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I’d like to express my gratitude to everyone who helped and encouraged me to finish Refusing Excalibur and get it out to the masses.

I would like to thank Bubblecow for the editorial services of Paul Simpson, who provided invaluable feedback and help make Refusing Excalibur the best novel it could be. I would also like to thank Gary Smailes for connecting me with Denise Baker for the final proofread.

I would like to thank Denise Baker for her excellent work cleaning up Refusing Excalibur for publication.

And I would like to thank Bookbaby for helping me get Refusing Excalibur to the market.

A small boy darted between trellises, his hand clutching an action figure. Victor had no idea if the well-articulated toy was a man in armor or a robot, but his son, Alex, seemed to think it could fly, based on the way he ran around, holding the toy before him, while he made whooshing sounds.

“I’d say that toy you got him was a hit,” Gina said, lying next to Victor on the tarp laid out over the grass adjacent to the vineyard Alex played in. Her light brown hair, fairer than the black hair of most Savannans, shook in a breeze, carrying the freshwater scent of Lake Valor. Alex had inherited his mother’s hair, though the rest of him, including his prominent nose and long face, came from Victor.

“He asked for it for his birthday. It was the least I could do after missing the previous one. Can’t remember what it’s called though,” Victor said.

“The Guardian.” Gina sighed. “He’s been going on about it ever since he saw an ad for it. You do realize it’s for six-and-up, right?”

Victor shrugged. “Five’s close enough, I think. And I made sure to remove all the spring-loaded weapons before I gave it to him.”

“He’ll ask for those back,” Gina said.

“Yes, but that’ll be your problem.” Victor kissed his wife on the lips. “I’ll be light years away by the time he thinks to ask.”

She poked him in the chest. “You louse. I swear you cheated at that coin flip.”

“I let you pick the coin, remember?”

“Hrmmph. You still could’ve switched them.” Gina was quiet for a moment and then said, “So what’s the next plan for ending this war?”

“You know I don’t like to talk shop, Gina,” Victor said.

“First, I used to have the same job as you. Second, I’m not talking shop. I’m talking the future of our son.” She glanced toward Alex while the boy wove the Guardian between trellises in his make-believe flight.

Victor sat up and rested his arms on his knees. “Well, there isn’t a ‘next plan.’ We’re still on the same plan.”

“Stay bottled up in our home system until the Lysandrans get tired of us,” Gina said.

“Yes, with some commerce raiding and asymmetrical operations to encourage them to call for an armistice,” Victor said.

“Asymmetrical operations is a nice way of saying terrorism.”

He looked away. “We’re destroying their star freighters faster than they can build them. They’ll have to sue for peace eventually. If for no other reason than because continuing this war will ruin their economy."

“And what about our economy?” Gina asked.

“Already ruined.”

“And yet we’re still fighting. What’s to say the Lysandrans won’t do the same?” Gina asked.

Victor leaned closer to his wife. “We’re fighting on our doorstep. We don’t have supply lines to defend. The Lysandrans do. And we’re constantly raiding those. Sooner or later, Emperor Magnus will have to turn his fleet around and go home.”

“So we’ll win the war because we’ve lost?” Gina’s brows furrowed. “I’ve never taken you for someone prone to doublethink, Victor.”

“I’m not doublethinking,” Victor said. “We’re in a very strong defensive position. Even with their numerical advantage, the Lysandrans can’t force their way into the system.”

“They forced their way into every other system that we tried to defend,” Gina said.

“Not here, not with the entire Republic Navy ready to smash any and every Lysandran ship that comes through the Arcadia jump point,” Victor said.

Gina gave him a hard look. “What if they fail, Victor? What if the Lysandrans still break through?”

Victor glanced at his son as he ran around the vineyards with the Guardian in hand, then turned back to his wife. “Then we run. You, me, and Alex. We board the Osprey and make for the Free Worlds.”

Gina arched an eyebrow. “You’ve been thinking about this.”

“What about the Osprey’s crew?”

“They bring their families too,” Victor said.

“You’ve discussed this with them?”

“Very circumspectly, yes.”

“A cruiser isn’t a passenger ship.”

“It’ll be crowded, yes. We’d have to put people into hibernation to keep from burning through our consumables too fast.”

“We’ll still need to replenish those eventually.”

“Yes.” Victor nodded. “We’ll sell our services to one of the Free Worlds, run cargo, or even go pirate if needed. Whatever it takes to keep us moving. At least until we find a safe place to settle.”

Gina rested her head on Victor’s chest. “Would anywhere be safe?”

“Somewhere. If not, I’ll make it safe.”

Gina lifted her head off his chest, smiled, and then kissed him. “I know you will.” She turned to see Alex running up with his toy. “You ready to go inside, kiddo? Grandma’s probably fixed lunch by now.”

“Can I bring the Guardian with me?” Alex asked.

“Only if he can sit still.” She looked at Victor. “And the same applies to you.”

Victor stood and helped up his wife. “You and Alex go ahead. I want to talk to Daniel before eating lunch.”

Gina gave him a sad look and cupped the side of his face. “All right. Just be sure to come back before your food gets cold, or you know I’ll never hear the end of it from your mother.”

Victor took her hand and held it. “I will.” He let go and knelt in front of his son, mussing his light brown hair. “I’ll see you soon, little guy.”

“I’m not little,” Alex said.

Victor nodded. “No, I suppose not.” He stood and turned to walk up a low hill overlooking Lake Valor.

“Hello, Dan. Nice day, huh?” Victor said.

The gravestone with the name DANIEL SELAN carved on its face didn’t respond.

“Your nephew just turned five,” Victor continued. “I got him a nice, expensive, and age-inappropriate toy for his birthday. You’d like it. The Guardian, it’s called.”

Daniel’s gravestone didn’t have any comment on that either.

Victor knelt and placed his hand on the grass in front of the gravestone yet looked skyward. “I know that things probably don’t look too good from up there. They don’t look too good from here either. But I think we’re wearing down the Lysandrans finally. If any of those cowards in the Free Worlds had helped us, we’d probably have beaten the Lysandrans outright by now.”

Three years ago, Victor’s younger brother had been part of a diplomatic mission, traveling around the Free Worlds to seek allies in the war against the Lysandrans.

Back then the Republic still controlled the Arcadia system, and the war had settled into a kind of stalemate. It was hoped, with the help of just one of the Free Worlds, the tide of the war could be turned in the Republic’s favor.

But all the Free Worlds had refused. They were either too busy fighting each other, too afraid of incurring the wrath of the Lysandran Empire, or just plain didn’t care.

On planet Mohawk the Republic’s hunt for allies ended when the Mohawk king decided to refuse the Republic in the most emphatic way possible. He had every last member of the diplomatic mission, including Daniel, publicly beheaded.

Victor had been there when the refrigerated container containing the heads of their diplomats arrived from Mohawk, along with a terse refusal letter.

A retaliatory strike was planned, but then the Lysandrans launched an offensive on the Arcadia system, and the Republic found they had more immediate concerns than vengeance.

Victor balled his fist into a death grip around the grass growing above Daniel’s grave. After this war was over, the Republic’s first order of business would be to deal with Mohawk and their king.

But victory against the Lysandrans was an unlikely prospect. In all probability, Daniel would go unavenged.

Victor remained crouched in front of the grave for another minute, getting his emotions back under control.

Once his temper cooled, he stood.

“I’ll be by again after I return from the Osprey’s next patrol.” He looked in the direction of the mansion that had been his family’s home since the Fall of the First Civilization. A gleaming white cubist structure that didn't look over a thousand years old. “Keep an eye on Alex and Gina while I’m away.”

When Victor returned to the house, someone was waiting there who he had not expected to see. His father.

Admiral Emmet Selan, a member of the triumvirate who overthrew the elected government a decade earlier, sat at the table eating with his grandson and daughter-in-law.

His father shared Victor’s black eyes, prominent nose, and long face, but his hair was more gray than black.

Dressed in civilian attire, Victor's father was here as “Dad” rather than as “Admiral Selan.” A familiar case rested at his feet.

“Hello, Victor,” his father said.

“Hi, Dad.” Victor remained standing, pointed his chin at the case. “What’s that for?”

Victor’s father glanced down at it. “It’s been a while since we’ve last sparred.”

“Physically at least. Which doesn’t explain why you brought that.” Victor pointed again at the case. “We have plenty of those in the house.”

“Yes, but this one is special,” Admiral Selan said.

Victor’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Too special for simple sparring.”

“Not today,” Admiral Selan said.

Victor crossed his arms. “Right now?”

“Of course not.” His father planted a hand on Alex’s hand. The boy giggled at his touch. “I’m having lunch with my grandson. And, besides, I wouldn’t want to force you to fight on an empty stomach.”

Victor nodded and sat down to eat.

“Are you and Grandpa going to fight?” Alex asked.

“We’re just getting in some practice,” Victor said.

“Can I watch?” Alex asked. He was fascinated with weapons the way small boys often were.

Gina looked across the table at Victor and shook her head. “He may not.”

Victor put a roast beef sandwich on Alex’s plate. “Boss has spoken, kiddo.”

Alex huffed in disappointment.

While Victor enjoyed his still-warm sandwich, his mother, Katrina Selan, sat down and chatted with his father. A tall, handsome woman with black hair graying at the temples. She was the only adult at the table who had never served in the military.

As a botanist, she had perhaps the most important task of all of them: making sure Savannah grew enough food to feed its people while the Lysandran siege cut them off from the rest of the galaxy.

In her spare time, she managed the vineyards of the Selan estate. From what Victor gathered from his mother’s conversation with his father, she seemed to think the mild weather from the past year would lead to the production of a particularly good vintage.

While his parents talked, Victor occasionally exchanged smiles from across the table with Alex and Gina.

When he finished eating, his father squeezed his mother’s hand and then got up, case in hand. “You ready?” he asked Victor.

“Can I please watch?” Alex asked.

Victor walked around the table and crouched down to eye level with the boy. "Maybe next time, kiddo. Why don’t you tell your mother about the Guardian while I’m busy with Grandpa. Okay?”

“Okay,” Alex said.

Victor winked at his wife, who just rolled her eyes at him as he walked to his room.

As Victor departed, Alex held up the Guardian and made the toy wave at him. Victor waved back and then walked out the door.

There, he changed from his clothes and into padded armor. With a helmet tucked under his arm, he proceeded to the sword room, where his father sat on a bench dressed in padded armor of his own. The box he had been carrying now rested next to him, open, revealing the empty red-velvet depression inside. Victor's father held the box's contents in his hand. It was a metal rod covered in black polymer. Silvery metal stuck out from both ends. Emmet Selan stood and held the handle away from him.

The bit of metal at the top of the handle changed shape, elongating into a thin, slightly curved katana-style blade which his father favored.

“Good to see the family variblade still works,” Victor said, while his father admired the blade.

“Variblades don’t wear out,” his father said. The metal that formed the blade was actually a mass of tiny machines known colloquially as morphmetal. A regular dusting of fine metal powder kept the blade in factory-fresh condition. Only the polymer grip needed replacing every now and then.

“I hope you plan on using a training key.” Victor tilted his head. “Unless you intend this fight to end at first blood.”

The admiral grimaced at Victor and retracted the variblade. He then pulled a chip from the variblade’s box and inserted it into the handle. The training key would alter the variblade's physical properties to make it safe for sparing. “Choose your weapon.”

Victor walked over to a rack where three training variblades rested, picking the one at the top. The blade automatically interfaced with the control implants in Victor’s hand. He held the blade in front of him and, with a thought, transformed the variblade into a straight double-edge longsword.

“I hope that’s not the only weapon you’ve been practicing with,” his father said.

Victor retracted the sword and turned to his father. “Why don’t you find out?”

Emmet smirked and put on his helmet. Victor did the same.

The two men walked onto the mat in the center of the sword room.

“Rules?” Victor asked.

“First to land three blows," his father said. "Does that work for you?”

Victor smirked behind his mask. “It works.”

“Good.” Emmet formed the ancient Selan family variblade into a katana and dropped into a fighting crouch.

Victor reformed his blade and chose a high stance.

For several heartbeats, the two men stood there, staring at each other, still as statues.

Then, at the same time, they both moved. Blade rang against blade, and both men bounced back from each other, only to launch forward again.

This time the blades didn’t touch. Victor’s father brought up his sword in a horizontal block, but, just before Victor’s blade reached it, the blade retracted into the handle.

Victor’s sword cut nothing but air, and he stumbled forward. Before he could recover, he felt a sharp sting on his shoulder.

“You’re dead,” said his father. The curved blade of his weapon was now sticking out the other end of the variblade’s handle.

Victor turned to face him, variblade ready. “First to three.”

Emmet launched a feint, but Victor saw through it, forming his variblade into a hatchet to catch his father’s sword. He then grabbed the hilt of his father’s variblade with his off hand and used it, in conjunction with the hatchet against the blade, to twist the variblade from his father’s hand, disarming him.

Victor followed up by striking his father in the side of the ribs with the hatchet.

“Ooof!” Victor's father cupped the side of his chest. He chuckled and said, “Good to see you know how to change weapons midfight.”

“That’s why it’s called a variblade.” Victor picked up his father’s weapon and threw it toward him.

Emmet caught the variblade single-handed. “Quite.”

They squared off again, Victor holding his weapon in front of him in a one-hand grip, pointed at his father’s chest.

Emmet batted aside Victor’s blade and horizontally slashed toward Victor’s head.

Victor knocked away the blade and counterattacked, thrusting his blade toward his father’s midsection.

Emmet spun around the blade and landed a hard blow against Victor’s thigh, enough to make him gasp in pain.

Victor rubbed the spot where he was hit for a moment and then returned to his fighting stance, his variblade in front of him in both hands. “Well? Come and finish me.”

“My pleasure,” Emmet said. He launched an attack.

Victor parried the blow and counterattacked. His strike almost connected, but his father extended a blade from the bottom of his variblade to block the attack.

Emmet launched a thrust that almost touched Victor’s chest; he sidestepped the attack and trapped his father’s sword arm under his armpit. He then formed his variblade into a short wakizaki-style sword and stabbed his father under the ribs. “You got greedy, Dad. That’s two for me now.”

Victor’s father staggered away, making a noise between a cough and a laugh. “Yes, I suppose I gave you that one.” Emmet returned to a fighting stance. “No more freebies.”

Victor smirked behind his helmet’s protective mask and assumed his own fighting stance, holding his hilt over his left shoulder, the blade angled downward. He took a step forward and launched a diagonal slash at his father, the blade cutting through the air until it was turned aside by his father’s curved variblade.

Victor spun away from his father's riposte. He used the momentum of the spin to slash at his father, who parried and counterattacked.

Variblade clanged against variblade for what seemed like minutes, though it could only have been seconds.

Victor sweated inside his padded armor, his breathing heavy and his arms tired.

His father’s breathing was also heavy, muted behind his protective mask. But he wasn’t slowing down, launching attacks almost too fast for Victor to counter.

Victor attempted to deceive his father, starting a slashing attack, only to reverse which end of the hilt the blade came from, to catch his father by surprise. But Dad evaded the attack and launched his own downward slash, which Victor blocked with the hilt of his variblade, almost getting his fingers crushed in the process.

Victor shoved away his father and returned his variblade to his preferred longsword style.

His father immediately moved forward and launched a series of rapid slashing attacks, driving Victor back.

The assault was relentless and direct, threatening to simply beat its way through Victor’s defenses. No thought, no strategy. Just pure muscle memory developed from years of training. Fast, continuous, and repetitive. Victor saw an opening.

He parried aside a downward vertical slash. One. Launched a slashing riposte that was blocked and turned aside.

The next attack from his father was an upward diagonal slash that Victor hopped away from. Two.

His father stepped forward and, as Victor anticipated, brought his blade horizontal for a slash aimed at Victor’s midsection.

Victor ducked and rolled under the attack, forming his variblade into a hooked hatchet as he did and caught his father’s left ankle.

He lifted, unbalancing his father and causing the older man to fall to the padded floor.

Victor brought down his variblade, forming it back into a longsword, and tapped his father on his padded chest. “That’s three.”

Emmet retracted his variblade and pulled off his helmet. He was smiling. “You win.”

Victor retracted his training variblade and helped his father stand. “Good to see all my practice has paid off.”

“Yes, it has.” Emmet studied Victor. “I’m surprised you found the time to keep up your skills, considering how much time you spend on patrol.”

“I practice during patrol. Some members of the Osprey’s crew know the variblade,” Victor said.

Emmet nodded, looking almost apologetic. “Considering the amount of time I make you spend on patrol, that adds up to a lot of sparring practice.”

“Yes, it does,” Victor said.

Emmet smirked. “I guess I was setting up my own undoing.” He walked to the box resting on the bench but didn’t place the variblade inside. Instead he flipped open the velvet-lined false bottom and pulled out a tool from underneath.

Victor recognized the tool. “What are you doing?”

“You deserve a prize for your victory. And I’m not getting any younger. Best to have the family variblade in the hands of someone whose skills are worthy of it.” Emmet activated the tool, deleting his user ID. He then tossed the now-ownerless variblade to Victor.

Victor stared down. The variblade in his hand was custom-made for his family back in the days of the First Civilization. The variblade could only have one user at a time. For anyone else, it would just a lump of metal. Useful only as a paperweight.

“Go ahead, son. You’ve earned it.”

Victor nodded to his father and returned his attention to the variblade. He reached out through his interface implants and connected with the variblade’s operating system. In an instant, the weapon became his. With a sense of awe, Victor willed the variblade into a longsword.

Faster than any variblade made since the Fall of the First Civilization, the silver morphmetal flowed from the hilt into a straight double-edge sword. Victor stared at his reflection in the blade.

“What do you think?” asked Emmet.

“It’s beautiful.” Victor looked to his father. “I assume you want me to leave it here when I go out on patrol?”

Emmet scoffed. “Of course not! It’s your sword. You should carry it with you when you go into battle.”

“But the risk…”

“Is the same risk our ancestors took whenever they carried that weapon into battle. Every Selan who’s ever worn that sword has come home.”

Though not always alive, Victor thought. “I guess I’ll have to make sure I maintain that track record.”

“That’s the idea.” Emmet’s face softened. “I’d very much like my eldest son to survive this war. I’d hate to see my grandson grow up without his father.”

Victor pressed his lips together and nodded. “Thank you, Dad. I’ll do you proud.”

Emmet placed a hand on Victor’s shoulder. “You’ve already done that.”

“Come on,” said his father. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

Later, Victor lay naked in bed with his wife in their darkened bedroom, only a little light entering from outside.

Gina had draped herself facedown over Victor’s chest. She was the only thing covering him from the draft of cool lake air entering through the open window. The blankets had been tossed on the floor.

“You’re not asleep,” Gina said into Victor’s chest.

“I’m sorry if I woke you.” Victor ran his fingers through his wife's hair.

“I never went to sleep. You brood too much,” Gina said. “You’re thinking about that sword.”

“What makes you say that?” Victor asked.

Gina propped herself up on Victor’s chest to look in his eyes. The tips of her small breasts brushed against his flesh. “You’ve had that sword on your mind for as long as I’ve known you. And now that you have it, it’s worrying you.”

Victor sighed. Gina could always read him like a book. “I suppose. It’s a lot of responsibility carrying that variblade. My ancestors have been responsible for it over the last thousand years.”

“It’s just a fancy sword,” Gina said.

Victor shook his head. “It’s more than that, Gina. That variblade was made on Earth, before the gates collapsed and the First Civilization fell. It’s our family’s connection to humanity’s birthplace.”

Gina sighed and rested her cheek on Victor’s chest. “My father was much the same way with an old clock. Talking about how it was a bridge to the lost homeworld. I thought it was a bunch of bullshit myself. Savannah is my homeworld, not some distant rock on the other side of the galaxy."

“Earth wasn’t always so distant. Not when the gates still functioned. Just hop on a ship and go through a gate, and you’re in the solar system. Imagine that. Every inhabited world in the galaxy almost next door to Earth," Victor said. "Hard not to think about that."

“And now that connection to Earth is keeping my husband awake. Can’t say that I’m all that enthused,” Gina said.

“It’s just…rather enormous when you think about it,” Victor said.

“It’s bullshit as far as I’m concerned.” She patted him on the ribs. “This is what matters. You, me, and that wonderful little boy we made together. A boy this stupid war is keeping you from.”

Victor rubbed his wife’s back, tracing her spine. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. You’re from a navy family, like me, after all,” Gina said. “But twelve years is a long time to be fighting, especially when we’re losing.”

“This war will end soon. I can feel it, Gina. Sooner or later, the Lysandrans will tire of us and take their fleet home. And then you and I can raise our son in peace.”

“Sounds good,” Gina said, yawning. “But you keep that variblade away from him.”

“I thought I told you to silence that,” Gina said, irritated and groggy.

“I did.” A chill ran down Victor’s spine. Only an emergency would override his tablet’s Silence setting. He picked it up and looked at the screen. “Oh, my God!”

Gina shot up. “What?”

Victor turned to his wife. “It’s a scramble order. All crews are to report to their ships.” He leapt from bed and pulled on his clothes. “The Lysandrans are attacking through the Arcadia jump point!”

Gina got out of bed and helped Victor dress. When he finished, she handed him the family variblade. “You be careful, Victor.”

He hooked the variblade to his belt. “I can’t guarantee that.” Victor hugged his naked wife. “Get Alex to the shelter. This could get rough.”

She nodded. “I will. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Victor said.

He went to his son’s room, stopping just long enough to kiss the sleeping boy on the forehead, before running down the stairs. Reaching the main hall, he heard the sound of a turbine engine spooling up. He opened the front door and ran from the mansion.

Resting on the lawn in front of the house was his father’s personal sky hopper. His father stood just outside the cockpit, waving Victor over.

“I’ll drop you off at the Osprey on my way to Fleet HQ,” his father shouted over the whine of the turbines.

“That would be much appreciated, Da—sir!” Victor said.

“No need for military formality just yet, Victor,” Emmet said. He glanced at the variblade on Victor’s belt. “That suits you.”

Emmet held open the cockpit door. “You fly. I’ll be busy doing admiral stuff.”

Victor made a small smile and nodded. “Yes, sir.” He climbed up and strapped himself in. His father followed him and shut the door.

“Take off. I’ll buckle up in flight,” Emmet Selan said.

Victor nodded and grabbed the controls. He dialed up the sky hopper’s AG field generator, canceling out part of the aircraft’s mass, and then fired up the turbines. The small ship took off like a sparrow.

As soon as they were cruising at a safe altitude, Victor dialed down the AG field and put the bird into a shallow dive, gaining forward airspeed. He flew around the house and over Lake Valor.

When Victor opened up the throttle, the sky hopper’s acceleration pulled him back into his seat until the little aircraft was cruising just under Mach 1.

Beside him, his father spoke into his tablet, asking for updates from the fleet defending the jump point. From what Victor gathered, the concentrated firepower of the Savannah Republic Navy was destroying almost every Lysandran warship coming through the Arcadia jump point. Only a few small ships had breached the blockade, and they were being pursued by the fleet’s radar pickets.

Lake Valor whipped under the sky hopper and was soon replaced by grass on the other side. In the distance, the dark patch of Galen Military Spaceport appeared.

The skies above the spaceport swarmed with aircraft and starships. An air traffic controller's worst nightmare, having everything from tiny two-man sky hoppers to two-kilometer-long battleships crowding the air around the massive paved expanse of the spaceport.

One battleship was lifted away under turbines, its two spinal-mounted accelerator cannons making it look like a colossal double-barreled shotgun. Another battleship still floated in the air, docked nose-first to one of the tall spires standing like trees amid the flat land.

Victor’s destination would be well away from the battleship docking towers. He vectored the sky hopper for the area of unbroken tarmac where midsize warships landed directly on the ground.

Air traffic control gave him a strict flight path to avoid all the cruisers taking off, leading him on a serpentine course to his own cruiser, the RSS Osprey.

His ship was perched on her landing struts, just high enough off the ground to keep the lower pair of her four main thrusters off the ground.

Victor came in low, slowed the sky hopper to a hover, and landed just a couple hundred meters from the cruiser.

“This is my stop, Dad,” Victor said, as he climbed down from the cockpit.

“Victor,” said his father, barely audible over the whine of the sky hopper’s idling engines.

“Yes, Dad?” Victor shouted.

“Good luck up there.”

Victor nodded and turned to run toward his ship. The sky hopper’s engines revved up as it took off behind him.

Two armsmen standing at the Osprey’s boarding ramp saluted him, and the leader, a chief petty officer, asked for his ID.

He returned their salutes and showed his ID.

“Welcome aboard, Captain,” the female CPO said, wearing ballistic armor and carrying an assault rifle.

“Thanks, Chief. How many are we waiting for?” asked Victor.

“You’re one of the last, sir. Commander Dace already has the reactors warmed up,” she answered.

Victor nodded. “Good. We’re taking off as soon as the last of the crew boards.”

Victor ran up the ramp; the crew scurrying around stopped to salute him.

“Don’t stop to salute. Just get my bird in the air!” Victor shouted. He ran upstairs and climbed ladders until he reached his storage locker. He opened it and pulled out his pressure suit. He donned the bulky suit and jogged the rest of the way to the bridge, carrying his helmet in the crook of his left arm.

“Welcome aboard, Captain. I was worried that I’d have to leave without you,” Commander Dace said, a tall woman with the black hair and black eyes of most Savannans.

Victor dropped into his seat next to Dace, resting his helmet on his lap. “Well, thank you for waiting, Commander. The chief guarding the ramp said you’ve got the reactors warmed up. I assume we’re ready for takeoff?”

“Yes, Captain. We should have the rest of the crew aboard in about five minutes,” Dace said.

“Good.” Victor looked to the control console at the head of the bridge. “Lieutenant Colletta, request takeoff clearance as soon as the boarding ramp closes.”

“Yes, Captain,” the Osprey’s pilot said.

The tarmac grew increasingly empty as other starships lifted off and then streaked the sky above the spaceport with white contrails.

A few minutes later, Lieutenant Colletta reported they were clear to orbit.

“Take her up,” Victor said.

“Yes, Captain.” Lieutenant Colletta worked the controls. “Powering up the AG field, spinning up turbines.”

The ten-thousand-ton starship floated off the ground. Lieutenant Colletta then pitched the ship upward and climbed for space.

“Captain, we’ve established a connection with the fleet datalink,” the communications officer said.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Victor brought up the tactical display screen attached to his right armrest.

A frightening battle occurred a light hour away as the Republic Navy’s blockade saturated the Arcadia jump point with weapons fire tearing apart a constant stream of Lysandran warships.

“This is Admiral Selan to the Osprey,” Victor's father spoke over the datalink, now very much in admiral mode. “You’re to protect Savannah from any enemy ships that manage to run the blockade. You’ll be leading a five-ship squadron with the cruisers Sabretooth, Vulture, Hammerhead, and Stallion under your command.”

Victor nodded. The four other vessels were all Thresher-class cruisers, just like the Osprey. He also knew each vessel’s captain—Lyse of the Sabretooth, Markab of the Vulture, Jaron of the Hammerhead, and Hasan of the Stallion—were all experienced commerce raiders and veterans of the defense of Arcadia. “Roger that, Admiral Selan. Moving to intercept as soon as we’re outside the atmosphere.”

“Good hunting, Osprey.” Admiral Selan broke the connection.

The Osprey continued to climb until Lieutenant Colletta announced, “We’ve cleared the atmosphere. Shutting down turbines. Activating main thrusters.”

Savannah fell away from the Osprey as the cruiser’s acceleration multiplied. She was doing over ten standard gravities of acceleration, though none of the crew felt it inside the protection of the ship’s AG field.

Thirty thousand kilometers above the planet’s surface, the skeletal remains of the gate that once led to the long-lost solar system loomed over the planet’s single continent. It orbited idly, while dozens of starships flew past it to reinforce the battle at the Arcadia jump point a billion kilometers away.

The space around the Arcadia jump point was alight with weapons fire. The energy spikes from kinetic weapons and nuclear detonation practically buzzed on the sensor display.

“God, that’s a hell of a fight,” Commander Dace said, leaning toward her screen.

Victor suppressed a shudder. All the intense fighting he saw now had occurred an hour ago. In the time it took the light to reach his ship, the battle could’ve already been lost. He pushed those thoughts from his mind and scanned the surrounding space. “Some of the Lysandrans have broken through.”

Commander Dace nodded. “The pickets are dealing with most of them. However”—she pointed at a group of hostiles—“no one seems to be moving against these guys.”

“Let’s change that.” Victor looked to his pilot. “Lieutenant Colletta, plot an intercept with the hostile warships.” He keyed his flotilla’s communications channel. “All ships, maintain formation with the Osprey as we move to engage the enemy.”

The four other cruisers in his flotilla acknowledged his orders.

“Intercept course plotted, Captain,” Lieutenant Colletta said.

“Full speed ahead,” Victor said. Just an old-fashioned way of saying, “Maximum acceleration.”

The Osprey’s thrusters fired at full power, and her AG generators dialed up to maximum to keep the ship’s 150 g acceleration from crushing her crew.

The Lysandran warships also moved, accelerating toward Savannah at the same rate Victor’s flotilla was accelerating away from the planet. If the enemy maintained their course, it would be roughly six hours until they reached weapons range.

“Shields are charged and ready, Captain,” Commander Dace said.

“Good. Be ready to bring them up to combat power on my order,” Victor said.

Shields spread the energy of any impact over a larger area of the ship’s surface. They were most effective at diffusing electromagnetic energy; a hit from a laser would be spread over most of the ship’s surface area. The shields were less effective against kinetic weapons, which was why the Savannan Navy liked putting big guns on their warships.

The Osprey, like all Thresher-class cruisers, had a near-hull-length kinetic cannon mounted on each side. The rapid-fire weapons could fire a burst of metal spikes at 3 percent the speed of light, giving the Osprey a deadly close-range punch.

Threshers paid for their big guns by having a purely defensive missile armament.

The hours passed as Victor’s flotilla moved to intercept the Lysandran warships still moving toward Savannah.

“Six Scimitar-class cruisers,” Commander Dace said after the sensors resolved enough to make out the vessels. “They’ll probably try for a flyby attack against Savannah.”

Victor nodded. Scimitars were missile boats the same way the Osprey was a gun boat. Covered in missile tubes from bow to stern, the Scimitars could do a lot of damage to Savannah if they got through Victor’s defenses. “If we get close, they don’t stand a chance.”

“That assumes we survive the barrage of missiles they’ll throw at us, Captain,” Commander Dace said.

“It’s five versus six. Almost an even fight.” Victor turned to Dace. “Since when have the Lysandrans ever beaten us in an even fight?”

Dace’s smile was filled with menace. “You got me there, Captain.”

Victor nodded and keyed the flotilla channel. He ordered his cruisers to enter a tight vertical-star formation. Each ship was within one hundred kilometers of the other, close enough for one ship’s point defenses to cover all the others, but far enough away that the whole flotilla wouldn’t all die to a single warhead.

“Missile launch!” Dace said, loudly but without fear. It was no surprise the Lysandrans would launch missiles.

“Shields to combat power,” Victor said and then locked his helmet over his head. A swarm of missiles accelerated toward his ships at over 1,000 gs. Hundreds of them. They would be moving at a full percentage point of the speed of light by the time they reached him.

“They’re not holding anything back,” Commander Dace said.

Victor nodded. They must have expended their entire antistarship missile armament in a single volley. Taking their best shot at overwhelming the defenses of his cruisers and pushing through to Savannah. Not that he would let them do that.

The Osprey tracked each and every enemy missile, but, with the cruisers of his flotilla so close together, Victor knew it would be difficult to tell which missiles were targeting his ship until the last seconds before impact.

Victor keyed the flotilla's channel. “All ships, slave your missile defense systems to mine.”

Within seconds, the antimissile systems of the five Thresher-class cruisers became a single unit. Missiles would be prioritized to maximize the chances of the flotilla as a whole, rather than individual ships.

Victor guessed his ship had fifty-fifty odds of surviving the Lysandran missiles, give or take. But the chances of most of his cruisers surviving were near unity.

Countermissiles were launched when time to impact was down to only a few minutes. Hundreds of blue streaks flew away from the Savannan cruisers, rushing out at 2,000 gs of acceleration toward the Lysandran missiles.

The countermissiles looked the same size as the Lysandran starship-killers on the tactical screen, but, in reality, they were tiny. Wasps going after eagles.

A staccato of flashes fired off when the countermissiles reached their targets, and three-quarters of the Lysandran missiles disappeared.

Victor ground his teeth. The performance of the countermissiles was more than satisfactory. But more than enough enemy missiles were still left to wipe out his cruisers. He ordered evasive maneuvers.

The ships began a pattern of careful but violent maneuvers. Decoys were launched to tempt away some of the missiles, and then lasers were fired to blind the seeker heads of others.

A number of missiles fell from formation, either decoyed or blinded. Half the remaining enemy missiles were neutralized before the point-defense guns fired.

A rain of metal scourged the Lysandran missiles in the last seconds before impact. Missiles disappeared in flashes of relativistic collisions faster than Victor could keep count of.

He began to believe than none of the enemy missiles would get through. Then something detonated near his ship, and he was thrown against the straps holding him to his seat. The lights on the bridge flickered, and radiological alarms blared.

“Shit!” Victor tapped on his blank tactical screen.

“That was a close one. The radiation has blinded our sensors!” Commander Dace said.

“Did we get dosed?” Victor asked.

Dace shook her head. “Radiation readings inside the pressure hull are normal. The armor absorbed it. Still, I would advise against any space walks around the ship.”

Victor closed his useless tactical screen and checked the damage summary. The main communications antenna was down, and a bunch of sensors failed. Also, as Dace had mentioned, the outer hull had been irradiated. It wouldn’t be safe to walk around the exterior of the Osprey until the plating was replaced.

“Lieutenant Herrera,” Victor called out to the communications officer. “Is the backup antenna still online?”

“Yes, Captain,” she said.

“Deploy it and regain contact with the flotilla,” Victor said.

“Deploying now, Captain.”

Victor checked his tactical screen. Still down. But on the communications panel, two of his cruisers, the Vulture and Sabretooth appeared. The Stallion and Hammerhead, however, did not.

“This is Osprey to Vulture and Sabretooth. What’s your status?”

“Undamaged and fully operational,” Captain Markab said from the Vulture.

“Minor damage to sensors. Otherwise my ship is fully operational,” said Captain Lyse of the Sabretooth.

“Roger that. My ship is almost blind but otherwise operational. Can you tell me the status of the Stallion and Hammerhead?”

After a pause, Captain Markab answered. “Gone, Osprey. They both took direct hits.”

Victor sighed. It was all that needed to be said. “Roger that, Vulture. Break formation and engage the enemy. That goes for you too, Sabretooth.”

Both captains acknowledged, and, though his ship was still blind, Victor knew the other cruisers were flying off to avenge their comrades. Victor turned to Dace. “When will sensors be back online?”

“We should have backups activated in a moment, Captain,” Dace said.

Victor switched to his tactical screen in time to see it flicker back to life. As expected, the Vulture and Sabretooth ran ahead of his ship, toward the six approaching Lysandrans cruisers.

Victor targeted the two Lysandran cruisers farthest away from the Vulture and Sabretooth. “Helm, intercept my targets.”

“Gunnery, begin charging the main gun capacitors,” Victor said.

“Roger that, Captain,” Lieutenant Ryam said.

The Osprey didn’t generate enough power to fire her main guns continuously. Instead she stored energy in a pair of large capacitors, one for each gun to power ten shots.

The range closed, and the Lysandran formation spread out, but they were still relatively close when the Vulture and Sabretooth reached them.

The two Savannan cruisers picked off four Lysandran warships with a series of short, accurate bursts of kinetic fire before they flew by at a small percentage of the speed of light.

Two Lysandrans had survived, flying on a path that would take them into range of the Osprey’s guns.

“Helm, cede control to gunnery,” Victor said.

“Roger that, Captain,” Lieutenant Colletta said. The Osprey’s main guns were fixed to the hull; the entire warship had to turn to aim them.

“Control established,” Lieutenant Ryam said. “Engaging firing solution.”

As soon as the Lysandran cruisers crossed into range of the guns, the Osprey, under the control of the gunnery computers, turned toward the closest cruiser and fired.

The retort of the first burst of fire reverberated through the hull of the cruiser like the lowest note of a church organ.

The instant the first burst finished, the Osprey’s maneuvering thrusters fired, swinging the starship around to face the next Lysandran cruiser and then firing an identical burst of fire.

“Capacitors depleted,” Lieutenant Ryam said.

Victor nodded and kept his attention on the tactical screen. The gunnery computers had made tiny altitude adjustments during the split-second bursts from the Osprey’s main guns. Instead of a pair of single-file lines traveling toward each Lysandran cruiser, expanding formations of metal spikes emerged, like pellets from a shotgun. However, unlike a shotgun, the patterns were not random but precisely laid out to maximize the chances of a hit.

And hit they did. Both Lysandran cruisers attempted to evade but dodging one round only put them in the path of another. Within seconds of each other, both Lysandran cruisers took direct hits. The shields of the cruisers partly diffused the kinetic energy of the metal spikes but served only to spread out the damage. Both cruisers had large holes blown through their main hulls, turning the ships into fast-moving wrecks.

“Good shooting, Ryam,” Victor said.

“Thank you, sir,” the Osprey’s gunner said with the pride of an expert marksman.

Victor shot a message back to Savannah, informing them of the status of his vessels and then scanned his tactical screen for Lysandran warships close enough to engage. There weren’t any here.

Yet the battle at the Arcadia jump point was still being fought with the same intensity as before, just not where Victor could see.

Minutes later Victor received new orders from his father. “Return to cover Savannah against any other blockage runners who may try to strike the homeworld.”

Victor was disappointed; he had hoped to join the battle at Arcadia, but he knew better than to protest. He had lost two ships already. “Vulture, Sabretooth, reform with Osprey. We’re returning to station around Savannah.”

The two cruisers acknowledged his orders and formed up with the Osprey while she made a full-power burn for home. It took several minutes just to cancel out the speed she had built up before she began to close in on Savannah again.

The fighting was still going strong around the Arcadia jump point, but no new blockade runners came screaming his way by the time Victor’s reduced flotilla reached high orbit.

“God, how many ships have the Lysandrans lost?” asked Commander Dace.

“Hundreds by now, thousands maybe,” Victor said.

“They can’t keep this up forever,” Dace said.

“No, but they can keep it up for a while,” Victor said. While the quality of Savannan warships had been the Republic’s greatest advantage, the vast production ability of the Lysandran Empire had been theirs. And they had had two years to build up their reserves. The Lysandrans probably had tens of thousands of warships on the other side of the Arcadia jump point just waiting their turn.

A transmission came in from Savannah. It was Admiral Selan. “Osprey, we just detected an immense jump signature from the Fersfield 23 jump point.”

Victor was surprised, to say the least. Could the Lysandrans be that desperate? Fersfield 23 was the closest system to Savannah. Too close, in fact. Its jump point rested deep inside the overheated corona of Savannah’s orange K-class star. Even with the most powerful shields, any starship would be baked to death before it could escape.

“Get a scope on the Fersfield 23 jump point now!” Victor said. At this time of year, the Fersfield 23 jump point was located almost exactly between the planet Savannah and its star, giving the Osprey a direct view.

Victor switched his screen to show the magnified image of the jump point, with the flame-colored star of Savannah Prime in the background. Silhouetted against the star was some kind of long and slender vessel.

The size of the ship startled Victor. It appeared to be stationary relative to the jump point; its velocity upon entering it must have been almost nil.

Could it be some kind of massive warship? Victor wondered. Or some superweapon the Lysandrans built to end the war? If so, then he wasn’t impressed. A ship that size wouldn’t have much in the way of acceleration, and the quality of its shields or thickness of its armor didn't matter—it would eventually roast in the heat of the corona.

Then the ship changed shape, opening like an umbrella until the needle turned into a great black disk, casting a visible shadow into space. The shadow completely covered the Fersfield 23 jump point.

Ice formed in Victor’s stomach. Rapid-fire flashes appeared inside the jump point, and starships flowed out at hundreds of kilometers per second, their exit vectors well within the shadow cast by the disk. Then he remembered the light-speed delay. What he was seeing had happened a little over five minutes ago.

“Helm, vector on the Fersfield 23 jump point, maximum acceleration!” Victor keyed his flotilla channel. “Vulture and Sabretooth, stay in formation with my ship!” He then changed channels to transmit to Savannah. “Admiral, this is Osprey. The Lysandrans have deployed some kind of shade to protect the Fersfield jump point. I’m moving to engage now.”

“Roger that, Osprey. All other ships in Savannah’s vicinity are moving to engage the shade now. Good luck out there, son.”

His father had just ordered him on a suicide mission. Only three dozen Savannan warships defended the homeworld. Most of them were lightweight destroyers backed up by a few cruisers, including the ships of Victor’s flotilla.

Three dozen against an ever-expanding fleet of Lysandran warships, many of them capital ships. Victor and his flotilla could not fight off that fleet. But they could make an end run to the shade and destroy it.