Julian wasn’t even behind his desk yet, let alone seated, when Hector said, “I keep hearing rumors that a large group of representatives is going to offer you a crown.”

  Julian waved the idea away. “That’s what this is about? That’s what required a meeting before I’ve had coffee?”

  Every muscle in Hector’s neck bulged. “I’m sure you’ve heard the same thing. Please tell me the idea offends you as much as it does me, as much as it should offend anyone who believes in what the Round Table stands for.”

  Margaret appeared in the doorway. “Hector, nice to see you again. Can I get either of you something to drink?”

  Her appearance brought Hector out of his focus and he realized both of his hands had been gripping the edge of Julian’s desk.

  “No, thank you,” he said, forcing his arms to fall to his sides.

  Julian shook his head and Margaret disappeared.

  After a moment, Julian smiled and said, “What’s the worst that could happen if I did accept?” Before Hector had a chance to erupt, Julian held out a hand and smiled. “I didn’t say I was going to, I merely asked what would be so bad about it. Theoretically speaking.”

  “The Round Table wasn’t created for one person to rule. That wasn’t why Vere created it. You know that.”

  “Haven’t you noticed what’s happening, Hector? The representatives are paralyzed with inaction. They can’t agree on anything. You’re there each day, surely you see it. The truth is they need someone to lead them. If not me, then someone else. They’ve proven they can’t lead themselves, that much is for sure.”

  Hector vehemently shook his head. “You’re wrong. You’re absolutely wrong. Did Octo and Winchester talk you into this?”

  Julian smiled. “Octo and Winchester are as frustrated as you must be with how the Round Table has been failing in its duties. The only difference is that they want to do something about it and you, for some unknown reason, still have faith that the representatives will magically grow out of their collective dysfunction.”

  “Julian, this is madness.”

  Rather than grow impatient, however, Reiser smiled. And this only unsettled Hector even more. “You misunderstand. You always assume the worst, my friend. I don’t want to be a dictator or an emperor. I don’t want a crown. I don’t even want to be a leader of bureaucrats. I simply want the Round Table to work.”

  For a moment, Hector’s pulse settled and he was able to take a deep breath to calm himself. His shoulders relaxed and he nodded.

  Then Julian added, “The one thing I know for sure, though, is that the Round Table needs some sort of leader so things actually get done.” Without realizing it, Hector began to hold his breath again. Julian added, “If they want me to be the man for the job, so be it.”

  “Don’t you see?” Hector said, gripping the edge of the desk again, not caring that the wood was creaking under the pressure. “It doesn’t matter if they call you Emperor Reiser or King Reiser or just Leader of the Round Table. It’s all the same.”

  Julian sighed and gave a gentle laugh. “I couldn’t disagree more. Not everything is so black and white.”

  A glimmer caught Hector’s eyes and he adjusted his sight to focus on an object behind Julian. Seeing his friend’s attention shift, Julian turned to see what was so interesting.

  “Ah, my Meursault. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  A tremor of panic washed over Hector, bringing with it a slight shiver. “It’s true—Morgan’s sword, the one Vere left in the tunnels.”

  Julian’s perfect teeth revealed themselves as he broke into an uncontained grin. “The Sword in the Stone, yes. But I prefer to think of it as Artan the Good’s sword. I never really thought Morgan deserved it.”

  Hector thought, You wouldn’t say that to her face if she were here right now. Instead, he mumbled, “Julian the CasterLan.”

  Reiser wiped a hand through the air to push the words away. “A silly title that the people created.”

  “Then why did you go looking for the sword?”

  Julian frowned in confusion. “Because it’s a Meursault. I would have to be crazy not to look for it. And anyway, it wasn’t me. I was away on a campaign if you remember. Winchester and Octo used their own resources to hire a team of searcher bots to go looking for it. It took them a long time, but they finally found it buried up to the hilt in stone, just like the rumors said.”

  “Julian, you know how people are; they’re quick to assign blame and credit where neither are due. Don’t you see how they’ve attached stories to that sword? They’re even repeating the ridiculous notion that whoever finds it will become the next ruler.”

  Julian offered a wink and a grin. “Yes, I’ve heard that.”

  “And you don’t see how Octo and Winchester are pushing you in this direction?”

  The delight in Julian’s eyes faded and was replaced by a sad smile. “Hector, you have to trust me. I only want what’s best for the Round Table. You’ve known me long enough to know—”

  “There won’t be a Round Table if a ruler is installed. The representatives will become pointless. It will be the same type of kingdom Vere fought to eliminate.”

  “Hector, you’re being overly dramatic. I—”

  “Overly dramatic?” He was aware that his voice was growing louder but he didn’t care. “Overly dramatic? The galaxy is finally united and peaceful and—”

  “Peaceful?” Julian shook his head and sighed. “A warlord has been destroying colonies without facing any consequences. He put a giant bomb, in the form of a flagship, above our capital and no one did anything about it. If you think it’s ideal to have everyone live in fear, we won’t be able to agree on much else. The truth is the Round Table needs someone to lead it. You know it does, you’re just too loyal—loyal to a fault—to admit it.”

  There were a thousand things Hector wanted to say and do. He wanted to yell that none of the people who had died in the blood tunnels or in the fields or in the sky above Edsall Dark had done so because they wanted a single person to rule over them. They had risked their lives, and many had died, for the exact opposite reason—because they didn’t want a ruler. He wanted to cross to the other side of the desk and shake Julian by the shoulders. He wanted to take the Meursault and bury it so far underground that no one would ever be able to find it again.

  Instead, he forced himself to breathe in, then out. Then he turned to leave.

  On his way out of Julian’s house, his friend called, “Hector, you have to trust me. It won’t be like you imagine.”

  Hector’s energy disk didn’t slow as he crossed the street and made his way back to his own home.

  28

  “What was that about?” Margaret asked, standing in the doorway to Julian’s office again.

  The mug in her hands billowed small puffs of smoke. She offered it to Julian in case he wanted a sip but he waved it away.

  Julian sighed. “You know how Hector gets. Everything is one way or the other. There are no middle areas.”

  She looked toward the window, where only tiny slits of the outside world could be seen through the holographic blinds which slowly allowed more light through as the day went on.

  “Can you trust him?” she asked. “I’ve heard whispers that some of the representatives are worried about possible changes. Do you think there’s any chance they’ll panic and do something...”

  Julian smiled as he waited for the last word. He expected it could be any number of things, from stupid to dangerous to something to stop you? Rather than offer the word, however, she trailed off.

  He gave her a playful shrug and said, “My biggest worry right now is getting more sleep.” Then, seeing she wanted a better response, he added, “I’ve known Hector longer than I’ve known anyone else, even you. He’s the most honorable man in Edsall Dark. If I can’t trust him, the Round Table has no hope.”

  29

  Cartha-Minor-d was the smallest colony in all of the Cartha sector. Outside the colony’s containment field, gusts of gold and orange swirled in miniature cyclones. Inhabitants of Cartha-Minor-d often claimed they saw mirages through the protective barrier. Instead of the types of visions that people travelling through the desert sometimes saw—mirages of lakes and streams—residents on the colony claimed to see fires burning in the distance. None of the flames actually existed, though. The phenomenon was nothing but an optimal illusion caused by the gases in the air.

  Over the past weeks, the colony had become known as the last vestige of civilization that the Round Table forces had come across prior to entering the Orleans asteroid field and falling into the Carthagen trap. The proton flag with the Round Table’s insignia still glowed above the planet.

  In the time since General Reiser’s ships had landed and he had persuaded the colonists to become part of the Round Table, nothing of substance had changed. The banner of blue, red, and yellow wedged circles, the symbol of the Round Table, was now displayed above certain buildings. That was the only difference.

  Inside the containment field, there was still one main landing platform and one town square in the middle of the colony with two and three-story structures surrounding it.

  A vessel approached. It was much too large to land, however. In fact, it was bigger than all of the combined Round Table flagships Julian had taken with him on the campaign. The Juggernaut came to a stop just above the moon where it fell into a hovering pattern.

  From its side, four hangar doors rose. A moment later, a different colored mech appeared from each. The four mech’s were roughly the same proportion as the reinforced CAB suits Julian and the others had worn into the Carthagen tunnels, but each was slightly larger than a space fighter. The mechs stood atop platforms that were the same color as their armor.

  The first mech, its armor stained white, carried what looked to be a long ion bow. The second mech, its armor a reddish brown, carried an enormous ion sword. The third mech was black. With the void of space around it, the armor looked like a spirit moving amongst the stars. In its hands was something that resembled a scale. The last mech was dull grey. In one of its hands was a staff with a blade as long as a sword’s. Unlike a sword, however, the blade came out to the side and had a slight bend.

  All four mechs descended toward the colony. Shortly after they passed through the containment field, the first screams began. Over the course of the next few minutes, every single being that had been living on Cartha-Minor-d was dead.

  Cartha-Minor-d, Tim Barton, digital art

  30

  “How much longer,” Cimber said, leaning against a wall outside Hector’s house.

  Cash looked at the time then back at the front door of the house they were stationed outside of. “Should be any minute.”

  As soon as the door opened and Hector’s large frame appeared in the doorway, both men moved forward. Pistol was standing behind Hector, most of the android obscured by the war hero’s massive chest and torso.

  “What did he say?” Cimber asked, referring to their friend’s conversation with Julian.

  Hector took a deep breath and stared at the two men. Usually, he wouldn’t think twice about what to say and what to keep to himself. However, still not knowing who the other two men had been that had accompanied Cimber and Cash the previous night, not knowing who else might be plotting against Julian or to what extent they would go, he considered his words carefully.

  “I don’t know.” Hector said as he sighed and rubbed his hands together.

  Cimber tapped a foot against the stone step leading out from Hector’s house. “You talked to him and you don’t know what he said?”

  Hector hovered forward, into the street. To Pistol he said, “Go ahead and get started on everything we discussed. I’ll be to the Great Hall shortly.”

  “Yes, Hector.”

  Pistol’s eyes gave quick scans on both Cimber and Cash, his irises glowing as he assessed their body language and maybe what they carried with them. He moved past the three representatives and made his way down the street.

  Cimber, his eyebrows scrunched with anger, started to say something but Cash signaled for him to be stop.

  “I understand how difficult this is,” Cash said, speaking softly as he looked at Hector with kind eyes. “Not just for you, but for all of us. Cimber and I hate what’s happening as much as you do. I don’t want this either, but if an evil is trying to work itself into the peace that has spread amongst the stars, we have to do something. I’d much rather sit in on another Round Table meeting and listen to everyone bicker”—he smiled to let Hector know he also wished the proceedings were more effective than they were—“and stick to the vision Vere created, than install a new leader after we just did away with them. We can’t let Julian take the throne that Octo and Winchester are trying to give him.”

  “I know,” Hector said, looking down at the disk of energy that hummed and glowed underneath his stomach. His voice dropped to a near whisper. “I just wish I knew how to stop him.”

  Again, Cimber began to say something and again Cash motioned for silence.

  “Let Cimber and I take care of that. We’ll figure it out.” He put a hand on Hector’s back. “You shouldn’t be expected to confront your friend. I know this has been tough on you. We’ll let you know when we have a plan.”

  “Thank you, Cash.”

  Cash shook his head. “Don’t thank me. I’m defending the Round Table because of you. I wish more people held you in the same regard that they hold Julian in. If they did, the planet and the galaxy would be a much better place.” Cash gave his friend a gentle push. “Go about your day. Cimber and I will figure this out. We promise.”

  31

  Even with jumping through two portals, it took Lancelot longer than she thought it would to get to the St. Jebastian sector where Sceptor-Major was located. It took so long because a black hole lay outside the sector and that prevented any portal from being built within a certain distance of it.

  While scientists had managed to create technology that connected two spots in space, they never figured out why the proximity of portals to black holes effected their reliability. Even portals that were safely away from a black hole’s event horizon—the distance of space where all objects, even light, would be sucked into a black hole—were affected by the gravitational anomalies.

  Because of that, the portal nearest to Sceptor-Major lay two days away from the planet she was going to visit, the planet where the Turgdorians had dropped off the kidnapped scientist months earlier.

  Sceptor-Major was the larger of a pair of twin planets. Both were frozen deserts that appeared as a dust-colored brown because of the granules of sand frozen in huge blocks of mineral glaciers. Both Sceptor-Major and Minor had a combination of underground, surface level, and floating colonies. This was because both proved rich in resources and, other than having extremely cold temperatures, offered fairly stable living environments.

  Thanks to the Turgdorians, Lancelot knew which of the twenty different spaceports to land on. Outside of that information, she had no idea of how to find the android named J that served Arc-Mi-Die.

  For the first hour after landing the Ronan, she walked through the colony’s streets and markets. Androids of all makes and functions littered the area.

  “I’m looking for someone named J,” Lancelot said to a human-looking model. The android, not programmed with any kind of voluntary speech, stared back at her until asked a specific question. “Do you know where J is?”

  “Not enough information,” the android said in a flat, robotic tone. A feint yellow ring of light circled its eyes as it assessed the four-armed and four-legged warrior in front of it.

  “Have you ever heard the name before?”

  The android’s glowing eyes changed from yellow to purple. “I know androids with the names, J-01, JJ-01, JA-01, Jay-A, J-B—”

  “Stop,” Lancelot said. “I get the idea.” Then, after scanning the streets, added, “Where would I go if I wanted to find work?”

  “The employment office is—”

  “Not that kind of work,” Lancelot said. The android stared at her, its eyes not glowing any color. Lancelot groaned and asked if there was a criminal syndicate nearby that might need help.

  Something in the android’s programming activated. It might have been a self-preservation feature or a goodwill function. Regardless, it decided Lancelot wasn’t someone it should be associating with and began to walk away.

  A group of four MaqMacs approached. Each of them had dirty uniforms. None of them were taller than Lancelot’s knees.

  “I’m looking for an android named J,” she said to them. “I’ll pay for information.”

  The four little aliens looked at her and at each other as they whispered excited bleets and beeps. A moment later, the group began to walk past her.

  She scooped one off the ground with each of her hands. All four aliens dangled six feet in the air as the large gauntlets of her Carthagen armor wrapped its fingers around the entire circumference of their waists.

  The MaqMacs yelled a series of noises that caused everyone within a city block to turn and see what was happening.

  “Quiet,” Lancelot hissed. The MaqMacs continued to make frightened chirps. “I said, I’m looking for an android named J. And I’ll pay for any information you can provide.”

  The MaqMac in her lower right hand offered a series of noises that were translated inside Lancelot’s helmet as, “We know no J. We are going back to underground colony. Please now.”

  She sighed and put them down on the pavement. All four tiny aliens darted away.

  An Orguantuan, an alien that walked on all fours but could stand upright and use its hands to perform jobs, was standing outside a building with no sign to indicate what it was used for. Orguantuans were the height of an average human but weighed over a thousand pounds because of their massive frame and the density of their muscles. Any time they wanted they could find work as bouncers, henchmen, or any other career where strength and intimidation were highly sought after characteristics.