Refusing Excalibur

by Zachary Jones

  Victor simply ran past them as well, their bullets bouncing harmlessly off his armor.

  Reaching a cargo elevator, he pried open the doors with his fingers and leapt into the empty shaft, landing on the elevator several decks below.

  He tore the trapdoor off the top of the elevator and dropped down, then punched out a floor panel and leapt through, grabbing a metal rail and sliding down it, like a fire pole, to control his descent.

  He fell for several decks until he reached his destination, the command level.

  He climbed to the door and pried it open. On the other side was a Mustanger—a marine in a suit of full-power armor, the rearing horse symbol of his planet etched on his chestplate. He leveled a long-barreled cannon at Victor.

  “Oh, sh—”

  The cannon fired, and a shell detonated against his chest, throwing Victor into the elevator shaft.

  He flipped in midair and grabbed the ledge of the deck below to stop his fall. His shields and armor stopped the shell from doing real damage, but Victor felt like he had just been hit in the chest with a sledge hammer.

  Above him, the grim visor of the power-armored marine peeked over the lip of the open elevator door.

  “He’s still alive!” The marine tried to again level the long barrel of his cannon at Victor.

  Hanging by one hand, Victor leapt up and across to the other side of the shaft just as the cannon fired.

  A concussive blast and shrapnel hit Victor in the back as he flew to the opposite wall of the shaft. He kicked off the wall with all the strength he could summon from the warsuit and launched himself right into the midsection of the power-armored marine, tackling him to the deck.

  The marine grabbed Victor by the shoulder with his huge gauntlet and tossed Victor, warsuit and all, over his head.

  Landing down the corridor on his feet, Victor turned to face the man, who was already on his feet, despite the bulk of the power armor, swinging his cannon toward Victor.

  Victor charged, getting inside the radius of the cannon, and drove his shoulder into the midsection of the marine’s power armor, driving him toward the elevator shaft.

  A heavy fist hammered Victor’s back, almost driving him to his knees, but he got under the marine’s center of gravity and used the strength of the warsuit to lift the armored marine up and throw him down the elevator shaft.

  The power-armored marine slammed into the opposite side of the elevator shaft and went tumbling down. Victor didn’t wait to see him hit bottom. Victor turned and headed for the war room.

  None of the opulence Victor had seen on other parts of the Gryphon were present on the command level. No gilding on the bulkheads, just antispall liner. No carpet on the deck, just a matte gray coating of high-traction polymer.

  The heavy security doors were similarly bare of decoration. Just brushed metal. Guarding the doors were a team of marines Victor quickly subdued with fists covered in First Civilization armor.

  While the marines guarding the door moaned from broken limbs and cracked ribs, Victor hacked the security door.

  They parted, and the high councilor rose from his seat at the projection table, along with Alliance representatives and officers.

  Those who had sidearms trained them on Victor as he walked into the room.

  “If the Lysandrans wanted to kill me, there are more efficient ways to go about it,” Holace Quill said.

  “I’m not Lysandran,” Victor said.

  Quill’s eyes narrowed. “Really now. What are you then?”

  “I am the Guardian, a soldier of the Interstellar Union,” Victor said, realizing that Quill simply did not recognize the voice emanating from the suit.

  “Guardian? Interstellar Union? What is this nonsense?” Quill said. “You cripple my ship and then fight your way through my crew to tell me that you’re from the First Civilization? A bit much just to tell a joke.”

  “This is no joke,” Victor said, taking a step forward.

  A staccato of pistol shots bounced off Victor's chest. People in the war room dived for cover as ricochets struck walls and took out monitors. It was a minor miracle no one was hit by the time the shooters ran out of ammo.

  “Put those down!” Holace Quill yelled from the console he crouched behind.

  Officers and crew, many in the midst of reloading their weapons, paused.

  "I said, put those down. You're more likely to kill yourselves!" Quill said.

  Pistols returned to holsters, and Quill rose from behind his console to approach Victor.

  “Okay, I’ll humor you," Quill said. "If you are, indeed, from the First Civilization, like you claim, then why have you decided to make war against the Free Worlds?”

  “I’m not here to make war with the Free Worlds,” Victor said. “I’m here to stop you, all of you, from destroying any more worlds.”

  “‘Any more’?” Quill asked. “What are you talking about?”

  “This,” Victor said. He hacked into the war room’s holoprojectors and the burned husk of Savannah appeared overhead.

  Quill chuckled. “Savannah? Your information seems a bit flawed, Guardian. It was the Lysandrans who destroyed Savannah.”

  “I’m not finished,” Victor said. Another dead world appeared and then another. He showed them the same worlds the old man had showed him when first trying to recruit him. “Ever since the gates collapsed and Earth was cut off, her daughter worlds have been slowly killing off each other. Savannah was just the latest, and, if I have anything to say about it, the last.”

  Quill scoffed. “How can we know this is true?”

  “You can verify the information yourselves,” Victor said. “I’ve uploaded the coordinates. You’re free to send ships to investigate my claims.”

  “I’ll do that, after we deal with Lysander,” Quill said.

  “You will leave Lysander unharmed,” Victor said.

  “And how will you stop us?” Quill asked. “You have just one ship against thousands.”

  “What I have is a First Civilization battlecruiser that is more than capable of wiping out you and your entire fleet,” Victor said. It was a bluff of course; the Excalibur had been badly battered just getting him to the Gryphon. But none of the Free Worlders knew that. “The only reason why I’m not doing that right now is the hope I can make you see reason.”

  “You could’ve just called,” Quill said.

  “I needed a show of force in order to get your attention,” Victor said, “and to demonstrate the futility of fighting me.”

  “Even if your ship can destroy this fleet, I doubt you can do it before we devastate Lysander,” Quill said.

  “Really? Is destroying Lysander so important to you that you’d risk every Alliance starship and their crews to do it?” Victor asked.

  “It is if it makes sure a Lysandran emperor never threatens the Free Worlds again,” Quill said. “It is if it brings justice to the hundreds of millions of people they murdered when they destroyed Savannah.”

  “I’d say the Lysandrans are pretty well declawed, High Councilor,” Victor said. “And your talk of justice reeks of hypocrisy.” He pointed at each Alliance representative in turn. “Each and every one of your worlds refused Savannah’s request for help during their war with Lysander. Mohawk even went so far as to execute their diplomats and send their heads back home as a way of saying no.” Victor was glad the warsuit concealed his face, keeping his expression invisible to the Free Worlders. “High Councilor, what you and your allies are trying to do, what I’ll stop you all from doing, has nothing to do with justice or defense or any other platitudes you can voice. It’s about revenge…and fear.”

  “I’d say we have a right to be afraid, and the thousands of people who died defending the Free Worlds from Lysandran aggression deserve to be avenged,” Holace Quill said.

  “Does that include your son?” Victor asked.

  The high councilor took a step back, then his brows narrowed. “How do you know that?”

  “It’s no
secret,” Victor said. “And, as you will find out, few things escape my notice. Like the fact you already knew the Lysandrans were coming. Uther Solari told you. And yet you sent your son to scout for them, just to make sure he would get the credit for finding them.”

  “Who are you?” Holace Quill whispered. “How can you possibly know that?”

  “Easy enough to figure out,” Victor said. “I know Uther Solari tipped you off as part of his plan to overthrow the Lacano dynasty. I also know that, by all measures, your son, Harlan Quill, was a good man. The fact he died—simply because you wanted to give him the chance at more glory—was a tragedy.”

  “Yes, it was,” Quill said.

  “And how do you think committing an atrocity will make up for that?” Victor asked.

  “There's more to it than that!” Quill said.

  “No, there isn’t,” Victor said. “You wish to destroy a world to avenge the death of your son, just like Magnus Lacano destroyed Savannah to avenge the death of his sons. Tell me, High Councilor, what would Harlan think if he were here today to see his father become just like the man Harlan died fighting against?”

  Holace Quill shook his head. “I am nothing like Magnus Lacano!”

  “Look at yourself, High Councilor.” Victor addressed the gathered Alliance representatives. “Look at all yourselves! What good is it to defeat the Lysandrans if you become just like them? Well?”

  Chancellor Forsythe of Tabor stepped forward. He was the only other Alliance head of state present. “Maybe we were…hasty in our course of action. High Councilor Quill, I think perhaps it is time for Tabor’s ships to return home.”

  Quill rounded on Forsythe. “Return home? We have Lysander in sight, and you want to leave?”

  “I think the Alliance has more than appropriately demonstrated its superiority over the Lysandran Empire,” Forsythe said, then he looked up at Victor. “And I see no reason to incur the wrath of a First Civilization warrior.”

  “Yes,…yes, I agree,” said a representative from the Free World of Vespa. “I think it best for our forces to retire to home space.”

  Like watching a tide wane, the resolve drained from the room. Representatives from each member of the Free Worlds’ Alliance joined with Forsythe, saying their ships should return home, except for Holace Quill.

  “You’re all weak!” Holace Quill said. “Mustang will finish this alone if we must.”

  “Sir!” a Mustanger admiral said. “Our ships alone would be evenly matched against the Lysandran Home Fleet.” He gave a nervous glance toward Victor. “And if we have to fight him too…”

  Quill sneered at the officer. “Admiral…”

  “It’s over, High Councilor,” Victor said. “You have this one last chance. Turn your fleet around. Let your people go home to celebrate their victory. Let yourself grieve for your son.”

  Holace Quill snarled at Victor. “And what would you know of loss, Guardian?”

  “More than you would understand,” Victor said, speaking with complete honesty for the first time since he had entered the room. “I woke up in a galaxy where everything I loved, everything I knew, was gone. And there’s nothing I can do to change that.”

  “So why are you here?” Quill asked.

  “I know I can’t bring back”—he almost said Savannah—“the Union, the First Civilization as you people call it, but I can at least try to keep things from getting any worse than they already are.”

  “Aren’t you a bit late for that?” Quill asked.

  “Very,” Victor said. “But that’s no excuse not to try.”

  Quill stared daggers at Victor. “Admiral.”

  “Yes, High Councilor?”

  Quill sighed, his resolve melting away. “Order our ships to cease advancing on Lysander. As soon as the Gryphon’s drives are repaired, I want the fleet to set course for the jump point. We’re going home.”

  “Yes, sir,” the admiral said.

  Quill pointed at Victor. “And, as for you, get the hell off my ship!”

  Chapter 33

  She waited at the airlock while the Guardian’s shuttle docked in the hangar next to the Daisy Mae. As soon as the doors parted, Lysandra ran forward and wrapped her arms around his armor torso and squeezed.

  Despite all the layers of ancient and advanced armor, the surprise in his body language was clear as day. “Princess?”

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she said. The Guardian’s armor poked her in places, but she didn’t care. She was far too grateful to the man who, despite having every reason to hate her world, had saved it.

  The Guardian gently pushed her away. “There’s no need to thank me, Princess.”

  “You are so unbelievably wrong on that,” Lysandra said. “If there’s anything you want of me, anything at all, ask.”

  “Are you sure of that, Princess?” the Guardian asked. “Because you may not like what I ask of you.”

  Lysandra lifted her chin. “I’m as sure as I’ve ever been in my life.”

  The Guardian nodded. “If you insist, Princess. Old man!”

  The wrinkled avatar of the old man appeared next to her. “Guardian, ‘Emperor’ Uther Solari is contacting you. Apparently he wishes to express his gratitude at your assistance.”

  “You know I’m aware of that,” the Guardian said.

  “I am. So why haven’t you answered?” the old man asked.

  “I assume you monitored Solari’s communications with High Councilor Quill?” Victor asked.

  A gray eyebrow arched. “Yes, my deep scouts have recorded the exchanges between them. Why?”

  “Deep scouts?” Lysandra asked.

  “Highly advanced and very stealth probes of First Civilization vintage,” said the Guardian. “The old man has thousands of them monitoring the galaxy. Now, old man, you wouldn’t happen to have a copy of those exchanges, would you?”

  “I do,” the old man said.

  “Then broadcast that data to every receiver in the Lysander system,” the Guardian said.

  Lysandra stepped back in shock. “You’re exposing him? Why?”

  “To get him out of the way,” the Guardian said.

  “Out of the way of what?” asked Lysandra.

  The Guardian looked down at her, her face reflected in the lenses of his eye slits. “Your coronation, Empress.”

  ***

  The traitorous pretender, Uther Solari, didn’t survive a day after the Guardian broadcast proof of his treason to everyone on Lysander.

  Abandoned by the officers he had placed in control of the Home Fleet and planetary garrison, he died at the hands of his own bodyguards.

  As soon as his death was confirmed, Lysandra boarded one of the Excalibur’s stealth shuttles with the Guardian and flew to the planet’s surface.

  They weren’t detected until the shuttle landed on the front lawn of the Imperial palace.

  Palace guards swarmed around the black wedge-shaped craft, their weapons readied.

  Lysandra wasn’t sure what to expect when she walked down the boarding ramp with the Guardian striding to her right. Lena, who insisted she would come along, clutched Lysandra’s hand.

  One of the guards, a first lieutenant, lowered his rifle, his eyes wide. “Princess Lysandra?”

  She nodded. “Yes, it’s me.”

  He nodded to the Guardian. “What is that?”

  She gestured to the armored figure. “This is the Guardian, the last soldier of the First Civilization and the savior of Lysander.”

  The lieutenant nodded slowly, not sure what to make of it all. “W-We will have to verify your identity, Princess.”

  Lysandra nodded. “Of course.”

  The officer ordered one of his men to fetch a medical scanner.

  Lena leaned into Lysandra’s left ear and whispered, “So they won’t shoot us?”

  “No, at least not when they know I am who I claim I am,” Lysandra said.

  “Okay,” Lena said, the tremble in her voice betraying her nervous
ness.

  Lysandra was nervous too. Unlike the Guardian, she and Lena weren’t wearing suits of First Civilization armor.

  Finally an Imperial guard/medic arrived with a scanner. Running the scanner over her hand, he studied its display and said, “It’s her.”

  She wasn’t sure how, but every guard in the courtyard seemed to hear that statement. Almost all at once, they knelt.

  ***

  “Well, that was a lovely coronation,” the old man said. The Excalibur loitered high above Lysander in a synchronous orbit above the Imperial capital of New Pergamum.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Victor said as he gazed through the Excalibur’s sensors at the world he had saved. Lysander was a beautiful world, he had to admit to himself, especially at night as the lights of its cities illuminated the planet’s land masses.

  “I’m still more than a little surprised you wanted the daughter of the man who destroyed your world to take the throne,” the old man said. “Solari probably would have worked with you.”

  “I wouldn’t work with him. He supported Magnus’ decision to burn Savannah,” Victor said. “And, besides, I think having Lysandra Lacano on the throne will be better for the Lysandran Empire.”

  “Yes, you’re probably right,” the old man said. “Still, acting in the interest of the Lysandran Empire is more than what I expected of you.”

  “I have no love for the empire,” Victor said. “But a stable empire with a grateful monarch on the throne will be an asset in the long run.”

  “And what is the long run for you?” the old man asked.

  “Fixing our broken galaxy, just as you wanted,” Victor said.

  The old man smiled and nodded. “In that case, what’s the first step?”

  “The first step? Taking the Excalibur back to the Stone for repairs,” Victor said. “And after that? I thought I’d see about fostering a lasting peace between the Free Worlds and the Lysandran Empire.”

  “A sound plan, I think,” the old man said. He turned and stared at the galaxy map display on the bridge and let out a long sigh.

  Victor tilted his head. “What is that about?”