Refusing Excalibur

by Zachary Jones

  Pulling out a makeup kit, Lysandra added a few more details. A subtle layer of eye shadow, a blush of color to her cheeks. Enough that, when she was finished, she could barely recognize the woman staring back at her.

  She was still beautiful, but she didn’t look like a princess anymore. A student or a model but not a princess. She supposed she had done a good job.

  Pulling open the apartment’s pitifully small closet, Lysandra picked through the clothing available. Two complete sets of clothing, for any season, hung in the closet—one larger, meant for a man, likely her father. The other set was suited to her size if not her tastes.

  The clothing was so prosaic it hurt. Something any common woman would wear. Which, of course, was the point, but Lysandra still didn’t like the idea of stepping out into the daylight wearing such garments.

  She sighed and got dressed; she didn’t really have a choice in the matter. She put on a pair of casual brown trousers and a thick cream-colored sweater. The clothes were comfortable, at least, even if they did hurt the eye.

  She checked herself in the mirror one last time and decided that she did, indeed, no longer look like a princess.

  At least money wouldn’t be hard to come by. Her father had squirrelled away a fortune in off-planet accounts.

  She picked up her tablet and set up a secure connection to the planetary network. Time to find herself a ship.

  ***

  All in all, Lysandra considered, the bar where the captain had suggested they meet was the sleaziest dive she had ever seen, though she admitted her standards were a bit skewed, considering the strata of society she was accustomed to.

  She walked to a table and sat down. Her eyes itched from the contacts, so she pulled out an eye dropper from her jacket pocket and put a couple drops in each eye to relieve them.

  When she put the dropper back in her pocket, a middle-aged waitress with a tired look on her face walked up. “What would ya like, honey?”

  “Um, brandy on the rocks, please,” Lysandra said. “The sweeter the better.”

  “Okay, I’ll need an ID for that, honey,” the waitress said.

  She froze for a moment. That was a question she had never been asked before.

  “You got that ID or what, honey?”

  “Oh, yes,” Lysandra said, pulling out the fake ID she’d printed in the safe house to match the name she’d given. A chill ran down her spine when she realized she couldn’t remember the stated age on the ID card.

  Whatever the printed age was, it appeared to be enough for brandy. The waitress nodded and returned the ID. “I’ll bring your brandy right away.”

  Lysandra nodded and looked up at the video screen hanging over the bar. It was tuned to the Imperial News Service’s twenty-four-hour channel, and the topic they were discussing had been the same as it had been for the last two days: the disappearance of Princess Lysandra Lacano.

  She lowered her head, feeling a little guilty about what Lana must be going through right now. Even if she was a mole, like Lysandra feared, Lana was likely having a tough time right now. And, if it turned out she wasn’t a mole, well, Lysandra would have to make it up to Lana after this was all over.

  The waitress soon arrived, carrying Lysandra’s brandy on a tray. “Here you go, honey,” she said. The ice cubes inside clinked as the glass touched the table.

  “Thank you,” Lysandra said. She picked up the glass and took a sip. The cool brandy was almost saccharine, and it warmed her mouth and throat as it went down. She resisted the urge to gulp it.

  “I’ll have what she’s having,” said a woman.

  Lysandra set down her glass to see a stunning redhead standing in front of the waitress.

  The waitress smiled at her and said, “Sure thing, Captain Dryer. I didn’t know you’d be meeting a customer today.”

  The redhead smiled back, her gray eyes knowing. “And I’ll make sure you get a little something to make sure you keep not knowing.”

  The waitress’ smile broadened. “I’ll be back with that drink.”

  The redhead turned her gray eyes to Lysandra. “Mind if I take a seat?”

  Lysandra had trouble finding her voice for a moment; she was taken with an urgent desire to run her fingers through the curls of Captain Dryer’s hair.

  Captain Dryer cocked her head to the side. “Well?”

  “Oh, yes, of course,” Lysandra said.

  Dryer sat down. “So I understand you need a ship off-world, Mira?”

  “Yes,” Lysandra said. “I need to get to the Gaddon system as fast as possible.”

  “Gaddon? Why not Mustang? There’s nothing in Gaddon,” Dryer said.

  “There will be for me,” Lysandra said, assuming, of course, General Solari didn't catch up to the First Battlefleet before that.

  “You know,” Captain Dryer said, pulling one of her wonderful curls over an ear, “if you’re sneaking into Mustang, there are more direct ways.”

  “I’m sure, but I’m not going to Mustang. And you’re asking more questions than I like,” Lysandra said, taking a sip of her brandy.

  The waitress showed up and set another brandy down on the table. Dryer paid for the drink and slipped the waitress a credit chit to purchase the woman’s ignorance.

  Dryer took a sip of her brandy and blinked. “If I knew I was having dessert, I would’ve eaten dinner first.”

  “I know a place we can go after we conclude our business,” Lysandra said.

  Dryer arched an eyebrow. “We?”

  “Sure,” Lysandra said, swishing the brandy around in her glass. “Consider it part of your payment.”

  Dryer smiled. “I’ll consider it. But first we need to hammer out the terms of the deal.”

  “Sure, Captain Dryer,” Lysandra said. She slid her tablet over to Dryer. “Get me to the Gaddon system as fast as possible, and the entire contents of this Taborian account will be yours.”

  Dryer picked up the tablet, and her eyes bulged. “Uh, when do you want to take off?”

  Lysandra smiled. “After dinner would be good, Captain Dryer.”

  Dryer returned the tablet. “Done. And please call me Lena.”

  “Of course, Lena,” Lysandra said.

  An explosion erupted from the front of the bar, turning the door into splinters. Armored figures stormed in, weapons firing.

  Lena ducked under the table while Lysandra gawked at the violence before her, as the bar’s staff and patrons were gunned down without mercy, including the waitress who had served her, falling to the ground in a spray of broken glass and blood.

  A hand reached from under the table and grabbed her by the collar and pulled her under. Lena, with a pistol drawn, was staring daggers at her.

  “Those aren’t cops!” she said over the screams and gunfire.

  “No, they’re assassins,” Lysandra said. Her heart was pounding. They were here for her; she was certain. Who else but Solari would send a kill-team after her?

  “Come on. I know a way out,” Lena said.

  “They’ll have the back exit covered,” Lysandra said.

  “I’m not going that way. There’s a tunnel that leads to the building next door,” Lena said.

  “How do you know that?” Lysandra asked.

  “It’s why I asked to meet you here,” Lena said, pulling something round and metallic from her jacket. “Close your eyes and cover your ears. When this goes off, follow me. If you fall behind, I’m not coming back for you.”

  Lysandra nodded.

  Lena leaned out from under the table and tossed the ball toward the front of the bar, then ducked again and covered her ears.

  Lysandra did the same, and, a couple seconds later, an almost deafening bang sounded and a flash that penetrated her eyelids.

  When she opened her eyes, smoke was everywhere. She could barely see Lena’s crouched form running for the bar.

  Lysandra followed, staying as low as she could. She caught up with Lena as she tried to pry the prone body of the bartender off the
floor.

  “Just my luck his fat ass would fall on the trapdoor. Help me move him!” Lena said.

  Lysandra stepped next to Lena and, with her help, rolled the big man over. Lysandra gasped when she saw half the bartender’s face was gone.

  “No time for that!” Lena said, pulling back the bloodstained rug to expose the floor beneath.

  “I thought a door was here!” Lysandra said.

  Lena gave her an annoyed look. “There is.” Then she looked up and aimed her pistol past Lysandra’s head and fired.

  Lysandra’s ears rang as the three shots went off right by her head. When she turned, she saw an assassin slumped over the counter.

  “Sorry about that,” Lena said. She then tapped rhythmically on a spot on the floor. Seams appeared as the small trapdoor descended slightly and then slipped from view. Lena immediately jumped down. Lysandra followed.

  She landed in a well-lit room of bare concrete that looked like it had been cut from the bar’s foundation.

  Lena jogged over to a control panel and hit a button, closing the door above. “That won’t hold them long. Follow me!” She ran to the room’s only door, opened it, then sprinted down the tunnel.

  Lysandra was right behind Lena, her shoulder brushing against the walls of the narrow tunnel.

  After running thirty meters, they came upon another room, almost identical to the one she left. Lena hit a button, and the door at the top of the ladder opened. She began to climb.

  Lysandra climbed too into a dark room, barely illuminated by the light coming from below.

  Lysandra looked to Lena, who had an ear pressed to the room’s lone door, her pistol held high at the ready.

  “What do we do now?”

  “Shush!” was all Lena said.

  Lysandra waited quietly while Lena listened through the door. Then the starship captain slowly opened the door and trained her pistol down the corridor.

  “I think we’re clear,” she said, turning and aiming her gun at Lysandra.

  “What are you doing?!” Lysandra asked.

  “That kill-team was after you, weren’t they?” Lena said, taking a step closer, her gray eyes hard.

  Lysandra put up her hands and backed away until her body pressed against the wall.

  Lena took a step closer. “Weren’t they?”

  “Probably,” Lysandra said.

  “Why?” Lena took another step closer. “You do something to piss off the emperor?”

  “I do lots of things that piss off the emperor, but he was not who sent them,” Lysandra said. “He’s off-planet, as you know.”

  “He could’ve sent a message, but I’ll humor you,” Lena said, still keeping her gun leveled at Lysandra. “If Emperor Magnus didn’t send a kill-team after you, who did?”

  “Their real master, General Uther Solari,” Lysandra said.

  “Never heard of him,” Lena said.

  “You should,” Lysandra said. “He’s the head of Imperial Intelligence. And he’s just taken control of this planet without anyone, including the emperor, being the wiser.”

  “Assuming this is all true and you’re not just shitting me, why would this General Solari guy want you dead?” Lena asked.

  Lysandra slowly moved her hands to her eyes and removed the contacts. She then looked Lena straight in the eyes. “Because, as you may have guessed, my name isn’t actually Mira. It’s Lysandra.”

  Lena blinked with surprise, which Lysandra found oddly satisfying. Lena lowered her gun. “Huh, I thought you looked familiar.”

  “So you won’t shoot me?” Lysandra asked.

  Lena grimaced and let her pistol hang at her side. “No, I’d rather not shoot a princess. Still what am I going to do with you?”

  “Take me with you,” Lysandra said. “Get me to your ship and to the Gaddon system.”

  “Why there?” Lena asked.

  “Because that’s where my father’s headed. I need to warn him,” Lysandra said, putting her hands down. The sound of something crashing echoed from below. “Looks like they found your secret entrance. We should move.”

  “Agreed,” Lena said. She hit a button to close the trapdoor and then raised her gun to the ready. “Stay behind me.”

  Lysandra nodded. Lysandra ran her hand against the wall and followed Lena by the sound of her footsteps as the way was unlit.

  Another bang sounded in the direction they had come from; it seemed their pursuers had reached the trapdoor.

  “Move!” Lena said, picking up her pace.

  They ran down the hall, almost blind in the darkness.

  Suddenly there was light as Lena crashed through a door Lysandra didn’t see. Following Lena through the door, Lysandra found herself in a trash-filled, brightly lit alley.

  “This way,” Lena said, holstering her pistol and walking in a brisk pace toward the street.

  “Where are we going?” Lysandra asked.

  “Just follow me!” Lena said.

  They walked into the street, only to find themselves surrounded by at least six rough-looking men.

  “Well, look what we got here,” said the biggest and ugliest of the men.

  “Nothing you’d be interested in,” Lena said, drawing her pistol.

  The big man moved faster than Lysandra expected, snatching the pistol from Lena’s hand with the swipe of his right hand and then backhanding her with it, spilling her to the pavement. “I’ll be the judge of that, pretty thing.”

  Lysandra took a step back toward the alley, but a couple thugs had already moved to block her, grabbing her from behind and shoving her.

  Lysandra fell on her hands and knees before the leader, right by Lena, who was groaning on the ground with blood seeping from her lips.

  A hand grabbed Lysandra by the collar of her jacket and pulled her up. The big man’s face was right in front of her own, his foul breath almost causing her to gag.

  “Now what are a couple pretty things like yourselves doing in a nasty place like this?” asked the big man. He nodded in the direction of the sound of gunfire. “You wouldn’t be running from all that noise we heard coming from the bar, would you?” He chuckled, a grating sound with more menace than mirth. Then his eyes went wide with the glint of recognition.

  “Wait, I’ve seen you before.” He smiled, showing a full set of discolored teeth. “Well, Your Ladyship, a lot of people are looking for you. What do you think we should do with you?”

  “Let us go,” Lysandra said.

  He shook his head. “That sounds like an order, but you ain’t in charge here. On these streets, I’m the king.”

  “King? I’ve never heard of you,” said Lysandra.

  The big man snarled and drew her close. “Before tonight is over, you’ll be screaming my name. My boys can have your friend.”

  Lysandra gritted her teeth. “I don’t do guys.” With a mental command, she summoned the variblade to her hand and, in one motion, formed the morphmetal into a dagger and stabbed the man below the ribs, right where his heart would be.

  The nameless king of the streets grunted as she twisted the variblade and pulled it out. He fell to the pavement.

  She held her weapon at the ready as the other thugs stared at her with shock.

  Then they reached for their weapons.

  Lysandra morphed the variblade from a dagger into a spear and ran through a thug while he pulled a pistol from his belt. She withdrew and changed her variblade into a katana midswing, taking the arm off another thug just as he brought his own gun to bear.

  While the man’s severed arm fell, Lysandra continued to the next thug, slicing him open from right hip to left shoulder.

  The last thug looked at her with fright, dropped his weapon, and ran away.

  Lysandra let out a ragged breath and sank to her knees. Her still-formed variblade was covered in blood, as were her clothes. She dropped her weapon and doubled over to vomit.

  “First time, huh?” Lena said from behind her.

  Lysandra glanced behind
her and nodded. Lena was back on her feet, wiping the blood from her lips with the back of her hand.

  Lena crouched to recover her pistol from the first man Lysandra killed. “Well, don’t worry too much about these guys. I’m sure they had it coming.” She holstered her weapon. “I’m a bit surprised to see you have a variblade. Even more so that you know how to use it.”

  Lysandra nodded and wiped her eyes with her sleeves. She had been weeping without even knowing it.

  Lena placed a hand on her shoulder. “Come on, Princess. We need to get moving.”

  Lysandra sniffed, regaining her composure. “You’re right.” She picked up her variblade, retracting the blade and returning it to her wrist-sheath. She stood and turned to Lena, who seemed even more striking with the blood streaking her cheek. “Where now?”

  “To my ship, just like you asked,” she said. “If we’re lucky, they haven’t shut down the spaceport yet.”

  Chapter 22

  “Target locked. I got him dead to rights, Captain,” Fara said.

  “Fire,” Victor said.

  The Alexander’s spinal gun spat out a burst of hypervelocity rounds. Three seconds later, two rounds hit the Lysandran destroyer they were engaging, knocking out the vessel’s drives.

  “Target disabled,” Fara said.

  “Finish them off, Fara. No prisoners,” Victor said. He had no mercy for any Lysandrans.

  Fara closed in on the crippled destroyer and, a few minutes later, fired a point-blank burst just before flying past the ship, shattering its hull to pieces.

  With that, the board was clear; the destroyer had been one of the few ships to escape the kill-zone the Alliance had established around the Janus jump point. All the rest had been destroyed under the guns of the Alliance’s battleships in the biggest turkey shoot since the Fall of the First Civilization.

  “Plot a return vector to the fleet, Fara,” Victor said.

  “Roger that, Captain,” Fara said.

  The first battle of the Free World’s war against the Lysandran Empire had been devastatingly one-sided, in no small part due to the treachery of Uther Solari and the incompetence of Grand Admiral Tolen Phane.