All the while, the pair of mechs hovered at a relatively safe distance, one of them sending ion arrows down at the prisoners and the other sending waves of deadly energy from its scythe. An alien with thousands of tiny legs was scorched into nothing by the gray mech. The Gthothch, after winning his grudge against the human, was shot through the back by the white mech.
But the prisoners didn’t go down without a fight. At least a dozen had found the unlocked weapons caches and were launching ion grenades and firing heavy blasters at the mechs. Another dozen were on top of the prison wall, hundreds of feet above the surface. Some of them had blasters. Two had moved a tripod-mounted cannon into place. An amphibian prisoner, capable of jumping a thousand feet, leapt through the air. The gray mech saw it coming, moved to the side, and sliced it in half with its scythe. Both halves of the alien fell into the lava below.
The white mech turned and began sending one ion arrow after another at the wall. One struck the tripod cannon, causing it to erupt into an explosion, triggering its ion cell cartridge to explode as well. The resulting blast took out six of the nearby prisoners. The blasters that the prisoners fired deflected harmlessly off the mechs, but the ion arrows fired by the white mech destroyed everything they hit. After only a few seconds, every prisoner that had been atop the wall was dead and the white mech turned its attention back to the ground.
The gray mech’s hover platform was splashed a second time with lava. The front edge of the device boiled and part of it melted away. It spun and unleashed a wave of energy from its scythe, directly at a Chee-Ruck, a short, wart-covered alien. Chee-Rucks were known for their intelligence. They were also almost entirely peaceful. The one exception that Penn Pierre knew of was the inmate at his prison, who had performed experiments on innocent civilians. He had killed hundreds of aliens across two sectors by various ingenious and technologically advanced means. Now, he had rigged two pieces of old excavating equipment together and was using it to hurl gallons of lava at the mechs.
The mech’s next energy wave hit the machine, causing it to burst into flames and spray the Chee-Ruck with the same lava that was moments away from being tossed at it. The alien, screaming and clenching his burning face, stumbled backward into the molten seas.
A Gorillian grabbed a human by his waist, picked him up, then smashed him against the ground. He tossed the lifeless body aside, then picked up a boulder and threw it at the mechs. When another prisoner got close to him, the Gorillian attacked it as well.
The entire prison yard was chaos.
16
For almost all of her life, Lancelot had lived under a shell of armor that concealed who she actually was. In the time since leaving the Cartha sector, she routinely spoke to Mortimous and Vere without her helmet on. It was through their visits that she learned not only more about who she could be but also about the rest of the galaxy. She considered both of them more as teachers than friends.
That was why she talked to Talbot so long when they got back to her ship. It was her first chance to create a genuine friendship. He laid on a cushioned bench across from her. After she got out of her armor, she laid on the bench opposite from him. For the rest of the night, they talked about anything and everything.
He asked if she had ever been in love and she replied, “I lived my entire life in a Carthagen asteroid. Who was I going to fall in love with?”
Rather than return the question, she asked what subjects he learned about in school, which battles he knew of, and what books he had read, because those things were all much more interesting to her than romance.
When he asked what she had learned, she said, “I never got a formal education. BookKnow, the Carthagen who saved me, brought me books to read. That was how I learned everything.”
“So all you learned about was Carthagen history and their battles?”
She couldn’t help but give a mocking smile. “For a guy who trespassed into Carthagen territory, you sure are forgetful.” She winked to let him know she was only giving him a hard time, then added, “Traders and nomads came through the territory. Unlike those who arrived in warships, they were mostly welcomed as long as they followed our protocols. Any time BookKnow was chosen to greet them he would trade something for whatever books they had. So, no, I didn’t learn only about Carthagen history. I probably know more about a larger part of the galaxy than a certain someone who’s quick to judge.” The mood changed and her smile faded. “That’s how I know about the Hannibal.”
He asked how they could be beaten and she said she didn’t know if they could be.
For a while the two of them sat in the dark without speaking.
“We should escape,” he said.
“Run away?”
“Together. Go somewhere far away from here. Somewhere the Hannibal won’t bother us. I didn’t want to be a part of the Cartha campaign. You don’t owe these people anything. We could leave here and live a quiet life.”
She sat up straight and shook her head in disbelief.
“I don’t run from anyone. No one. I never have, and I never will.”
“But from what you say, you’ll die.”
“We’re all going to die. Would you rather die an old man who left his mother here to fend for herself? Or would you die young, knowing you stood for something that mattered?”
“Don’t bring my mother into this,” he said softly.
“Why not? Do you think the Hannibal will spare her? They haven’t spared anyone else. If you don’t want to think about it, if you want to run away and leave your friends and family to fend for themselves, that’s your decision. Maybe you aren’t the person I thought you were.”
His face reddened and he looked away from her.
“It was only a suggestion,” he mumbled. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and pained. “But I’m not the person anyone thinks I am. Look at me. I’m not someone people should rally around. You’re the one who defeated us in the tunnels. You’re the one who brought Arc-Mi-Die’s head. You killed the representatives responsible for nearly starting a civil war. You’re the one who should be leading, not me.”
“You can be anyone you want,” she told him. “Trust me, I would know. If you want to be a leader, you can.”
He groaned and put his head back down on the thin strip of cushion between himself and the bench.
“That’s just it, I don’t want to be.”
17
Penn Pierre turned his attention to another set of holographic feeds. In one, the rust colored mech and the black mech were making their way through a series of tunnels. Some of the hallways were made for human-sized prisoners and guards and were too small for the mechs to fit through. For these, the black mech held out the scale in its hand. Black gas seeped from a cylinder on one side of the scale. Black liquid bubbled out of the other side. When the two touched, a black cloud of energy formed and began flowing down the hallways. It slid under doors, through vents, around corners. Penn had no doubt that it was killing anything it touched.
On another holographic feed, his suspicion was confirmed. A prisoner, a small winged creature that had always insisted it was innocent, was huddled behind a desk. The warden watched as the alien’s mouth and feathers were covered with the toxin. It screamed as its skin melted away to bone. Eventually, even that dissolved away.
Elsewhere, a Gthothch, a Vonnegan, and a shell-covered brown alien appeared from a doorway, launched a half dozen ion grenades, then filled the hallway with blaster fire. The rust colored mech traveled on its platform with surprising speed, cutting down all three prisoners with one slash of its ion sword. Penn saw that the mech’s hover disc faltered for a moment. The mech stood on solid ground as it attacked another prisoner. When the hover platform finished recalibrating, the mech got back on and continued into the prison.
The two mechs were met by a Dracorian serial killer. The Dracorian ate everyone it murdered and so it had been difficult to determine exactly how many people it had killed. Its teeth were as long as human
fingers and were covered in saliva that paralyzed its victims. The Dracorian seemed to know its method of killing was ill-suited for the enemy in front of it. It also knew its time was coming to an end. Because of this, instead of facing them, the alien darted into a side room, knowing the mechs would be right behind it. There, it detonated a stack of directional explosives that were positioned against the far wall.
“Burn!” it yelled with a maniacal laugh.
Blowing up an exterior wall would allow lava to pour in until the entire floor was flooded with molten fire. The galactic serial killer would be burned alive before the mechs could harm it, and they would be destroyed as well.
But it wasn't an exterior wall. Instead, the Dracorian had blown out the wall to an adjoining supply room.
The reddish brown mech brought its ion sword down on the prisoner before turning and continuing through the corridors. At a set of small security tunnels, purposefully narrow in order to give security guards a way to control larger prisoners, the black mech once more held out its scale and let energy fill the hallway and side corridors.
When the mechs got to the cavernous room with hundreds of individual cells, they were met by roughly fifty prisoners. Some had blasters. Some lobbed grenades. An entire group had vibro whips. Two were able to breathe fire and roared out streams of blazing yellow and orange flames from their leathery mouths. In an instant, the room became filled with laser blasts, fire, screaming, and poisonous black gas. It was like nothing Pierre had ever seen before.
One crazed prisoner held out a shiv he had carved from rock and shouted at anyone and everyone to stay away from him. He was blasted by a Lerrk who was annoyed by the outburst and who then went on to shoot at the mechs.
The rust-colored mech brought its ion sword down in a sweeping strike, killing four prisoners who rushed to tackle it. A swarm of another ten prisoners trampled over their bodies and grabbed hold of the mech’s legs and arms. The black mech moved backward and held out its scale. Its deadly energy enveloped the nearby area and surrounded the other mech. When it dissipated, none of the prisoners were there anymore. They were nothing more than ash on the ground. The reddish-brown mech waited for the energy to move away from it, then hovered to a new part of the room.
A half-human, half-reptilian prisoner lashed out with a vibro whip. The energized cord caught the black mech by the same arm that was holding the scale. Instead of paralyzing the mech with pain as the vibro whip was intended to do, the mech simply turned to identify what was hampering its movement. It yanked its wrist down, making the prisoner stumble forward. The mech caught the man by his torso with one of its giant metal gauntlets, then held him in place while the toxic scale, only feet away from the man’s face, delivered its brand of execution.
The reddish brown mech went after the two fire-breathing prisoners next. Both tried to scramble away but neither could move fast enough to evade the enemy’s long ion sword After they were gone, the mech moved back toward the black mech, which held the scale up and allowed black gas to fill the rest of the room. Blasters still fired and the prisoners still yelled threats and attacked each other and the mechs, but gradually, the yelling and blaster fire slowed until there was none at all.
Penn Pierre turned his attention back to the lava yard. All of the prisoners were dead. He knew there was only one other place the mechs would go. In front of him, at the window that overlooked the main prison yard—the same window where a previous warden had thrown himself to his death—Penn saw the white mech hovering higher and higher. He knew what was going to happen next. Even though the act was futile, he would fire his assault blaster at the enemy. The white mech would return fire with an ion arrow that would kill him instantly. Then the mechs would go back to the Juggernaut and make their way to their next stop.
And that was exactly what happened.
18
Talbot and Lancelot talked for much of the night, but over time there were longer gaps in the conversation. Eventually, Talbot went silent and his breathing deepened and she knew he was asleep. Rather than close her eyes and do the same, she stood and walked to the cockpit. There, she sat in the pilot’s seat and imagined facing the Juggernaut. Every scenario she envisioned ended the same way.
Because her vessel was still on the main CamaLon landing pad, she was surrounded by ships of various makes and purposes. Some were there to load cargo for delivery to colonies in the outer sectors. Some belonged to those visiting loved ones. All of them had unique stories and reasons for being at that specific place in the galaxy at that specific time. All around her were thousands of people whose paths led them to within feet of her, only to go their separate ways into the galaxy once more. An infinite amount of interactions and courses for her life were in front of her, and yet only one would unfold. The thought distracted her from contemplating her potential encounter with the Hannibal.
Behind her, she sensed someone was there. Not Talbot, though. She would have heard him.
“Funny time for you to stop by,” she said quietly, so she didn’t wake the man in the next room.
“Mind if I sit?” Vere said, her face hidden under her hood.
Lancelot waved a hand toward the empty chair. For a while they remained silent, and Lancelot got the impression that Vere was seeing the same thing she had envisioned—countless possibilities in front of them—as she looked out the cockpit.
“What will you do?” Vere asked finally.
“About?”
“The Hannibal,” Vere said, knowing Lancelot enough to realize she wouldn’t be able to flee the approaching threat.
Lancelot shrugged. “I know what a few warriors can do against an entire army. A couple of Carthagen warriors defeated the mighty Round Table.”
“True.”
“I was one person against the galaxy’s most powerful warlord and I defeated him as well.”
Vere nodded. “That’s also true.”
“But this is something different. I don’t see any scenario in which I can defeat them. It’s not that I’m scared or doubt my ability. I just don’t know if it’s even possible.”
“Everything is possible.”
Lancelot turned and looked at the hooded and robed figure sitting an arm’s length away from her. “So is this where you, the wise galactic traveler, tell me, the young and able warrior, how to defeat them?”
There was an audible smile when Vere said, “I wish it were that easy.”
Lancelot grinned. “In the legends, it usually is.”
“The truth is, I don’t know how to defeat them any more than you do.”
“And Mortimous?”
Vere gave a half-hearted sigh. “You know him. Even when he says something, you don’t really know more than you did before.”
Lancelot thought that was going to be the extent of what Vere had to say but then her guest continued, “From the bits and pieces he’s told me, the same ancient alien race that built the Excalibur Armada, the ones I call the Word, did so because they also knew of the Hannibal and they wanted a fleet that could destroy them. Before they ever used the Excalibur ships, the Word realized there was a better course. In doing so, they began to transcend our concept of time and space. Mortimous thinks the Word encased their fleet in rock to let the Hannibal know they had learned the error of their ways. By the time the Juggernaut arrived, the Word were gone.”
“How does that help me?” Lancelot said in a tone that wasn’t sarcastic or ungrateful but genuinely in need of assistance.
“It doesn’t.”
“You said one time that Mortimous convinced the Word to send the Green Knight. If there’s ever been a time when I could use some help it would be now.”
“I’m sorry, Lancelot. I’ve asked the same thing of Mortimous countless times. Every time I do, he tells me he was only able to convince them on the promise they would never be asked to interfere again.”
“Interfere? Billions of people are going to die. The average person who had nothing to do with Julian’s fleet o
r with the decisions the representatives made has to pay the price?”
“I know it’s not fair,” Vere said. “But if everyone had chosen the path that the Word took, none of this would be happening.”
“You’re going to sit there and watch Edsall Dark and everything you worked for get turned to ash?”
“No. I’m going to help as much as I can.”
Lancelot’s head rose and her voice had barely contained excitement. “What can you do?”
The enthusiasm immediately deflated when Vere said, “Not much, I’m afraid.”
“Oh.”
“There is one thing I know, however. You can’t do it alone.”
“I just asked if you could summon the Green Knight,” Lancelot said.
“I don’t mean some form of miraculous help that you can’t depend on. I mean assembling a team and—”
“I work alone.”
“And you’ll die alone if you face the Hannibal by yourself.”
“According to you, if I face them with a team the only difference is that I’ll get to be around other people as we all die. No thanks, I’d rather go it alone.”
Rather than grow irritated, Vere laughed. “I swear, sometimes you sound so much like a younger version of me that I want to go back in time and shake myself by the shoulders.”
Lancelot scoffed but said nothing. Outside the cockpit, a Turgdorian pilot was carrying a box to his modest spacejet before departing from CamaLon. Behind her in the next room, Talbot let out a slight snore before falling silent again.
“What about him?” Vere said.
Lancelot laughed. “He doesn’t have it in him.”
“Give him a chance. He may surprise you.”
“I’d rather—”
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