“My Lord? This is Chief inspector Kai! This is urgent!”
“Report, Kai!”
“Young Dallas, sir! He’s made for the Galatine!”
“He- what?”
“He talked his way past the young guard on duty and has apparently ascended in the lift.”
“He- oh, no…Have you informed Gareth?”
“The channel is closed, sir. You may recall…”
“Yes, yes, I know. I said for it to be this way in the event we were attacked. What about the other security measures?”
“They were apparently sprung, my Lord, but the lift was activated soon afterwards, indicating…”
“...that he’d survived. Well, I expected that. But…Has Gareth…did he…?”
“I am unclear on that point, sir. The guard, having been fooled by your son, is at best now reluctant to let my men pass him. He’s invoked article 101, where he is willing to die rather than let the unauthorized pass.”
“Who is that guard?”
“A young one, sir. Apparently less than a week past his nineteenth orbit.”
“After this is done, give him a commendation for his dedication to duty, and demote whoever was stupid enough to put an untrained, naive soldier in that position.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“I’ve received no word from Gareth, which means there’s hope for Dallas.”
“Yes, my Lord. Might I suggest that a direct intervention…”
“No, Kai. I cannot. I cannot act on behalf of my own with greater favor than I would another citizen. That’s among the first of the duties of every public servant here, and my own father ensured that it was enshrined on the cornerstone of the Judiciary building. I cannot. Dallas has chosen his path and I…I cannot intervene, here.”
“...yes, my Lord. We will continue our duties, and attempt to find a means to convince the guard at the base of the tower to relent.”
“Do that. As long as that red light under my desk remains dark, Gareth hasn’t had to discharge his weapon and kill a-”
Texas Morgan stopped speaking.
The red light had lit up the space under his desk.
“My Lord?” Kai said over the comm, in a voice that seemed increasingly far away. “My Lord? My Lord, are you there? May I have a status report? My Lord…?”
#
When the blast hit the desk, Dallas gripped his hands over his head and said the first prayer he’d said in many months. His last prayer had been one of thanksgiving; this one was a desperate request to not have his head splattered into a piece of old-Earth style abstract art.
He’d dropped to his gut just as the blast tore a hole the size of two men’s fists into the bottom of the desk, making a colossal boom of a noise and sending splinters everywhere. Dallas’s leg lit up in pain as splinters blasted the slim part of his calf and lower thigh that had remained unprotected by his dark black body armor.
Dallas yelped in pain, still hiding and paralyzed by fear under the now tattered desk. He was brought out of his reverie by a loud clicking sound coming from Gareth’s position in the large room.
“Are you reloading?” Dallas asked, feeling immediately stupid onc he’d asked the question. Who would answer a question like that?
“Yep,” Gareth said, the folds of his light-armored tunic rustling as he pulled another shell from his belt. “First time,” he said with a semi distracted voice, “that I’ve had to load this thing since the wars. It’s really meant to end one’s own life as an alternative to being captured. But thanks to your pater I never had to use it for that. Now, Dallas,” he continued with a final click as the large round entered the chamber, “Lord Morgan already knows that I’ve fired this weapon. Let’s conclude this business so I can communicate to your pater that I…”
Gareth looked up, just in time to see Dallas’ retreating foot disappear behind a pillar. Gareth smiled. “Well, I’m glad you’re not going to give up and die. When those buggers from the Corporates came at us, you could tell the slaves from their masters pretty quick. The slaves were so willing to put themselves in harm’s way, they almost seemed eager to die. Says something about the lives they led.”
Gareth paused, long unused instincts slowly waking up in his brain and body as his black leather boot touched the white floor, heel-toe, heel-toe, heel-toe. “As I said, Dallas, you father ensured I didn’t have to use this on myself. I’ll never forget the sound his sword made as it cut through the steel of my cockpit. A hissing sound, as it vaporized the steel. And…”
His monologue stopped as something began beeping on his belt. “Hang on a moment, Dallas,” he said, his mechanical right hand holding his pistol steady while his left consulted the gadget at his belt.
Like I’ve got a choice? Dallas thought as he crouched behind the pillar. He looked behind him- there were several rows of old books here- this room had once been a library, centuries ago. Likely none of the books had been pulled out, much less read since the fortress had been built here long ago. Then, he remembered from one of his tutors, the Morgan family wanted to symbolically emphasize that learning had propelled them to their current position. Learning and a preparedness for war. It was for that reason the family library with ten-thousand books had been housed in the same, highest point in the family fortress that one used to enter the Morgan ancestral mech, the Galatine.
Hopefully, he’d be entering it soon. Maybe while Gareth was distracted by whatever was on his belt right now?
Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
“Well, Dallas,” Gareth said, “this is quite, quite interesting. You’re the one who’s stolen your pater’s laser sword, I take it? It’s been reported missing from the, ah, now broken trophy case in the anteroom to his office.”
“Wasn’t doing anyone any good just sitting there.”
“Good point. But it’s not going to do you much good either. Not against me, anyway.”
“We’ll see,” Dallas said, creeping away from his position as he spoke. Something in Gareth’s voice sounded different; almost like he was thinking rather than hunting.
“You know, Dallas,” Gareth continued, “I took an oath when I was just a little older than you. Do you know the Oath of Service to House Morgan?”
“Not by heart.”
“No, you wouldn’t. You were born into it. All of it, drummed into you from your earliest years. All of us not born into the family need to take it before we can begin our service, and it binds us to the House for the term of our natural lives. Or when your pater releases us from it, whichever comes first.”
Still creeping towards the exit tube, Dallas said nothing.
Gareth continued, his voice almost soothing as it echoed about the chamber. “It’s rather simple, as far as oaths of loyalty go. The third and last part states clearly: I will carry out every moral order given me by my lawful superior, violating neither its letter nor its spirit.” That’s why our conversation is happening this way, Dallas. My job isn’t to stop you; when you stepped out of that elevator without clearance, my job became to kill you. Those are my orders.”
Dallas was at another aisleway of books, and down towards the end he could see the the closed doorway to the exit pod. Once inside, he’d be able to ride it all the way to freedom…
He kept walking quietly down the aisle, doing his best to keep Gareth talking. A speaking man is a distracted man, and a distracted man rarely hits his target, or so Dallas’ old marksmanship teacher used to say. “What’s the second part, Gareth? Is there a loophole for wayward third sons like me?”
“The second part of the oath, Dallas, can become a tad…interpretive.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Open to interpretation.”
“Let’s hear it. Maybe it’ll help me.”
Gareth let out a small chuckle. Dallas was happy to hear it; the echo made it seem like Gareth and his very dangerous pistol were at least a few tens of yards away. “The second part of the oath states, ‘I will never reveal any secrets of the House of Morgan to anyone not bonded to our our family”
“Sounds reasonable.”
“Yes, but: What makes a secret, Dallas? Is it something known to all in the family? Or just yourself? And if your father tells, is it alright to tell, and no longer a secret? Who is to say? Who decides?”
Dallas started to feel more cocky. Gareth’s voice was receding, getting further away with every word.
“But it’s the first part of the oath that’s most important: I am a servant of the House of Morgan. The House of Morgan is my family, and will care for me all the days of my bonded service. I will never knowingly take an action against the interests of the House of Morgan, but will instead put the interests of the house before my own interests, desires, needs, wants, or welfare.”
“That’s quite a mouthful,” Dallas said. Five more steps towards the exit.
“A lot to memorize. But I have had a lot of time to think, sitting at that desk for the last two decades.”
Farther away. Dallas took five more steps. A dozen more and he’d be away and clear, starting a new life in a fighting Mech that, for its size, had been kept in top condition. A mech, his own, and his own…
“In fact,” Gareth said, his voice now sounding like it came from a different place, much farther from where it originally sounded, “I’ve often thought about what I’d do if someone would try to steal the Galatine. I’ve played scenario after scenario in my head, what to do if a hated enemy, rival, or someone else I had a grudge against walked through that door, minus the I.D. scan needed to pass safely.”
Focus. Take five more creeping, cautious steps. There were maybe ten left before the exit.
“But,” Gareth’s voice suddenly sounded very close; around the corner to his right, in fact. Dallas froze.
Gareth paused, and then continued, his voice now around the corner to Dallas’ left. What the blazes was going on?
“But I never thought to see the son of the head of House Morgan emerge from that door. The boy who used to run and smile, telling me stories about the holo-reads he’d just finished about the heroes of his ancestral tribe on old Earth. Men who flew in planes and drove tanks instead of aerospace fighters and ambi-mechs.”
Dallas looked around- where the hell was his pursuer? Should he sprint for the door, or…
Wait.
An Idea sparked in Dallas’ head.
“You liked those stories, Gareth?”
“Indeed, I already knew most of them. The Battle of Vienna was my favorite, when civilization was saved from barbarians on the backs of horses.” Gareth’s voice was at a still different spot in the room; even further away now, closer to where his desk had been.
Should he run for it?
“You know which was my favorite, Gareth?”
“You never told me, but I can guess.”
“John Paul Jones, in the Gonhomme RIchard.”
“Father of your ancestor’s Navy, yes.” Gareth’s voice was further away now; far enough that Dallas was sure he could make it. One more verbal jab… “when his ship was pulverized by the enemy, they asked him to surrender. Even his men were telling him the ship was lost. And…”
This was the gamble. If he could get Gareth talking again, then he could make the run for it!
“He told his men : ‘If the ships is lost, it is time to get a new one,’ then turned and yelled at the enemy captain ‘I have not yet begun to fight!’ His sharpshooters cleared the enemy deck, and his men boarded and took over the enemy’s ship. But, Dallas, recall the final detail…”
Dallas ran. His head was down, as his sportsmaster had taught him to run when everything counted on the final few yards. Dallas hurled himself at the door of the cockpit, his hand outstretched blindly, ready to hit the panel and slide open the door, and…
His head hit something very hard, making neck crack and the world explode into multicolored lights. Dallas yelped in pain and fall to the floor, his head feeling like it had burst and broken into pieces, and the only thing holding it together were the hands he’d wrapped around it.
For a brutal five seconds there was nothing in the world, nothing but the searing pain in his cranium and the near-glowing-red agony in the back of his neck. Inconceivable, inconceivable that a single, misdirected slam against a wall could cause so much pain! During those five seconds Dallas was hardly a human being; only an animal screaming in agony, his hands held over his forehead and face.
And then, when he came to…
He was looking up, his back on the floor.
Gareth was standing over him, a small, wan smile on his face, the pistol in his metallic hand pointed at Dallas’ face.
Gareth tapped his chest with the knuckles of his other hand. A hard, hollow sound rang out from under his shirt. “The sad part about Captain Jones, Dallas, was that his first ship still sank.”
Dallas smiled.
Then he kicked out as Gareth’s pistol blasted a second time.
#