Avalon

by Chris Dietzel

  “My part of the plan?”

  She picked up a second satchel and flung it over her other shoulder, then pressed the button for the ramp to lower.

  On her way down the ramp she said, “I need a ship.”

  It made so little sense to him that he remained where he was until she was out of sight. Only then did he run down the ramp to catch up to her.

  “You have a ship.”

  “No, it’s yours now. I’ll explain as we walk.”

  21

  Following the defeat of the Round Table flagships at the edge of the Turgdorian sector, one of the greatest humanitarian efforts in galactic history began. Athens Destroyers, Solar Carriers, and other flagships went to Greater Mazuma as fast as they could. They were joined by cargo haulers, space freighters, and any other vessel that could be used to transport people away from the former financial center of the Vonnegan Empire.

  Each flagship had enormous cargo bays, weapons bays, and storage chambers capable of transporting just over one hundred thousand people. Sleeping quarters were cramped. There wasn’t much food. But it got millions of people away from Greater Mazuma and from the Juggernaut’s path.

  The effort wasn’t easy, however. With the majority of the ships in the Mardigan sector having left to join Brigadier Desttro’s forces, there were few large vessels near Greater Mazuma. There was no way enough ships would be available to move the entire planet’s population.

  Most places around the galaxy had artificial living conditions, with fairly small communities to fill each colony. They ranged in size from hundreds of people to hundreds of thousands. In contrast, Greater Mazuma was one of the few planets with a naturally safe and inhabitable environment and large concentrations of people all over the planet.

  The planet was small compared to EndoKroy and other Vonnegan worlds. But the entire planet had been developed into an urban sprawl of skyscrapers, transports, and structures centered around economic trade. With the exception of the oceans and rivers and lakes, buildings covered every part of the planet. Its population was nearly three billion.

  That meant that even if each flagship could transport one hundred thousand people to safety and each could make two trips before the Juggernaut arrived, it would take fifteen thousand flagships to carry everyone to safety. The entire Round Table didn’t have that many flagships. It didn’t have a fraction of that. The sad truth was that after most of the available nearby vessels had been lost against the Juggernaut, only four flagships were close enough to offer immediate help. The local freighters and cargo vessels provided space equal to roughly another two dozen flagships. That meant that out of the nearly three billion people living on Greater Mazuma, not even one percent of the population could be saved.

  That assumed everyone wanted to be taken away. Rather than be taken to another home, the most likely destination would be some barren colony where they would wait in hopes of being able to return to Greater Mazuma. If anything went wrong, they and the hundreds of thousands of others around them would all be stranded. The fact was that the Vonnegans were a proud people. The majority of them chose to stay and face the approaching enemy rather than flee.

  Years earlier, a galactic sociologist, a tiny Trydactil man with three wings and delicate silvery skin, had proposed that it was not the Vonnegan rulers who had an endless thirst for war and expansion but the Vonnegan people, who had a culture of not backing down, of being proud and strong. It had been that society, the Trydactil proposed, that had created the type of leader necessary to turn the Vonnegans into an empire who warred against their neighbors.

  Whatever the reason, even without a ruler to order them to remain and fight, that was what almost every Vonnegan decided to do. The flagships and freighters would take the children to safety. The teenagers, the women, and the men, would stay on Greater Mazuma and fight the Hannibal as best as they could. They even believed they had a chance to defeat the mechs. To date, the Hannibal had encountered little resistance. They had visited colonies and outposts with few defenses. Even at the Cauldrons of Dagda, where they had killed the galaxy’s most feared inmates, they had done so mostly from a distance and had faced fewer than two hundred prisoners.

  The plan that the leaders of the Vonnegan resistance came up with was simple. Tell all Round Table vessels to leave the area. They had already proven to be no match for the Juggernaut. Instead of meeting the mechs head-on and making their chore of mass extermination simple, the Vonnegans would hide. They would lure the mechs into various traps. On a planet with hundreds of skycrapers, an underground system of tunnels that stretched for thousands of miles, and a transportation system that could carry small bands of fighters to street corners within moments, the Vonnegan resistance went to work.

  It was possible they might all die, that they might not even take any of the mechs with them, but it was a better strategy than running and hoping to be able to return to a home that may no longer exist.

  And while they hadn’t been in favor of Mowbray Vonnegan’s style of rule or his campaigns to extend the empire, they knew that their resolve in fighting to the death would have made the Vonnegan ruler proud.

  Art 2

  Greater Mazuma, by Tim Barton, digital art

  22

  In the room that had once been her father’s royal chamber, Vere stood alone with Mortimous. Hundreds of stories below, Talbot was going to the representatives of the Round Table so he could begin enacting the plan that Lancelot had given him.

  “I know you disapprove of my trying to actively help,” Vere said.

  “Everyone must make their own decisions.”

  “It’s no different than you getting the Word to send the Green Knight to Eastcheap.”

  “What you say is true,” Mortimous agreed. “I do not agree, and yet it is no different than what I did.”

  She knew from the smile in his voice that even the wisest of wise men relied on the old adage, Do as I say and not as I do.

  She told him she needed to speak with the Word. Her expectation was for him to remind her that the Word wanted no part in the trials and tribulations of warring civilizations.

  Instead, he nodded and said, “Any time.”

  “Any time?”

  He turned his attention away from CamaLon’s spaceport, courtyard, and markets and focused instead on Vere.

  “Of course. I don’t hold the key to them. You control whether you see them or communicate with them. Everyone does. If it were up to me what people do, I would have found a way to convince everyone to stop partaking in silly conflicts and battles all around the galaxy.” He turned back to the goings-on far below and added, “I would caution you, though, that the Word has no patience for the weaknesses of our species.”

  “What do I do then?” she said. “We’re just supposed to sit back and watch everyone die?”

  “The universe is a book of infinite secrets,” he said. “I know but a few of them. There are many I will never know. The best any of us can do is try to be a little better than the day before and hope for the best.”

  His answer gave her a case of déjà vu. He might have very well said the exact same thing to her years earlier.

  “Edsall Dark will be ash if we base our plan around hopes.”

  “What else is there?” Mortimous said, sounding tired, as if this were an impasse he had arrived at a million times before. “It took all of my begging and pleading to get the Word to intervene on your behalf back in Eastcheap. They won’t listen to me a second time, I’m sure of it.”

  “Then I’ll ask them.”

  The problem was clear, though. She had progressed enough in her learning to know the Word existed. She could sense their presence. Sometimes she was even able to glimpse what she thought was their essence near her. But she had never been able to communicate with them.

  Sensing her next question, Mortimous said, “It won’t be easy. They don’t communicate in a way mortals can easily comprehend. Try to visualize what you want to say. Focus on it. Not on t
he words in your head but the ideas in your heart. Quiet all other notions and thoughts. Only then do you have a chance of hearing them and of being heard.”

  As he said this, a Llyushin transport departed from the spaceport and soared toward the sky. Both of them knew it was piloted by Lancelot.

  “Your fortunes are alike,” Mortimous said. “She will do good, just like you did.” Then, shaking his head and sighing, he added, “We just have to hope it’s enough.”

  23

  The controls in the Llyushin transport were different from the few other vessels Lancelot had piloted. But after a brief overview, which was more than she had gotten after stealing Thrice Won’s or J’s ships, she was on her way.

  CamaLon got smaller as her vessel soared into the sky. On her way to Edsall Dark, the pocket of civilization had meant nothing more to her than any of the other planets or colonies she had stopped at in pursuit of Arc-Mi-Die. But after walking through the fields with Talbot, after seeing the children playing in the streets, she had an odd affinity for it.

  The few memories she had of her childhood were disjointed and vague—her father carrying her on his back, him doing silly impressions to make her laugh. They hadn’t lived anywhere near Edsall Dark, but in the happy faces she saw in the streets she recognized a place that could have been her home.

  In the minute it took her Llyushin transport to reach the upper layers of Edsall Dark’s atmosphere, the details of the place she had been gave way to vague outlines. Gone were the individual buildings. In their place was a gray circle of a city surrounded by mountains and fields. Gone was Talbot and his hopeful glances. Instead, she was alone again.

  Once her ship was beyond Edsall Dark’s gravity, she pulled right on the controls, sending the transport toward the second of the two portals above the planet. Unable to wait for the line of other ships ahead of her, she lowered the tinder walls and aimed the transport at the upper edge of the portal. After jamming the throttle, the ship raced into the oblivion of light. She was on her way to recruiting the first member of her team.

  24

  The emergency session of the Round Table was bedlam. Five of the representative’s seats were vacant because Hector, Cash, Cimber, Octo, and Winchester had all been killed, all of them at the hand of the Carthagen that had asked for Talbot’s help. The rest of the seats were filled, however, and aliens from around the galaxy all spoke in panicked tones that they were supposed to be the elected leaders of the galaxy and yet they had no idea what was going on or what to do next. That idea was reaffirmed by the fact that Talbot had called for the emergency session to be held rather than one of the representatives.

  “A man with absolutely no authority is calling a session?” a Ttomdorian yelled.

  A MaqMac blurted a series of noises that were translated as, “General Reiser’s son deserves to be shown some respect.”

  While many seemed resistant, Talbot knew enough about the nature of the Round Table representatives to understand they wanted nothing more than some form of positive news. Civil war had almost broken out. The general whom many had wanted to install as leader of the Round Table had been assassinated. The men and women around him just wanted something to feel like an ordinary existence could be saved.

  “Thank you for agreeing to meet with little notice,” he said to everyone seated around the enormous room.

  The representatives stared back in silence.

  “I am not here because of anything to do with my father or his assassination.”

  There was a rumble around the room as many of the representatives had assumed that was the only reason the son of Julian Reiser should be there. He had intentionally chosen to stand halfway between where Hector used to sit and where Octo and Winchester had sat just to reiterate the idea that he was neutral.

  “I’m here because of the threat the Hannibal pose.”

  A louder rumble passed through the Great Hall. A Hooshrak squawked. Its wings fluttered so rapidly that it inadvertently rose from its chair. A human man gave a whimper and put his hands in his face. The entire room was flooded with concern and fear. Talbot raised both hands for the room to quiet.

  “There is no time for hysteria. I understand the concerns that fill this room, but we cannot let them destroy our will to act. I have met with the Carthagen who arrived with Arc-Mi-Die’s head.”

  Again, the room began to fill with shouts until Talbot slammed a hand down on the Round Table and a hush fell over the room.

  “She is familiar with stories of the Hannibal and has relayed much of it to me in order to help us in our preparations.”

  “Stories?” a reptilian representative said with a snide grin. “What good are stories when we’re facing an enemy that defeats all of our ships?”

  “They give us a better idea of the threat we face,” Talbot said. “The more information we have, the better.”

  “I’ve never heard of something so foolish,” the representative hissed.

  From the faces he scanned on either side of the reptile, Talbot recognized the expression of people who didn’t know what to think. They were looking for something to give them comfort, and many of them could easily choose the pleasure of sarcasm and denial over the realities of what he had to say.

  “Then leave,” Talbot said, his face devoid of emotion. “If you don’t like what I have to say, excuse yourself.”

  “Well! I have never—”

  “No, I don’t gather you have,” Talbot said. “Because it’s easier to disagree and belittle than to commit to something. For too long the Round Table has chosen the first option rather than actually governing. Well, the time to lead is now if you are serious.” He turned his attention away from the individual representative and scanned the entire room. “The Carthagen also gave me her ship, which contains technology we will need to—”

  “Who do you think you are?” the reptilian representative said, standing from his chair on the other side of the room.

  Most of the people assembled in the Great Hall expected Talbot to say he was the son of the general many of those very people had tried to install as leader. Instead, Talbot said he was just an ordinary man trying to help save the Round Table.

  “A lot of people want to save the Round Table,” the representative said. “Including everyone in this room.”

  “Then sit down and be quiet,” Talbot said. “And I’ll explain how we can do that.”

  “I don’t know who you think you are,” the representative said, his tongue darting in and out of his mouth in exasperation.

  Talbot began the long walk around the massive wood table that had been continually expanded to accommodate the growing number of representatives. As he did, he took out the Meursault from the sheath at his hip. The invisible blade left a trail of vapor around the room as he walked.

  “I already told you who I am. I’m trying to save the billions of lives that make up the Round Table.” He thought of Lancelot’s cold-blooded killing in the courtyard the previous day. “If I have to extinguish one life to save billions, that’s not a difficult decision to make.”

  At first, the representative offered a hissing laugh. Then, seeing Talbot get closer, seeing neither bravado nor nervousness, nothing other than cold determination, he began to look for someone to come to his defense.

  As Talbot continued around the table, he said, “I have a plan, given to me by Lancelot, to save the Round Table. But we need to begin setting it in motion right this instant. We cannot wait. Precious time is wasting. I cannot be more adamant about that. Nothing else matters, especially not minor grievances.”

  Talbot was within ten seats of the jeering representative when the man hissed and slammed his tail against the ground. Seeing that the display had no effect on Talbot’s resolve, the representative darted from the Great Hall.

  “Why would the Carthagen want to help us?” a woman said from the other side of the room.

  Talbot turned, spotted her among the many faces, and smiled.

  “A fair
question,” he said, putting the Meursault back in its sheath. “Because the Round Table can be fixed. Because she has fought all of her life and just wants the galaxy to be able to live in peace.”

  A rustle of excitement ran from one chair to the next.

  “But we have to act now,” he said again.

  Then, seeing the faces all staring expectantly at him, he knew he had captured their attention, and he began conveying Lancelot’s plan to everyone assembled.

  25

  Philo, Pompey, and Thidian were the de facto leaders of the resistance on Greater Mazuma. The three Vonnegans, one middle-aged and two in their later years, oversaw the preparations to turn the former financial capital into the site of what they hoped would be a prolonged battle against the Hannibal mechs.

  Philo, like Enobarbus, had been a member of Mowbray’s elite Fianna. No one who knew him on Greater Mazuma was aware of his past life. All they knew was that he had served in the Vonnegan Empire in some military capacity. From his quiet and stoic nature, they assumed he had seen his share of death. He refused to offer details and for good reason.

  After the establishment of the Round Table, almost all Vonnegans were forgiven for their parts in the empire that had brought misery to its own people and to much of the galaxy. There were exceptions, however. The highest level of Vonnegans were charged with crimes, their fates determined by a jury of their peers. It was reserved for those who made policy, led battles, or were directly responsible for overseeing the misery. Three generals were found guilty. The few advisors Mowbray trusted suffered the same fate. Le Savage, former warden of the Cauldrons of Dagda, would have been arrested if he hadn’t taken his own life. The only others who experienced the same outcome were a pair of Mowbray’s Fianna who stubbornly refused to go quietly into the night and start new lives.

  Unlike Philo and Enobarbus, who both hid their armor, the other two men flaunted who they were and what they had been. When they were arrested by Vonnegan security forces, now operating under the banner of the Round Table, they each killed a dozen of their fellow Vonnegans with their vibro halberds before being subdued. At their trials, both men insisted on wearing their Fianna armor, which they were eventually executed in as well.