eyes shot up from the ground. “Of course not. Never.”

  Talbot frowned. Maybe that was only something that happened in the classic stories. He felt a heavy weight bear down on him and looked up to find Hector’s hand, the one of flesh and blood, resting its full weight on Talbot’s shoulder.