Authors: Zachary Jones

Refusing Excalibur (36 page)

BOOK: Refusing Excalibur

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When he reached the airlock, he waited until he heard the metallic
thunk
of the clamps falling into place before he walked through the inner hatch. He removed his pistol and set it aside but kept his variblade. Then he opened the outer hatch.

A squad of Mustanger Marines waited for him on the other side. When he stepped through, they ran a scanner over him. It beeped when it was waved over his hip.

“You’ll need to leave your variblade here, sir,” said the sergeant Victor assumed was in charge.

“I’ve never had to give up my variblade before,” Victor said.

“Things change, sir,” said the sergeant, holding out a gloved hand for Victor.

He shrugged and removed the weapon and placed it in the marine’s hand.

“I’ll make sure to return your weapon to you after your meeting with the high councilor,” the marine said.

“You think I’m coming back? I’ll take that as a good sign then,” Victor said. The marine had no comment, instead ordering his squad to form around Victor to escort him to the high councilor.

They took him to an elevator and rode it up a couple decks. Then they led him down a corridor until he found himself in front of a guarded door leading to the high councilor’s private cabin.

“The high councilor is waiting for you inside, sir,” said the sergeant. One of the marines opened the door.

Victor nodded and stepped inside. The door closed behind him after he stepped over the threshold.

In better times, Victor suspected the high councilor’s cabin was quite normally comfortable and luxurious but not today. Broken furniture, ceramics, and shredded paper were scattered almost evenly across the deck.

Victor took a deep breath and said, “High Councilor? It’s me.”

“In here, Captain,” the high councilor said from an adjacent room, his voice hoarse.

Victor followed the sound until he found the high councilor in the bedroom, sitting on the bed, its linens scattered on the floor, clutching a tablet. Holace Quill’s eyes never left the tablet as Victor entered.

“High Councilor,” Victor said.

“I never wanted him to join the navy, you know?” Holace Quill said. “I wanted him to go in politics, to follow the path I had paved out just for him.” He sniffed. “But no. Harlan wanted to find his own path.” Holace flipped the tablet around to show Victor a picture of a young boy with a small starship in the background. “It was at this air show Harlan saw his first starship up close. After that, he wanted nothing more than to be a starship captain. I thought it was a phase at first, as small boys are prone to. But it wasn’t a phase to Harlan. It was a calling.”

The high councilor’s shoulders slumped. “And now he’s dead, exactly as I feared.” The tablet clattered to the deck, and Holace Quill looked up at Victor with tear-streaked eyes. “He didn’t have to die.”

The realization hit Victor like a lightning bolt. The Alliance fleet could be in Mustang for only one reason. “You knew…. You knew the Lysandrans were coming.”

Holace nodded. “Yes. General Uther Solari, the head of Imperial Intelligence, tipped me off. I sent you and Harlan out there to confirm the intel was, indeed, true.”

“So what does Solari get from this?” Victor asked.

“The Lysandran Empire—or at least the planet Lysander. I think he expects us to kill Magnus Lacano and his staff. Or at minimum leave the emperor so weakened that Solari can do the job himself,” High Councilor Quill said.

“That doesn’t explain why you sent your son and me out there without telling us what you knew,” Victor said, his anger rising. “If we knew,…if
I
knew, Harlan would still be alive!”

“
I know
!” Holace yelled, his voice echoing off the walls of the cabin. “I know.” He choked off a bitter chuckle. “It seems my scheming has finally caught up with me. And my son paid the price for it.”

Victor pursed his lips. He wasn’t sure what to say. Was there anything that could be said? He had certainly never got past the death of his own son.

It wasn’t comfort Holace Quill needed at this moment, Victor decided, but focus. “Ten thousand Lysandran warships are headed toward us, High Councilor. Harlan would still want you to protect Mustang.”

Holace nodded. “You’re right, of course. And I’m sure you still want your shot at the emperor. Well, I’d say you’ve earned it. You helped me build my Alliance and defeat my greatest enemy. The death of my son…was not your fault. It was mine.”

“I’ll return to my ship and get ready,” Victor said.

“Emperor Magnus won’t be jumping into Mustang, Captain Blackhand,” Holace Quill said.

“What do you mean?” asked Victor.

“Uther Solari’s tip was rather detailed. The First Imperial Battlefleet, with the emperor, will travel to the Gaddon system to act as a blocking force against Alliance reinforcements coming from Mohawk.” Holace smiled. “As you can see from the Alliance fleet’s presence in Mustang, they’ve already failed at that.”

“So what’s the plan?” asked Victor.

Holace’s smile turned vicious. “Revenge, Captain Blackhand. Revenge is the plan.”

Chapter 21

The safe house Lysandra spent the night in was a little apartment in one of New Pergamum’s many low-income residential sectors. It was smaller than the walk-in closet of her royal palace apartment, but it did its job. She was not clear on how her father had secretly set it up; he had done so without his own intelligence chief learning about it. Otherwise Solari would have snatched her while she slept.

She sat up from the apartment’s tiny bed, still dressed in the same clothing she wore the night before, minus the jacket, which hung from the back of the apartment’s lone chair.

Stretching, Lysandra stood and looked at herself in the mirror. Her black hair was a tangled mess, and her shirt and pants were hopelessly wrinkled.

She stripped, before starting the shower, then recoiled as a blast of cold water rushed from the showerhead. It was the first time she could recall that her shower was not already at her preferred temperature.

She starred at the shower’s controls for a moment, wondering if they were malfunctioning. She then realized the “controls” were really just a pair of knobs labeled Hot and Cold. She adjusted them until she got the temperature she desired, testing the stream with her hand. It was far more work than she liked. How could anyone live like this?

She stepped into the acceptably warm water and washed herself. The soap, shampoo, and conditioner she found were all generic store-bought brands that did their jobs but little else. The best part of her shower was rinsing off the wretched chemicals.

Stepping from the shower, she looked herself up and down with a critical eye. She looked good, of course, but she also looked like Princess Lysandra Lacano, which was a problem. She would have to fix that.

Fortunately whoever her father had ordered to stock the apartment had filled its cabinets with a full kit of cosmetics and hair dyes.

She took out the box of dye first and considered changing the color of her hair but decided against it. Black was a common hair color, so changing it would only make her stand out more, not less.

She shook her head and replaced the box. Glancing at the mirror, she pulled her hair over her shoulder. Loose, it was almost long enough to reach down to her hips.

Sighing, Lysandra found a pair of scissors and set it atop the sink. She loved her long hair; it was one of her most distinctive features. Which was why it would have to go.

Tying her hair into a simple ponytail, she draped the long lock of hair over her shoulder and picked up the scissors. She had to look away when she clipped her hair at shoulder level. Opening her eyes, she looked at the beautiful long black locks of hair in her hand and almost sobbed at the sight.

Once she reached her father and Solari was dealt with, she would make a point to get a fast-growth treatment to return her hair to its former length.

Discarding the cut hair, she set out to change her other standout feature: her sapphire-blue eyes.

She took out a box containing a pair of selective-color contact lenses. Having never applied contact lenses before, she took the time to read the instructions. It said the contacts would automatically fit her eyes but also advised her to consult a doctor before use.

Too late for that
. She applied the first contact and blinked as she felt it move over the surface of her eye. It was disconcerting.

When she looked in the mirror, she was struck by her artificial heterochromia. It was rather appealing, in a certain way, but the whole point of this exercise was to make her stand out less, not more.

She applied the other contact lens and checked herself in the mirror. Two brown eyes were far less exotic than the blue and brown of before. And yet she didn’t mind her appearance. The dark eyes seemed to make her look…warmer.

She stepped back and peered at the naked woman in the mirror, with her brown eyes and shoulder-length ponytail. It was surprising how different such a thin disguise made her look.

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.”

BOOK: Refusing Excalibur

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