The Hour of Camelot

by Alan Fenton

  ‘The computer is in my inside pocket. Take it now.’

  With great care, fearing to hurt him, George eased the mini- computer from Arthur’s blood-soaked uniform.

  ‘Go to the terminal in Excalibur Control and feed in the doomsday code. When you have done that, come back and tell me what you saw. There is only a thirty minute delay before self-destruct, so there’ll be no time to lose.’

  In the dim blue light of Excalibur Control, George stared fascinated at the scene on the monitor: a lake bordered by reeds swaying now and then in the light breeze that ruffled the water’s surface. Nothing could have been more tranquil, or more incongruous. For this was the monitor of the computer that controlled Excalibur, the most powerful weapon on earth. Laying his hands on the keyboard, he consulted the palm- computer and prepared to type in the doomsday code. But his fingers would not move. It was as if they were glued to the keys. Did Arthur really know what he was ordering him to do? Had he foreseen the consequences? He was a dying man, confused, not in full control of his faculties. Camelot was surely the only hope for the future of mankind. There would be a new Round Table, and they would need Excalibur. If he were to destroy it now, mankind was surely doomed, and the world would slide into chaos. Pocketing the palm-computer, he hurried back to Arthur.

  ‘Did you do it, George?’ ‘I did.’

  ‘What did you see on the screen?’ ‘A lake . . . and some reeds.’

  ‘Is that all?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Nothing else?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  Arthur frowned. ‘You have lied to me,’ he said. ‘Go back, feed in the doomsday code, and tell me what you saw.’

  George considered protesting his innocence, but thought better of it. What would be the point? He had never been a good liar, and Arthur, dying though he was, would see right through him. Murmuring an apology, he rushed out of the Great Hall.

  A second time he sat in front of the monitor. He had never disobeyed Arthur, yet in this situation was it not his duty to do so? Why must he destroy Excalibur? No, he would not, could not do it. Arthur assumed that no one could take his place. But what if someone were to pick up his sword when Arthur died? For a while he daydreamed, seeing the death of Arthur, the return of all those men and women who had fled the island, the recruiting of new members, and his election by the Round Table as Camelot’s leader. Yes, that was it. He, George Bedivere, Arthur’s old friend and comrade, would carry on his great work. Who else could do it?

  ‘Is it done, George?’ ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did you see on the screen?’ ‘I saw a lake . . . and some reeds.’ ‘Anything else?’

  George had his answer ready. ‘From time to time I saw the reeds sway in the breeze.’

  ‘Nothing else?’ ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Then you have lied to me again,’ said Arthur angrily, and when George looked ashamed, added softly, ‘we have been friends and comrades for years, George. Do not betray me now when I need you most. Go back again, and do what I ordered you to do.’

  A third time George sat at the Excalibur terminal, his fingers resting on the keyboard, the mini-computer on the desk in front of him. Was Arthur right or wrong? Who could say? Obeying or disobeying him had reduced itself to a simple matter of loyalty to the man who, of all men, George most admired, the man who once saved his life. He made his decision; he would do what he had been ordered to do, he would not betray Arthur. Consulting the code on the illuminated screen of the palm-computer, he took a deep breath and began to tap in the numbers.

  ‘Is it done, George?’ ‘It is done.’

  ‘You fed in the doomsday code?’ ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did you see on the screen?’

  ‘I saw a lake. I saw reeds swaying, and the surface of the water ruffled by a breeze.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘I saw a sword turning in the air, its blade gleaming like fire in the sun. It was about to fall into the lake when a hand broke the surface, caught it by the hilt, brandished it three times, and drew it under the water.’

  Arthur nodded, satisfied. ‘You have done as I asked you.’

  The hovercart made a soft landing on the beach below Castle Rock. Weak from loss of blood, Arthur’s eyes were dulled by fatigue and pain, the skin on his hands and face translucent.

  Two motor launches tethered on the beach rose and fell with the ebb and flow of the tide. Lowering Arthur gently into one of them, George made one last effort to change his leader’s mind. ‘Let me take you to a hospital on the mainland. When your wounds have healed, you will summon the Round Table and lead us as you did before. Camelot will rise again.’

  ‘Not in this life, George.’

  Frustrated by Arthur’s intransigence, and already grieving at the prospect of losing him, George snapped impatiently, ‘In the name of God, Arthur, don’t you want mankind to be saved?’

  ‘I live and die in that hope,’ said Arthur, his eyes dreaming. George laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. ‘Forgive me.’ ‘There is nothing to forgive. You have been the best and most loyal friend a man could ever have.’

  George brushed away a tear. ‘Shall we never meet again?’ ‘There is no such thing as never.’

  ‘I wish I could believe that.’

  ‘Believe it, George,’ said Arthur. ‘We are all immortal. Think of it. Everything began with a speck of dust. That’s what we are, specks of dust. That’s all the planets are, and the stars and the galaxies. Though we live only a few brief years, we are made of star stuff, you and I. We are stamped with the secrets of the universe.’

  Far out to sea the gulls mourned, crying their sad tale. ‘I have one last request,’ said Arthur, ‘before I leave you. All other memories but yours are in the memory bank and will be destroyed. Whatever happens, Camelot must not be forgotten, or nothing will ever change. You are the only one left to tell the world our story.’

  ‘I will do it.’

  ‘Swear,’ said Arthur, holding out his hand. George knelt and kissed it. ‘I swear,’ he said.

  Looking into his old friend’s eyes, Arthur was satisfied. ‘It is time,’ he said.

  George pushed the boat into the sea as Arthur tapped the engine to life. The voice-activated computer stirred. Destination?

  ‘Avalon,’ said Arthur.

  A second’s delay, and the computer responded: Error. Avalon does not exist. Error. Avalon does not exist.

  ‘Must be a technical fault,’ said George. ‘Key in the co- ordinates.’

  ‘I don’t know them,’ said Arthur over his shoulder, as his boat headed out to sea.

  ‘How will you find it, then?’ George called after him. ‘How will you find this Avalon?’

  ‘Avalon will find me,’ Arthur called back, waving a last farewell.

  George watched Arthur’s boat move steadily west into the afternoon sun. In a few minutes, Excalibur would self- destruct. He did not know exactly what would happen when the deadline expired, only that he needed to put a couple of kilometres between him and the island before then. He looked at his wristcom: ten minutes to go. Arthur had made him promise to wait a full minute before putting out to sea, and when he did, that he would not follow him, a promise he now regretted making.

  Jumping into his launch, George started the engine and glided smoothly across the ocean’s smooth surface heading in a south-easterly direction towards the mainland. A kilometre ahead, Arthur had changed course, heading north now, from time to time veering west-north-west. Was he on auto, or was he steering the boat? If he was, did he know where he was going? Avalon, he had said. Where was this mysterious Avalon? Did it really exist, or was it the creation of a fevered imagination, the last delusion of a dying man? If so, the promise he had made was hardly binding.

  Altering course, he followed Arthur. If only he could get him to the mainland, there was still an outside chance of saving his life. Opening up the engine he found himself almost immediately in a low bank of mist, with visibility no more than thirty metres in front of him. Throttling back, he p
eered ahead, listening for the sound of Arthur’s boat. But he could hear nothing, nothing but the sea slapping the sides of his own boat. Silence and the mist enveloped him.

  Sensing a menacing presence, the hairs rose on the back of his neck, his skin crawled. For no apparent reason, he was afraid. Breathing deeply, he tried to slow his racing heart. As he emerged from the mist, something made him look up, and there, hovering over him, keeping pace with the boat, was an eagle, its massive wings spread wide, its fierce yellow eyes glinting like gold in the sun. His heart pounding, he cut the engine, stopping the boat dead in the water. The eagle circled, banked, flapped its wings lazily and sped away inches above the sea, heading directly for the boat ahead. Fearful that the deadly raptor was about to attack Arthur, George restarted the engine and followed at speed, the launch bounding across the sea, churning the water white. As if in response, the eagle lifted effortlessly from the ocean, soared into the blue sky and disappeared.

  When he was no more than a hundred metres from Arthur’s boat, the light of the sun was blocked out as the eagle stooped in an almost vertical dive, its curved beak and deadly talons reaching down towards George’s upturned face. Certain that his end had come, he threw up his arms to protect himself, but at the last second the eagle braked and turned away, its tail feathers brushing his face. Terrified, he swung the wheel so sharply that the engine stalled, the boat heeled over, righted itself, and wallowed helplessly in the water.

  Seeking what shelter he could, he crouched down, expecting the deadly raptor to attack again. Next time he might not be so fortunate. Seconds passed, and nothing happened. Cautiously, he lifted his head and peered over the gunwale. There, half a kilometre away, was Arthur’s boat, and circling above it, the eagle. What could it mean? Why was the eagle that attacked him, so protective of Arthur? And then the answer came to him. The great raptor’s intention had been not to harm him, but to warn him not to follow Arthur. Restarting the engine, he turned back to Camelot, and as he did so the eagle’s cry floated across the water: Kluee! Kluee! Kluee!, a sound so melancholy that it seemed as if nature itself was mourning Arthur.

  Two kilometres from the island he cut the engine, waited and watched. Camelot’s white buildings, its pyramids and squares, its columns and spires, its rectangles, hexagons and spheres, shimmered in the afternoon sun. Sadness enveloped him like a shroud. Never again would he see Command Control, the Robot Centre, the Computer Network, Satellite Control, NIWIS and all the rest, never again fly in Eclipse or Scuttle, or take to the sea in Kraken, never again sit at the Round Table. A quick check of his wristcom: in precisely one minute Excalibur would self-destruct. A bank of black cloud moving in from the west obscured the sun, a light breeze touched his face, the boat rocked gently. Holding on to the gunwale, he looked at his watch – ten seconds to go.

  As the cloud moved over the island, the light died on Camelot. A strong wind blew, the Atlantic waves leapt high and thundered down on Castle Rock beach, the boat heaving so violently he feared it might capsize. The cloud began to revolve, slowly at first, then faster and faster, and from the bowels of the island came a howling like the cry of a thousand devils in hell, growing louder and louder until island, ocean and sky seemed to be screaming in unison. Blocking his ears with his hands, George tried to shut out the terrible sound.

  Then the howling stopped and the black cloud disintegrated. Looking about him, he shook his head incredulously, looked, and looked again, his brain reluctant to accept the evidence of his eyes. For where the island of Camelot had been only a few seconds before, there was now nothing but the untroubled ocean gleaming in the afternoon sun.

  Tapping the engine to life, he set course for the mainland.

  The End

  Until the next beginning

  Other books by the author Alan Fenton available on Amazon Kindle and soon Paperback.

  The Call of Destiny,

  Shadow of the Titan

  And already on Kindle

  Kill or be killed

  Table of Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Thrity

  Thirty-one

  Thirty-two

  Thirty-three

  Thirty Four

  Thirty Five

  Thirty Six

  Thirty Seven

  Thirty Eight

  Thirty Nine

  Forty

  Forty One

  Forty Two

  Forty Three

  Forty Four

  Forty Five

  Forty Six

  Forty Seven

  Forty Eight

  Forty Nine

  Fifty

  Fifty One

  Fifty Two

  Fifty Three

  Fifty Four

  Fifty Five

  Fifty Six

  Fifty Seven

  Fifty Eight

  Fifty Nine

  Sixty

  Sixty One

  Sixty Two

  Sixty Three

  Sixty Four

  Sixty Five

  Sixty Six

  Sixty Seven

  Sixty Eight

  Sixty Nine

  Seventy

  Seventy One

  Seventy Two

  Seventy Three