Dante grinned. “With style. Follow me in and watch out for lightning.”
The Captain of the Monte Cristo dove and wove a complex flight path through all the arrows, fire, and bombs the enemy could muster—far less than when they’d first engaged. He sent small bands of elf warriors to harry the larger, slower units in the beast men army, hitting targets of opportunity before fading away. Even with all his foresight, he lost some units. He concentrated most of his attention on the elemental avatar, growing as large as a skyscraper in front of him as it consumed the rest of the elemental army into one unit. It was typical to put all hope into one overly large unit. Still, it was a target his archers could hardly miss.
Elven archers fired and angels added their heavenly fire, but the massive elemental unit took only small amounts of damage.
“Too bad I wasted my special,” Albert commented. “It might have been enough to at least wound him.”
“If you hadn’t, he would have combined with even more units and would be even harder to stop now,” Dante said. “You made the right choice. Now we just need to slay a giant.”
“I still don’t see how.”
“Do you see that old tower?” Dante asked, sending the exact picture of the building through the system. He then sent a quick simulation of his intentions.
“You’re mad!” Albert exclaimed. “The timing alone… and he needs to be in the perfect position!”
“Let me worry about positioning. You be ready to do your part.”
Albert was silent for a moment, but then he sent his agreement. Dante turned his griffon away and down, toward the monstrous storm elemental and what looked like certain doom. Stray arrows flew against him, but he dodged them easily or swiped them from the air with his sword before they could cause any harm. Below, he sent his elf warriors on a mission to ferret out what enemies they could, until the giant elemental turned his storm against them and either destroyed the smaller units outright or sent them scurrying for cover. Dante ground his teeth as he watched his units decrease. He was risking much—everything, in fact—on this play.
Swooping in close to Richard’s avatar, he narrowly missed being swatted from the sky by a giant hand before swerving hard to miss the lightning blasts that followed. Even though it was a simulation, Dante could have sworn he smelled ozone from the closeness of the strikes. As he wheeled around, he sent out probing thoughts and sought out Richard. With the help of the great mind, he easily saw his opponent’s intentions and began to subtly influence them. Like a master playing a violin, Dante changed Richard’s thoughts and brought the man’s anger to the forefront.
“Do you see?” Richard called over the general channels as his huge avatar plunged through the city after the elf king, sending blast after blast of lightning at his smaller foe. “There’s nowhere to run! No matter what happens, Captain, you will lose!”
“I think not,” Dante sent back, carefully watching the charging unit behind him. The timing, as Albert had observed, had to be perfect. He was aware that his ally had brought his own avatar into place, not trusting his lesser units with this all-important task. Lightning burned feathers, it struck so close, and Dante had to struggle to keep control of his mount as he climbed up and away, higher and higher. The positioning was almost right…
“Now!” He turned his griffon around and brought it into a screaming dive directly at the elemental’s head. Wind brought tears to his eyes, despite the simulation, and he held his sword out. At the same instant, Albert’s avatar sent a withering blast of holy fire not at the elemental, but at the base of the tower directly behind it. The base weakened and started to fall, it’s sharp tip coming into line with the elemental’s heart with each fraction of a second. Dante, smiled as he lashed out and swooped away, not causing much damage, but making the elemental stumble backward from the force of the attack. It fell into the spear of the falling tower, old masonry punching through the heart of the storm and causing a huge explosion that lashed out and destroyed everything it touched. Dante winged away just in time, whooping.
One by one, the other players singled their defeat and resigned from the match. Richard, before he signed off, sent one last message. “You still lose, Captain. It didn’t matter. You still lose.”
Dante suddenly had a sinking feeling and reached his psychic self toward Richard, pushing past the man’s mental defenses. He felt the fear of the man and swept away his weak defense. Below the surface, Dante plumbed deeper to find the plot laid out plain: the Red League had hired men to kill him and Albert.
Dante’s pod door opened and two men rushed in with knives. Jack appeared from nowhere and clubbed the first one from behind, sending him bouncing off the nearby wall before grabbing him and throwing him from the room. Dante moved to dodge the low thrust of the second man, but got caught in the cables of the crown. He’d brought his arm up too slowly to block the blade completely, and as pain lanced through his forearm where the blade bit, he flinched away.
Not this human.
Dante felt the great mind of the Monte Cristo in a way he hadn’t before. It was a physical presence—a primal force. The would-be killer was in the middle of making a second thrust when his body suddenly froze, shaking. As the knife fell from his grasp, he flew upward with bone-breaking force into the ceiling of the pod, only to be immediately released to fall limply on the floor.
Do you wish this one saved, as well? The great mind sent an image of Albert in similar trouble. Two professionals with knives were poised to open the young man’s pod and make short work of him. Dante, panting, sent his frantic acknowledgement.
“Jack! Albert!” Dante said verbally as he spoke mentally to the Great Mind, urging the ship to be discreet. Jack understood immediately and left him to untangle himself from cables and crown, not caring if the equipment was damaged in his haste. He rushed to the platform and then to the adjoining pod in time to see Jack dealing with the last of the hitmen. A woman embraced Albert, her back to Dante.
“Albert!” he called. He nearly lost what little composure he had left when the two broke their embrace and turned to him.
“Thank you,” Mercedes said. “Thank you for saving my son!”
CHAPTER TWENTY
THE SKIMMER SLID INTO LINE behind the others like a chain of fireflies floating toward the same destination. Everyone of importance had been invited to tonight’s party and by the look of the conveyances, not a single person had declined the offer.
Albert was boyish in his admiration for the Captain of the Monte Cristo, and Mercedes watched affectionately as he tried to hold his father’s attention as they skimmed toward the ship.
“You’ll be as amazed as I am. I’ve really never met anyone like him!” The glow of yellow lights from the skimmer made him look younger than he was, and his enthusiastic smile only added to it.
“Not anyone?” Fernand asked drily. His fingers flicked through a hologram only he could see as he checked the latest Bacrarrae results.
Mercedes clenched her jaw and turned away from the tableau. He couldn’t even bother to get excited about his son’s savior. “It’s his own fault getting into that situation,” was all he’d said when he’d arrived on station the next day. Likely, he was even jealous of the Davrini Hacken—it didn’t take much to pique Fernand’s jealousy. Wasn’t that why she’d had to give up most of her career, slicing it down to the barest of hours? He couldn’t bear to play second fiddle to anyone.
“His benefactor has invited us to a party on his ship,” Mercedes had told him with indifference the night he’d returned, although she felt anything but.
“What does that matter to me?” Fernand had asked.
“I thought you came here to win better trade agreements for Mondego Industries. I would have thought an ally from Davrini Hacken would be too much to pass up.”
“Davrini Hacken. Hmmm. Good thinking, my dear. You were always good for that, at least. You don’t think he’s trying to steal Mondego Industries out from under me, do you?”
M
ercedes had been cowed into silence. The “at least” still stung as she looked out over the panorama of the strange ship Monte Cristo. Her lines glowed with lights and holographic dancing art, and within... who knew? A mystery, for certain.
Mysteries and novelty were hard to come by these days. The surgical world was really just a human assembly line of repairs—her husband knew that well enough to have lost all respect for her position, despite the wealth it had given them, and her son was following directly in the path Fernand had set.
It was as if she could see the course of her days laid out before her as surely as that string of skimmers in line toward the Monte Cristo. They were beads on a string that ended in her eventual death, each the exact same as the last. What wouldn’t she give for just one more taste of the excitement that used to fill her days? She swallowed, clearing any sign of her thoughts from her face, and turned to smile lightly at her son.
“I’m sure he’s wonderful,” Mercedes agreed.
They were all dressed in the latest fashion, which was a throwback to a style from ancient Earth. Women wore romantic, silk dresses with artful draping and a cut that suggested heaving bosoms from some anachronistic romantic period. The men wore tailored, dark clothing that looked military in cut.
“The Monte Cristo is said to be unlike any ship ever made. A ship of wonders,” Albert said, his eyes glowing. “I can’t wait to see inside. The Captain promised me a personal tour. No one else has been promised anything like that. No one else knows anything about him, except for me.”
Mercedes smiled indulgently. They were almost at the head of the line.
When their turn to board came, the skimmer edged up to the ship’s hatch. Both the hatch and the skimmer were within the artificial atmosphere of the space station, and it was almost enchanting to step from the open deck of the skimmer to the open door of the ship.
On either side of the door, men stood at attention, their clothing perfect demonstrations of Davrini Hacken attire and their pock-marked, scarred faces the only thing marring the vision it displayed. They must live very harsh lives in Davrini Hacken, not that anyone knew much about the place. It was said thatthey killed anyone who ventured into their space without a writ, and they granted no one writs beyond their border stations.
They stepped onto the hatch and one of the horrific visages looked directly in her eyes. “Fernand Mondego, Mercedes Mondego, and Albert Mondego?”
“Yes,” she whispered, taken aback by his familiarity.
“Who else would we be?” Fernand asked drily.
“The Captain requested you be brought to him directly. He wishes to show you the ship himself.”
One of the doormen peeled off, leading them into what must have been a cargo bay, although it was unlike any cargo bay Mercedes had ever seen. The holographics must have cost a fortune.
It appeared as though they walked on floating islands linked by chain-like bridges. The artificial gravity, however, must have been turned off and set for each island and stairway separately, because they wove in and out and up and down so those above them looked as if they were standing upside down, while others looked as if they were standingat a complete right angleto Mercedes..
The sound of rushing water was everywhere, and tinkling waterfalls flowed in complicated arrays between the islands, weaving in and out of the dark like an Escher drawing. Colorful flowers floated on the flowing water and brightly-colored birds dove between the islands with water droplets shedding off their wings like falling stars.
Mercedes held her breath, her gaze tracing the chains and islands, until she thought she might grow dizzy. It was absolutely breathtaking and as novel as she could have hoped for.
“The holographics must have cost a fortune!” Albert said. “Look, there’s the Captain!”
He strode toward them with the confidence of a monarch and wore the exotic, flowing silk robe of the Davrini Hacken with tight black leather clothing underneath. An assortment of various-sized belts slung across his waist and low over his hips in a fashion that highlighted his anatomy just enough to make Mercedes’ cheeks grow hot.
“A little flamboyant, don’t you think?” Fernand always disguised his insecurity with criticism. Mercedes could sense him stiffen beside her, his pride already offended at the show the other man displayed.
“He’s amazing.” Albert’s hero-worship reached a crescendo in the presence of its object, but Mercedes couldn’t object. Her thoughts echoed his almost exactly, if for different reasons.
She’d barely glimpsed him when he’d rescued Albert. He’d dashed in and out as if he were avoiding speaking to her. Now, here he was, the captain of a ship of wonders and absolutely exotic in appearance—especially with that patch over one eye.
“Like a modern-day pirate,” Fernand said in an undertone.
“Would you want him to hear you say that?” Mercedes asked. Really, Fernand’s arrogance was going to sink him someday if he wasn’t careful.
“What I want is everything he has,” Fernand said, looking around at the wonders surrounding them. Mercedes could almost see the dollar signs tallying in his head as he took in waiters with drink trays, tables loaded with delicacies, and musicians scattered throughout the islands. One was lit with golden stars; dancing couples swooped across it in a manner that suggested the gravity was set to low on that particular island.
The Captain stepped onto their island with a welcoming smile on his roguish face. There was something so familiar about him, like a scent from childhood. Mercedes couldn’t quite place it, yet it was there somehow. She fought with her memory, savoring the feel of it and trying to find it again. She was so caught up that she almost didn’t notice Villefort following in his wake. Fernand noticed, however, and nodded a greeting to the man.
“Talking about me?” the Captain asked with a grin. “Everyone is—but they are not my honored guests as you are..”
“Honored?” Fernand asked. His posture straightened, like his hackles were up. Fool man—as if he needed to feel threatened by a simple act of welcome.
“Of course,” the Captain said. “There could be no party if I had not found success at Bacarrae, and there would have been no success without the genius of Albert Mondego. I’m honored to host his family tonight and honored to have been able to help you so much.”
Fernand flushed and Mercedes tried to conceal her sinking heart. It wasn’t like there had been much hope that her husband could tolerate competition, but now his pride would never allow him to truly ally with this man, no matter how much Mondego Industries could use the allegiance. That was the problem with pride: it closed far more doors than it ever opened.
Albert was flushed for a different reason, clearly pleased to receive praise from his idol. Just because Fernand was throwing away their chance to be close to the man didn’t mean Mercedes needed to do the same.
She held out her hand with a smile. “Thank you so much for saving our son. We are in your debt.”
The Captain took her hand in an outdated fashion and held it to his lips. The look in his eye pierced her, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure if she should step closer or flee. Perhaps Fernand had been right to feel nervous. The fire in that single eye was enough to consume every dream she still had left.
“It was my pleasure,” he said, and Mercedes’ heartrate kicked into overdrive, beating twice as fast as usual. Her breath sped, her face heated, and she felt her tongue wetting her lips. Follow or to flee?
She took a step, involuntarily, toward him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THE CAPTAIN’S SMILE TURNED ALMOST intimate at her movement, but he released her hand and turned to Fernand and Albert.
“Count Mondego, Albert, I hope you will allow me to show you the Monte Cristo.”
“She’s fabulous, Captain.” Albert tried to mask his enthusiasm, but Mercedes noted the tiny smile in the corner of the Captain’s mouth. He knew he was adored by her son.
There was something about him that she couldn’t
put her finger on, like a name you’ve only temporarily forgotten. It was at the tip of her tongue, but every time she reached for it, it skittered back into the shadows. She frowned and noticed his dancing gaze was on her again.
“I dare say one ship is the same as another.” Fernand made a show of looking around them, as if Escher mazes of waterfall and island were the norm in his day-to-day life. “I’ll never say no to a new friend, though. Albert tells me you are a promising Bacarrae player.”
“A talented amateur, more like,” the Captain said, nodding to the other man with them. “Will you be joining us on the tour, Inspector Villefort, or have you represented the Company enough for one night?”
Villefort and Fernand locked gazes, and just as always, something passed between them that Mercedes wasn’t able to determine.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to decline, Captain. I’m sure my wife misses me—I don’t like to leave her alone at a party,” Villefort said. He coughed into his hand. “She wanders.”
Mercedes watched her old shipmate carefully. He and Fernand seemed to exchange secret correspondence, but it was nothing her beloved husband bothered to inform her about. There was some puzzle there, if she could get to the bottom of it, but Fernand kept his affairs close to his breast and never thought it necessary to involve her. They must have been connected—they “bumped” into each other enough to make it hard to believe otherwise. She’d always thought it was just their shared secret, but was it more? Were they still silent allies?
Mercedes schooled her features to stillness, murdering the frown that threatened to emerge before it could appear on her face. Her husband’s choice to exclude her in everything was not something she could do anything about. She had Albert and his future to worry about. He hadn’t chosen her husband, after all, and shouldn’t pay for her choices.
“Next time, then, Inspector.” The Captain was all sophistication and grace—everything her husband was not. He smiled at his remaining guests. “This way, if you please.”
Captain of the Monte Cristo: a space opera retelling of the classic tale (Classic Retellings Book 1) Page 8
