Captain of the Monte Cristo: a space opera retelling of the classic tale (Classic Retellings Book 1)

by Sarah K. L. Wilson

  Dante took a slow drink while his mind raced. He steeled himself for what he needed to do. “You presume much without knowing me.”

  “A calculated risk—I’m willing to take the time to find you out,” Albert said. He stuck out his hand. “What do you say to an alliance in these games?”

  Dante looked at his hand for a moment and then took it. “Toss the dice and let them fall.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “YOUR FRIEND’S A REAL TALENT,” the man beside Jack said as they watched the glowing sphere from outside. “I haven’t seen a string of wins like this in a very long time.”

  The observation decks were open to any comers, but virtual tickets were sold for the better seats. From anywhere in Observation, y ou could view the arena through a virtual lens and see whatever you wanted, including riding in one of the units’ heads and pretending you were a player. Somehow, none of it beat watching it live with your own eyes. Dante had paid for tickets for Jack on the reserved level for every game. He had a bird’s-eye view, and moveable portions of the deck could be navigated around the outer shell of the sphere to watch from any angle he chose. If he was just here for fun, it would be the experience of a lifetime—although he’d had several of those since meeting Dante.

  “Almost as good as the legendary Napoleon. I saw him play once before he was exiled to Elba.”

  “Really? How did you manage that?” Jack asked. He felt strange in the tailored, high-end clothing Dante had bought for him after his second win. “We must look the part,” Dante had said, but it still felt strange to wear clothing that pretended he was something other than what he was. It did give him an advantage with a better class of people, however; women who usually ignored him allowed him to buy their drinks and remarked almost favorably on his holo-ttoo.

  “I’m a reporter,” the man said. “I write for the Interstellar Times.”

  He flashed a grin that showed perfect white teeth, and now that Jack looked, he saw his face had been biosculpted to near-perfection. Jack had never liked that look—it was like one of his sisters’ dolls had come to life. He smiled back, but the man gave him the creeps.

  “I missed his first game because I wasn’t watching for him. Who would have thought a Davrini Hacken would arrive and then play a minor game? But that’s his charm, see? Mysterious, foreign, and an underdog.The story sells itself.”

  “Does it?” Jack asked, signaling the waiter drone. It slipped over, dispersing drinks and smiling in a charming fashion. Whoever had decided serving drones should look like bombshells had either been very thoughtful or extremely cruel. You could never strike out with them, but what would be the point?

  “Of course it does,” the reporter said, holding a foppish viewmaster up to his eye for magnification, as if the dome surface wouldn’t magnify for you if you asked it to. “I saw his second game with Albert Mondego, the Mondego heir. He’s a clever choice of ally. The Mondegos are a force to be reckoned with. They were overwhelmed by six opponents.I thought for sure they would lose—and with what Mondego bet, his family would have lost three quarters’ profits—but no, your friend swooped in and turned the tables!” He gave a low whistle. “Now that reminded me of old Nathan Napoleon. He didn’t work for him, did he?”

  Jack ignored the serpentine gleam in the other’s eye. “Of course not.”

  The reporter shrugged. “Worth asking. Did you?”

  Jack raised an eyebrow.

  The reporter held up his hands. “Don’t be upset. I have to ask—it’s my professional obligation. I did notice you bet heavily on him on top of the bets he placed, himself. Between the two of you, there must be a fortune won already.”

  “It’s not illegal,” Jack said.

  “I never said it was, although I’ve heard rumors that the Company is watching you. I even heard rumors that they were funding the Red League’s vendetta against your friend. Do you know anything about that?”

  Jack shrugged uncomfortably. Could it be true? If it was, then they were making bigger enemies than they knew.

  “That third game—whew! What a clincher! He and Mondego split forces to make that pincher move, but they were out of the minors by then and into standard games. Being foreigners, I doubt you know what happened to Kelliher,the man who tried to flank him. It wasn’t pretty, I can tell you.”

  “Fired?”

  His eyes widened. “You didn’t hear? His employer removed his right hand and sent him to the fringe colonies as a moisture farmer. These games aren’t a joke, you know.”

  Jack swallowed. Fancy suits, bubbly drinks, and not a law broken, yet these civilized people were more brutal than any of the pirates he’d served with.

  “Now here they are in the advanced games. They are quite the crowd favorites. See them cheering on the free deck?”

  Below them, a crowd of young people painted with the white and black angel wings of Albert and the now-infamous golden diadem of Dante’s avatar performed a choreographed dance together, swords flashing gracefully and deadly.

  “I’m surprised they’ve provoked the Red League, even not knowing they were Company-backed. The next game will determine whether they can compete in the great games, and if they win this one, they will be playing almost entirely against members of the Red League.”

  Jack was silent as he stared at the game. With an assassin-quick strike, Dante made the pivotal move that was sure to win him the game. Jack nodded companionably to the reporter and made his way to the lower levels. He’d meet Dante when he came out, as always. The man was far too blithe about his physical safety; Jack, on the other hand, trusted no one.

  He turned a corner just before the doors and was hit hard in the jaw. What the-? He stumbled to the side, asthe “reporter” raised a stun bar for the second time.

  “The Red League has many friends,” he said, “and so does the Company.”

  Jack flipped to the left, spinning around the man’s flank and delivering an expert roundhouse kick to the back of his skull. He spun as he fell, and Jack snatched the bar from his limp hand. He dropped to the ground, placing a knee precisely on the man’s sternum and exercising just the right degree of pressure.

  “So does the Captain. Next time, don’t bring a stun bar.”

  “Why not?” the man gasped.

  “Because it hurts when your own weapon is turned on you.”

  He zapped the man in the center of his chest, letting his body buck and twitch before throwing the bar aside and striding away. He’d recover, but he wouldn’t forget a lesson like that.

  Dante needed to make his move soon. He was acquiring too many enemies.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Villefort dropped Dante off in the skimmer.

  “As always, I wish to express that we are so grateful to you for accepting our hospitality.”

  Dante didn’t listen, his mind on the game ahead. It was a level-four bet, and if he lost this one, he would suffer grievous harm to either his person or his credit account.

  “I thought you could, perhaps, use some personal attention from me.” Villefort’s eye tic was more pronounced as he spoke. “The Company requires certain protocols for the profit from bets. I could help you keep your dealings legal with no extra charge—as a friend.”

  “How would that work?”

  “If you gave over signing authorization for you, I’d deal with all your legal work. You could forgo the standard skim the Company takes on your profits and I will find you better rates.”

  “I’ll think on it.”

  Villefort’s smile was a bit too eager. Ah. So that was his angle.He was either planning to skim some off the top using his “signing authority” or frame Dante in Company tax evasion by not paying the rates correctly. He and the Monte Cristo had wondered exactly how Villefort had gained access to so many foreign accounts. Now they knew.

  Oh, he does more than that. I’ve been watching. Money laundering through multiple accounts, loan sharking, and a lot of skimming—he’s a busy man.

&n
bsp; He won’t frame me again.

  No. This time, we’ll be working an angle.

  Dante entered the Bacarrae rooms, his mind occupied with Villefort, and sat in a now-familiar command chair.

  This will be the hardest fight thus far, he told the ship.

  It is inconsequential. You will not be overcome by the minds of the men before you.

  Even so.

  You are frightened, mind of mind? Let me burn that from you. There is no room for fear for what you plan to do—for what I have planned for you.

  I will not allow you to take my humanity. Fear is what keeps me human.

  What is humanity? Weakness bundled in frail flesh? I offer transcendence. Release. Freedom.

  I will finish the work I’ve started and I will finish it as a human.

  This is your decision. You have my assistance, as we agreed. Take of my strength, as you require it.

  Dante sent nonverbal thanks and pulled his mind back to the present, opening his eyes. The same attendant from his first match was there with the crown. She waited patiently while he finished his commune; she must have suspected he was involved in some sort of pregame ritual. A smile tugged his lips at what she might think of him if she knew the truth.

  “I’m sorry, I haven’t asked your name,” Dante said, bending his head to accept the crown. “You’ve been assigned to me?”

  “Lily, sir,” the girl said as she adjusted the device and powered it on. “Truth be told, the other girls are too frightened of you.”

  He let out a small bark of a laugh. “Of me?”

  “Well, of a Davrini Hacken,” Lily said, turning her gaze down. “Since I served you first, without knowing, I know that’s not true. You’re not dangerous—at least, not to anyone outside the arena.”

  “I’m notorious?” he asked. Without having to look deeply into her, he knew the girl had no ill will against him. “Thank you for taking care of me and keeping me from enemy sabotage.”

  Lily stuck out her lip a little, fire in her eye. “Not while I’m setting the controls, sir,” she stated plainly. “Whatever happens to you will be your own doing.”

  “I believe you,” Dante said, inclining his head and then settling into the chair, ready for the match ahead. “You will be rewarded for your troubles.”

  He let his mind slip, and soon he was in the negotiation field with his companion, Albert.

  “They’re out for blood, Captain,” Albert said over a private channel. “We’ll need to be careful—I doubt any part of this match will be fair.”

  “We’re more the match for them,” Dante said, sizing up his opponents. Among them was Richard’s elemental leader. “They won’t see what’s coming.”

  “Do you know something I don’t?” Albert asked, eagerness filling his voice.

  “If you only knew...” Dante said before turning his attention to the official.

  “This is a gateway match. Any participants who succeed here will earn both the rewards of the bets, as well as entry into the grand battles of the tournament,” the official said, pointing his helmed gaze at each player. “Your bets have been placed and the pot stands at a half million credits. To the victor go the spoils. The arena has been randomly chosen, so no clear advantage can be garnered. It will be the Forbidden City. Luck to you all.”

  “Forbidden City?” Albert said over the private channel. “Red must have paid a pretty penny to have that chosen. The arena clearly favors three of the four opposing sides and neither of us!”

  “It won’t matter,” Dante said, focusing his mind on his opponents. “Here they come.”

  The match should have been three teams of two against each other, but the Red Legion clearly had other plans, and there were no rules against four players teaming up against two, nor even five on one. Ruthlessness was a praised attribute of a Bacarrae player. Dante sensed that all four players were coming at Albert and himself in a rush; they wouldn’t have long to make their moves.

  He issued his orders and fled his body, taking direct control of his elven king avatar. With a battle cry that was sure to raise cheers from the audience, he summoned a griffon and jumped astride it, commanding the beast to make its way to the top of the nearest tall building. There he sat tall, a target for any of his rivals.

  The ancient city stretched out ahead of him, the stone work a maze that could easily be used to anyone’s advantage, if they chose. Dante moved the griffon two steps to the left just in time to miss being struck by a bomb launched from a dwarven war machine. He smiled as he marked the location and commanded his hidden archers to launch a volley in the same direction. He then drew his sword, held it high, and launched himself into the maze of buildings.

  He’d announced his presence and location to his attackers and sent an aggravating assault. As he felt out the thoughts of those racing toward them, he smiled. Their anger was obvious and their intentions ignoble. No matter, he knew the location of every unit and how best to defeat them. Their minds were open to him.

  Dante urged the griffon down what might have been a blind alley. A dwarf miner popped out of the ground just in front of him, and he swung his sword the moment its head cleared the earth, dispatching it easily. A band of green-skinned goblins in fearsome red war paint launched themselves from the tops of the surrounding buildings and fell with knives outstretched. As they fell, Dante’s sword cut two of them clean in half, and he spun the griffon in a circle, its wings sweeping the others from the air and smashing them heavily into the wall with minimal damage to himself. The griffon’s sharp talons made short work of the stunned units, and Dante plunged toward the end of the alley.

  “They call you the Captain. Captain of what, I wonder?” a voice sneered in Dante’s ear. He wheeled the griffon around at the of the alley to face Richard’s avatar, the swirling mass of power at the head of elementals, dwarven warriors, goblin marauders, and slavering beast men.

  “Captain of Defeat? Captain of Despair?” Richard sneered.

  “Maybe so,” he pointed his sword at his enemieswith a snarl., “but you’re going to have to come here to find out.”

  The elemental made a howl like a storm and led the charge.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  A HORDE OF CREATURES SWARMED into the alley bolts of power and arrows as their vanguard. Richard and his cohorts seemed less concerned about losing units of their armies to friendly fire and more in ending Dante. Goblins in flying machines swooped from above alongside hawk men with savage stone hatchets, cutting off escape from above. The elven king sat astride his great mount and watched them come. At the last instant, he sheathed his sword, bowed his head, and disappeared.

  “I told you it would work,” Dante said on the private channel to Albert, where his avatar was positioned high above the alley. Three angel magic users cast spells beside him, finishing the ability that had kept the illusion in place to trick the oncoming army. It was same trick that had almost ended Dante in their first match, but it was assisted by his psychic interference this time.

  “I still don’t know how…” Albert’s angel shook his head. “They have magic users and almost one hundred eyes—someone must have spotted the illusion and figured it out—but I suppose that doesn’t matter now.” He lifted his sword and pointed it at the alley overrun with enemies. “Fire.”

  Dante sent his command in a less verbal form, but it was nevertheless just as effective. Elven archers sent volley after volley of arrows into the alley. Angels added heavenly fire, and Albert used his commander’s special ability to summon a massive solar flare that pierced the clouds and struck the alley, devastating it and slaying many of the lesser units outright. Dante smiled when the score board showed two of their opponents had been executed. He noted, however, that Richard still needed to be dealt with—something that deserved to be attended to personally, Dante decided. His griffon swept down to the battlefield with long, steady strokes of its wings.

  Elven warriors went before Dante, along with Albert’s angels. His mind went ou
t before him as a scout, sensing each player’s mind, penetrating their weak defenses, and determining the placement of every danger. The Red League would have no chance to walk away from this engagement, but that was hardly his fault. He hadn’t sought them out as enemies, after all, and they were merely a stepping stone toward his goal—as was Albert, he admitted to himself.

  A goblin hunting party was cut down before they had a chance to surprise anyone. Arrows were sent toward dwarf miner locations before their heads even broke the surface of the arena. Beast units with their camouflage ability activated were no more hidden to Dante than if they’d stood in plain sight. The only type of unit he didn’t encounter was elementals. Richard was up to something.

  “Be careful—he’ll be using his special ability somewhere,” Albert said over the private channel.

  “It’s too bad you’ve already used yours,” Dante said back.

  “You summoned that griffon as your first action!” the young man retorted. “You’re hardly in a position to lecture me.”

  “The griffon was important to the plan,” Dante said. “I don’t have wings strapped to my back.”

  “Hmph,” Albert said. “Just be on the lookout. ‘Combine’ is a very powerful ability, and Richard might be desperate, as he stands to lose a lot in this match. It will ruin him.”

  Ahead of them, a thunderhead was forming, funnel clouds reaching out to lick at buildings and streaks of lightning lancing down to strike. In the eye of the maelstrom, Dante knew Richard’s avatar was summoning his special ability. All of the other elemental units retreated toward the storm and Richard absorbed them, one at a time, growing strong and bigger in size.

  “At least the ability is obvious.”

  “And you joke,” Albert said, his avatar shaking his head, wide-eyed. “I hope you have a plan for how to deal with that thing.”