Refusing Excalibur by Zachary Jones Page A

enough to knock him to the ground.
    On his back, Victor kicked at the man’s crotch, landing a direct hit.
    The big man grunted in pain and bent over. Victor kicked again, landing his heel on the man’s already injured nose. The man fell to his knees, holding himself up with one hand while covering his face with the other.
    Victor rolled to his feet and jumped on the big man’s back. He wrapped an arm around his neck and locked his hand in the crook of his other arm. He then took a deep breath, inflating his lungs and pushing the man’s neck into the V formed by his right arm, tightening the cinch.
    The big man vaulted to his back, slamming Victor to the ground, but Victor had kept his chin tucked in again to protect the back of his head. He held the choke, and, seconds later, the man went limp.
    He held the grip for just a few more seconds, just to be sure, then he threw aside the unconscious mountain of meat and stood. Now he noticed the cheering from the other bar patrons. It seemed Victor had put on a good show.
    A man got up from the table where the starchild sat. The adult was shorter than Victor, with a clean-shaven, craggy face and thinning black hair.
    Victor, not sure if this man was a friend of the big man or not, dropped back to a fighting posture.
    The newcomer just smiled and said, “You know, I came here hoping to recruit that giant for my crew, before I saw you kick his ass.” The man held out his hand. “Captain Warwick Hyde, at your service.”
    Victor hesitated for a moment but then decided to shake the man’s hand, half-expecting a sucker punch that never came. “Hi.”
    Warwick smiled. “You’re not from around here. I can tell by your accent. You came looking for work, I take it?”
    Victor smirked and relaxed. “Yes, actually I did.”
    “What’s your name?” asked Warwick.
    “Victor,” he said.
    “Victor.” Warwick nodded. “That come with a last name?”
    “Does it need to?”
    Warwick shrugged. “Not really. Tell me. What’s your skill set?”
    Victor looked down at the still unconscious man on the floor and then back to Warwick. “Is this a job interview?”
    “Something like that, yes,” Warwick said.
    “Navigating, gunner—”
    “You can use a gun?” Warwick asked.
    Victor nodded. “Yes, I can use a gun. I’m better with a blade through.”
    Warwick smiled. “Blades? Good. Blades are useful during boarding actions.”
    “Boarding?”
    “Yes, there’s an opening in my ship’s boarding party. You interested?”
    Victor chewed his lower lip. He wasn’t an armsman or a marine; he was a starship commander. But he could shoot a gun, and he liked to consider himself a good swordsman. And he wasn’t in a position to simply refuse opportunities like this. “Sure, I can be a boarding specialist.”
    Warwick nodded. “Good. Join me at my table. We’ll drink on it.”
    ***
    Victor drank a shot of something bitter that burned as it went down and left a warm feeling in his belly.
    He was introduced to a couple members of the crew. The tall and thin starchild was Cormac, who functioned as both the ship’s engineer and medic. Warwick described him as “two for the price of one.”
    The other person at the table as a nightwoman by the name of Fara. She was a striking woman, with the too-large black eyes of a nightperson, pale skin, and black hair with a single blue highlight running through it.
    Afterward Victor visited Warwick’s ship, the creatively named Fortune . A rather shabby little warship, compared to the vessels Victor was used to.
    It would barely rate as a frigate, if Victor was feeling generous, but she was really more of a big patrol ship.
    She was also at least thirty years old, a surplus military vessel. Her outer hull needed a new coat of paint. Patches of bare metal gleamed under the lights of the tarmac.
    Her armament consisted of a single spinal-mounted gun, and a pair of smaller turrets mounted on the top and bottom of the ship. A pair of doors for