The visitor arrived only when Lancelot was calm, but not every time. Sometimes the human didn’t visit for weeks and other times he arrived two days in a row.
After a couple of visits, Lancelot began to remember a series of dreams in which the voice had first come to him. Only after the voices came to him while he was awake did he begin to remember he had carried on similar conversations while he slept.
As soon as he remembered them, it became obvious to him that they hadn’t been ordinary dreams. Rather, someone or something was trying to communicate with him.
“We have had this conversation before,” he said to the man on his third visit.
“Yes,” the man said, sounding rather pleased by Lancelot’s statement. “Very good.”
The voice was in front of Lancelot even though no one was there, which is why Lancelot had feared he might be losing his mind. Carthagens were solitary creatures. They didn’t confide in each other. So Lancelot had no way of knowing if the Dauphin or the other Carthagen warriors had heard the same voices in their heads.
The visitor seemed to sense these thoughts and said, “You are unique, Lancelot. You aren’t like the others. You know that and I know it too.”
Part of Lancelot suspected the voice might be part of a test the Dauphin were conducting on him to see if he was worthy of being charged with the protection of the Carthagen society.
He had never seen the main part of the Carthagen civilization. They were kept hidden from everyone in a safe environment, with only the Dauphin knowing their exact location. It was the job of Lancelot and the other warriors to ensure that safe place, wherever it was in the Orleans asteroid field, continued to exist. The role of the lead Carthagen warrior was of the greatest importance. The elders never failed to remind him of this. Maybe the voice was a way of testing his ability. Or perhaps his loyalty.
Each time he had this suspicion, the voice would reassure him that was not the case. And soon, because Lancelot only saw the Dauphin and the other Carthagen warriors, people he never had actual conversations with, he began to speak more openly and freely with the voice that visited him. For the first time in a very long while, he found himself having genuine conversations.
Sometimes, Lancelot was able to feel a presence near him. He found he could bring it closer by closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He didn’t bother asking his guest why he was there. He had asked plenty of other questions and never received answers.
“Did you have to travel far to get here?” Lancelot asked one time.
The answer he had received was, “Not too far.” No further explanation was provided.
In the perfect silence of his quarters, Lancelot could actually hear the voice smile and frown and sometimes could hear tinges of concern.
One day, the figure materialized into a form that Lancelot could also see. The Carthagen warrior had to fight the instinct to get to his feet and draw his weapons. Someone, an uninvited human, was in his chamber in the Orleans asteroid field. He suppressed the temptation, however, and remained calm.
From the shadows on the far side of the room, a robed figured emerged. Or perhaps he had always been there, his black robes cloaking him in the darkness. Lancelot wasn’t sure.
Lancelot thought to ask the visitor again if he had traveled far to get there, but before he could, the question was returned to him.
“Did you travel far to get here?” the robed figure asked.
At first, the visitor’s habit of only answering questions with questions of his own had infuriated Lancelot, but there was another problem, though, as he soon learned. There were many questions he didn’t want to ask because he didn’t particularly want to hear the answer, and didn’t want to risk any other Carthagen hearing it either. He could ask how many other people were capable of invading people’s dreams and homes, but this offered the troubling possibility that Lancelot wasn’t as alone as he thought. If others could do what this creature was capable of, he wouldn’t have any privacy at all.
“Where is your home?” Lancelot asked instead.
As he did every so often, the robed figure actually provided an answer, but this too was as maddening as his questions: “I have no house, and yet every place in the galaxy is home.” Then, as Lancelot anticipated, the apparition returned the question. “Where is your home, Lancelot?”
Although no one would be able to tell due to the helmet that covered every part of his face, Lancelot closed his eyes for a long time. His pulse quickened.
When his eyes reopened, he said, “Can you do me a favor? Can you at least give me a nickname that I can refer to you by? I don’t care if it’s your real name or not.”
“You tell others about me, Lancelot?” The voice was tremendously amused.
“Of course not.”
“And yet you need a name for me?”
Lancelot shook his head. “Forget it. Do whatever you want. I don’t care.”
The robed figure took a step forward, closer to the light. Or had it merely hovered across the floor like an apparition? Lancelot couldn’t be sure. Even though the man was two feet closer, Lancelot still couldn’t see any part of the visitor’s face under his hood.
“You can call me Mortimous,” the cloaked man said.
15
Julian sat in a meeting room, surrounded by holograms. In addition to Brigadiers Exeter and Warwick, nine other senior officers under his command discussed how to approach the Carthagens, the last civilization in the Cartha sector that hadn’t yet been annexed as part of the Round Table.
Brigadier Maceus seemed to sneer at everything, as if sizing up every word and every gesture as a possible challenge. The right side of her face had a long scar running all the way from her forehead to her mouth. Judging by the width of the scar, the wound that caused it would have split her face in half if her luck had been different.
Brigadier Ver-Non-Ven’s face was covered in metal and synthetic skin. One of his hands was the same, and it was easy to assume that under his officer’s uniform the rest of him would also be covered with the same materials.
Brigadier Desttro was part human and part Gthothch. His voice was low and his skin, a light brown, had the texture of unpolished granite.
Brigadier Bulwark had skin that alternated between pitch black and pure white. His face had near-human proportions with a slightly larger mouth and eyes. He had no eyebrows or hair. The only part of him that did not transition back and forth between white and black were his silver eyes.
Along with them, six other officers discussed the best way to contact the Carthagens. It wasn’t as easy as landing a transport and telling the aliens they were free. No one knew for sure where the reclusive alien race was located within the Orleans asteroid field. It also wasn’t as simple as landing on an asteroid where traders had reported doing business with them because the Carthagens were known to live a nomadic existence, moving from one secret asteroid location to another. The Carthagen leaders didn’t want their people to be found, and as large as the Orleans asteroid field was, it could take a long time to locate them.
The little bit of information provided by the few intergalactic traders who had direct contact with them was of little value.
“What did they have to say?” Julian asked his officers.
Maceus, the large scar down her face rippling as she spoke, said, “They all reported the same thing, that they only ever saw two Carthagens. Both were covered from head to toe in armor so they couldn’t see any part of them. The lead one—” she looked down at her notes “—went by the name of Lance-a-lot or Lancelot. Something like that.”
“Any particular reason?” Julian asked.
“Because of the two vibro lances he always kept pointed at the traders.”
The room of holographic brigadiers didn’t look comforted by this news.
Exeter shook his head and scoffed. “That’s it? Only two of them?”
Brigadier Maceus sneered again, her scar curling into a C. “Only two were visible but more
could have been nearby. And each Carthagen carried four weapons so a small army could have become outmatched quickly. We have no way of knowing how many other Carthagen fighters they have. And the traders said the Carthagens had the capability to disable some of their ships’ systems.”
Warwick asked where the traders had met Lancelot and the other Carthagen. It wouldn’t necessarily mean they were still there, but it would be a good place to start.
“It was a different spot each time,” Maceus replied. “They sent out a beacon as the trader’s ship entered the asteroid field. The signal designated the landing site. If anyone other than the approved trader landed, Lancelot impaled them with one of his lances. If anyone accompanied the approved trader, Lancelot impaled them. If they landed anywhere other than where they were instructed—”
“Let me guess,” Exeter said. “They were impaled.”
Maceus nodded.
“As reclusive as they are,” Warwick said, “our ships will find them eventually. It’s just a matter of time.”
Julian looked from one officer to another as he considered his options. It was the last part of their campaign in the Cartha sector. After they finished, they could all return home. He could see his wife again. Talbot would get to see his mother. Father and son would have time to bond in the way he had hoped they would during this voyage.
“Maceus, Warwick, Exeter, Bulwark, each of you select three of your best soldiers to accompany you. I’ll do the same. CAB suits for everyone. When we do find their home asteroid, we’ll land and do our best to have them join our cause—without bloodshed.”
The brigadiers nodded. The holograms vanished, one after another. Julian was alone in the officers’ meeting room. He was certain of one person who would be joining him. Now he just had to select two other officers equal in rank and experience to Talbot so it didn’t look like he was playing favorites with his son.
16
At the next Round Table session, a little MaqMac chirped something that translated into Basic as, “Another scientist has been kidnapped by the warlord Arc-Mi-Die.”
An elderly human woman asked how anyone could be sure the warlord was responsible.
A Prolongonguan, an alien without a skeleton that was only able to survive in most environments with the aid of a bio-suit, took it upon himself to begin listing every other possible cause of a scientist’s disappearance. Each time the Prolongonguan named a culprit or alternative reason he thought to be feasible, another pair of Round Table representatives took it upon themselves to argue over the possibility of that threat.
“Hmm, could have been the pirates out of the Oontu sector,” the Prolongonguan said.
“Pirates have been hijacking shipments of spices to my home world!” a worm-like creature, the size of a human leg, announced. “What will the Round Table do about that?”
“Hmm, could have been a tinder wall failure.”
A translucent alien, in a voice that sounded as if every word were part of a ballad, sang, “When will we get around to commissioning the new portal in the Duomo-Major sector? My people have been waiting patiently.”
“Hmm, could have been the—”
At the same time, a human man asked why it was so difficult to find Arc-Mi-Die and a slew of aliens and humans grumbled responses.
Before long, a dozen different conversations were taking place. Representatives knew each member was supposed to have a minute to provide his or her opinion before the next representative spoke, but with so many people around the table no one had patience to wait that long, especially when they knew the current topic would have long ago changed into something completely different by the time it was their turn to speak again. The translation program streamed every word of every language into Basic for Hector to understand, which only ensured it was impossible for him and anyone else to comprehend anything that was being said because it was all being said at once.
With everyone having equal billing, no one had the role of calling the session back to order or gaveling everyone to return to protocol.
With a sigh, Hector swiveled so his energy platform faced the exit, then made his way out of the Great Hall.
17
A steel door rose. The android that appeared on the other side of it had olive-colored skin to match its master’s, although the artificial skin also had a translucence to it that made it resemble rubber more than flesh. A pair of armored Woghort guards, each wearing open helmets to show off their tremendously large upturned nostrils and misaligned teeth, sniffed at the android and patted his pockets and vest. Both guards carried energy pikes. The android waited, unflinching as the guards smacked at each part of his body, until given the signal to proceed.
As soon as the visitor stepped forward, the steel door closed behind it, slamming shut with a clank that echoed through the sparsely furnished room. There were no windows or viewports of any kind and each wall was solid metal, which made it impossible to tell if they were underground, in a craft that had all of its tinder walls down, or in some other structure that didn’t need access to the outside world.
“He can pass,” Arc-Mi-Die’s voice called from behind the two guards.
Both Woghorts snorted and moved aside.
As the android approached the steps that led up to an elevated platform in the middle of the room, four automated laser cannons tracked its movement. Even if the android didn’t intend to betray its master, it could have been sabotaged, its programming overwritten with an assassination code. Better to be safe than sorry. For an outlaw, it might be the difference between survival and being murdered or captured.
That extreme sense of self-preservation was also why a small shield system had been installed around the elevated platform and why a treagon barrier inside ensured nothing could provide a charge of any kind.
The life of an intergalactic warlord had always required ruthlessness, cunning, and precaution. But it required even more forethought and caginess after what had happened following the Excalibur battle at Dela Turkomann many years before.
After initially targeting the Vonnegan ships, Arc-Mi-Die had then fulfilled his agreement with Mowbray and began sending his arsenal of weapons at the Solar Carriers and Llyushin fighters.
His cutthroat trickery hadn’t ended there, however. After the battle was finished, the gangster Ballona—another thug recruited by Scrope on behalf of Mowbray—had ordered her ships back through the nearest portal. Arc-Mi-Die had followed and, upon appearing through the same energy field, had ordered his ships to destroy Ballona’s forces. They had been given immunity from the Vonnegan Empire but not from each other.
A less cunning warlord might have been content with the double betrayal. However, Arc-Mi-Die was only getting started. He immediately set course for the area where the Excalibur Armada had been freed and the place where some of the ships were still floating in space.
A crew of CasterLan technicians was in the process of triggering each Excalibur Armada vessel to self-destruct. In a perfect universe, the ships might have been preserved for history’s sake. In the cutthroat galaxy they lived in, however, any vessel left intact would likely fall into the hands of pirates or villains like Arc-Mi-Die. By the time the warlord got there, fewer than fifty Excalibur vessels remained. He immediately set about joining forces with the other nearby pirates and warlords. They killed the CasterLan technicians and rigged the remaining Excalibur ships with engines in much the same way Vere’s friends had done. Once the Excalibur Armada vessels were outfitted with propulsion systems that could move them without causing them to self-destruct, Arc-Mi-Die ordered his ships to destroy every other warlord and pirate in the vicinity.
A pattern emerged. Everyone who trusted Arc-Mi-Die, even for a moment, ended up dead.
Following the double-cross of the CasterLan Kingdom and the rival warlords and gangsters, those first few months of hiding had been the chance for Arc-Mi-Die’s demise. In that transition time, he didn’t yet have the resources to fully protect his ships. He had no other
allies to assist him and he didn’t yet possess the capability to hide his location as he currently did. What had helped him was the turmoil brought about by Vere’s defeat. The CasterLan Kingdom couldn’t come after him because they were fleeing Mowbray. Ballona and the other criminals Arc-Mi-Die sometimes associated with were either dead or regrouping. If it hadn’t been for that perfect storm of bedlam in the galaxy, Arc-Mi-Die would never have gotten away with the rest of his plan.
There had only been a few sightings of his ships in those first few months. That included sightings of the commandeered Excalibur vessels. In the years since, he hadn’t been seen by anyone outside his organization. Every time he imagined how frustrated the Round Table forces must be at not being able to locate him, both of his mouths broke into devilish grins. His eyes gleamed with pride.
In all, Arc-Mi-Die had the traits of at least four different alien races, human included. He had the proportions of an athletic human but with sickly green skin. He had four legs, four arms, and a tail.
In an emotionless voice and with unblinking eyes, the android said, “Dr. Ythoul-Ythoul is en route and will arrive tomorrow.”
“Excellent. Anything else?”
“Would you still like to target Dr. Harthenson?”
Arc-Mi-Die shrugged and smiled. “Why not?”
“Very good, My Lord.”
“You may go now.”
Without saying anything else, the android turned and began back toward the door. The Woghort guards grunted and snorted as it walked passed them.
18
The Orleans asteroid field was a swath of the galaxy unlike any other. Millions upon millions of rocks of every shape and size filled the belt. Some were as small as human hands or feet. Others were larger than planets. The rocks ranged in color from black to gray to brown to red, depending on the type of space dust that coated each and the intensity of light provided by the nearest star. Some of the most beautiful images of the asteroids were taken by a photographer who had managed to capture all four colors of asteroids in one shot—the black asteroids in the foreground, the gray ones further away, the brown after that, and finally, in the back, the red rocks.
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