It took every bit of control he could muster to yell, “Get… Talbot… back… home…”
If his thoughts were clearer he would have been able to register the sheer panic and alarm in the eyes that looked back at him. The only exception was Talbot, because he was so stunned by what was happening that he looked serene. Warwick had his chance to destroy anything that threatened him and his men and was firing laser blasts at the three Carthagens who were trying to block their path to retreat.
Somehow, the burning in Julian’s stomach got even worse. A whimper escaped his lips. The metal of his CAB groaned, and he realized the lance that had impaled him was lifting him up in the air.
For a moment, Julian couldn’t help admiring the strength of this Carthagen who was able to lift the entire suit, all two thousand pounds of it, off the ground.
“The Terror of the Cartha Sector?” the Carthagen said again. “I think not.”
Then the pain was too great and everything went black.
34
Julian had succeeded in pushing Talbot beyond the reach of the main Carthagen warrior. A lieutenant named Marv-Lel had then grabbed him and pushed him behind the first line of officers in CAB suits. There, Exeter had taken one look at Talbot before forcefully moving him toward the closest transport barge.
All around them was yelling and laser fire.
Warwick blasted a Carthagen at point blank range. The warrior was engulfed in an explosion that blew away much of his armor coating. Before the alien could get away, the brigadier grabbed hold of his neck with one gloved fist, then aimed his shoulder cannon at his face and destroyed everything above his shoulders. The Carthagen, smoke billowing from his neck, dropped to the ground with a thud. The brigadier turned his attention to the other two Carthagens trying to block their way and began blasting them. Exeter moved beside him and did the same, the cannons on either shoulder sending out volleys of thick laser blasts that illuminated the cavern.
Talbot watched all of it unfold as if it were a bad dream. In the fog of battle, he had barely had a chance to focus on the Carthagen who had initially toppled their barge. All he noticed was a haze of smoke and fog, laser blasts, and small ion explosions, which he assumed were coming from one of the Round Table officers in an attempt to repel the Carthagens or render their body armor useless. He heard shouting, loud bangs that were muffled by the headset’s hearing protection, and rocks crumbling as the cavern was blasted to bits.
Over the defensive perimeter that Exeter had established, he saw his father, impaled by a vibro lance. Julian’s CAB suit had been lifted entirely off the ground as the lance rose toward the ceiling. Julian, in his confusion, tried to walk away from it before his legs fell still.
Talbot’s instinct was to aim his blasters at the thing behind his father. The shoulder cannons on either side of his helmet buzzed with the charge of a blast that was ready to be delivered. Before he could fire, the tunnel ceiling collapsed, blocking the Round Table forces from the Carthagens’ leader, and also his father.
He wanted to shout “Dad!” or “someone help him!” but all he could do was stare in horror at the realization that his father was not only critically wounded but also captured.
Exeter and Warwick turned to see the blockade of rock and knew it was pointless to try and make their way through it.
“Back,” they both yelled, and everyone in their group walked away from the cave-in while still keeping their weapons at the ready all around them in case more of the ceiling collapsed or Carthagens attacked from the sides again. Talbot, however, walked toward the fallen rock and brought one of the mighty hands of his CAB to rest on a boulder directly in front of him.
Looking around, he realized the other Carthagens were gone. They must have gotten away somehow as soon as Julian was captured and the ceiling had collapsed.
A hand rested on Talbot’s shoulder. When he turned, Warwick was there.
“Come on, kid. We have to go.” There was neither scorn nor gruffness in the voice, which for the brigadier meant a lot.
“We aren’t going to leave him?” Talbot asked. He didn’t know what else they could do, but he was also sure it was suicide to try to clear a passage through the rocks while under attack by Carthagens on the other side.
For a moment, a scenario played out in his head where Warwick asked who Talbot was talking about and Talbot would be forced to either answer “My dad,” or “General Reiser.” Both seemed absurd things to have to say.
“No, we aren’t leaving him,” Warwick said. “But we also can’t go that way. We need to find a way around.”
“What if they kill him?”
Warwick patted him on the shoulder and raised one eyebrow. “If they were going to kill him, he’d be dead already. He very well might be, but we won’t know for sure until we find a different path.”
Having regretted asking the question and also hating the answer he had been given, Talbot’s shoulders dropped in despair and he allowed Warwick to push him back toward the barge.
35
Lancelot retracted the vibro lance from the leader of the invaders, back into its handle. The human male, middle-aged with the beginning of gray hair, lay in a heap on the ground behind him, moaning but not moving.
In his helmet, Lancelot could still hear the chatter of the invading forces. They were searching for a different path to find their precious general, whom they referred to as Julian Reiser.
Funny, Lancelot thought. A moment ago the man on the ground was known as The Terror of the Cartha Sector and now he is just like everyone else.
The other humans were focused on finding a fork in the tunnel so as not to make themselves easy targets by going through the rubble in front of them. Knowing they were no longer a threat, at least not for the time being, Lancelot looked to his left and then to his right, where Swordnew and Bowcast had appeared with some of the other warriors.
“Any damage?” he asked, meaning any injuries amongst the Carthagens.
“Hammerstrike is dead,” Swordnew answered.
He was one of the three warriors who had been blocking the invaders from going back the way they had come. He was also the Carthagen who had stood last in line during the Dauphin’s duels because of his inferior fighting prowess.
“A shame,” Lancelot said.
He had hoped that by being by himself in the front that the invaders would focus all of their weapons on him. It was a pity they had retreated. Clearly, they were not combatants worthy of Lancelot. Even so, a Carthagen warrior had died while under his command. The elders would not be pleased.
Lancelot would never say this out loud, but if a Carthagen had to die, Hammerstrike was the most expendable. He had never moved up in rank during the duels, meaning he had never won a single contest. Even Whiplash beat him and Whiplash was easily defeated by Swordnew, who in turn was quickly dispatched by Lancelot.
Lancelot began to question the strategy he had employed. If he had been blocking the invaders’ retreat instead of Hammerstrike and two others, not only would the Carthagen have likely survived, most of the Round Table officers would be dead on the ground.
“What is the invaders’ status?” Lancelot said.
Swordnew took a small step forward to show he was slightly more senior in his ranking than Bowcast and the other nearby Carthagen. “They are trying to head back toward where they came. They have not slowed their barges. They are seven invaders on either transport.”
Lancelot nodded. “Make sure they find the route they are looking for. Have Curveddeath posted to track their progress. Lead both of your groups back to their hiding spots and await further orders.”
Both warriors nodded. The other Carthagens behind them neither spoke nor moved, knowing they were expected to do only what they were ordered to do and speak only when spoken to.
Lancelot turned, then bent his front legs until his knees touched the ground. There, he scooped all four of his arms underneath Reiser’s CAB suit. It was one thing to lift the human off t
he ground with the leverage that the lance afforded. It was another thing to pick his mechanized suit off the ground. It weighed almost two thousand pounds, and it took all of Lancelot’s strength to lift the armor suit up to chest height.
Julian’s arms twitched and his legs dangled. He moaned but that was all. Lancelot turned to leave.
“What are you doing with him?” Swordnew asked. “Are you taking him back to the Dauphin?”
Lancelot paused, his back still toward the other warriors. After a moment, he turned and faced Swordnew. The other Carthagens backed ever so slightly away. Each of them had faced Lancelot in the challenges and each had lost even faster than Swordnew.
“I apologize, Lancelot. I have spoken out of turn.”
Lancelot took another step forward. His helmet was an arm’s length away from Swordnew’s.
“I am taking him where I please. You will do as I have ordered.”
A string of apologies followed but Lancelot didn’t listen to or acknowledge any of them. He was already walking back through the darkness of the caves, the fallen invader in his arms.
Before he turned the corner and disappeared, he called back over his shoulder, “And clean up the mess.”
A Carthegan grabbed the armored boots of a dead Round Table officer and began to drag him across the ground. A moment later, another Carthagen scooped up the same officer’s shoulders. Together, the two warriors lifted the invader’s armored corpse. Swordnew and Bowcast stood over Hammerstrike for a moment, neither of them speaking. Then they both bent over, took hold of their fallen comrade, and carried him away as well.
Lancelot didn’t bother to watch any of it. He was too busy carrying the invaders’ leader into the depths of the asteroid.
36
Arc-Mi-Die’s assistant was the only subordinate in whom he placed an iota of trust. The amount of faith he had in his helper, a model K-2 android, was only extended because his assistant had been programmed to forbid any kind of deception. True to Arc-Mi-Die’s nature, he couldn’t bring himself to have complete trust in the K-2 even though its programming prevented it from turning against its master. After all, if another warlord captured it, he could conceivably reprogram the android. Anything was possible, and because of that, Arc-Mi-Die knew anyone could become a traitor under the right circumstances.
“Is everything ready, K?” the warlord asked from within his protective barriers.
“Almost, my master. The final tests are being conducted, but the scientists assure me it will work.”
“Will it be ready within the next two days?”
The android nodded. “Yes, master.” No other part of him moved except for his lips, not even his chest expanding and contracting because K didn’t need to breathe.
Both of Arc-Mi-Die’s mouths broke into grins, putting each set of razor teeth on display. “Go ahead and start now, then. I’m growing impatient.”
Another assistant android might have politely asked if his master was sure he wanted to proceed before the final preparations were ready. But Arc-Mi-Die had torn both arms off his previous android for asking impertinent questions. He had then locked it inside an oversized cell and told his Woghort guards that whoever destroyed it first would have his pay doubled for the next month. The android, armless and silent and with no expression on its face, had been chased around the confines of the windowless cell. The pursuit of the quick and agile android had taken longer than it otherwise should have because the Woghorts had refused to work together. Only when the bodyguards agreed to split the bonus did they manage to corner the android and smash it to pieces.
The android that replaced it was told what would happen if it ever questioned Arc-Mi-Die in the same manner.
And so that was why K simply said, “Yes, master,” nodded, and left.
Art 3
Arc-Mi-Die, by Leila ElManfaa, digital art
37
On his way into the afternoon Round Table session, Hector found Octo and hovered across the room to him.
“Have you heard the news of Julian’s expedition?”
Octo, rather than answer, merely nodded as he continued across the open room of the Great Hall, toward his seat.
“The representatives won’t take the news well,” Hector said.
Octo turned and offered an expression of surprise. “You want to be the one to tell them? By all means, do.”
If Hector’s energy disk weren’t carrying him forward, he might have stopped where he was, too shocked to take another step. “You weren’t going to tell them?”
“It’s not my place.” Octo held a hand to the side of his mouth as if offering a secret, then added, “Quite frankly, I don’t think it should be shared at all. It would damage the morale of the group, I think. But if you feel you have to tell everyone, I won’t stop you.”
Hector shook his head. “To know the consequences of what we have allowed? That would damage morale? If that damages the morale of the people who approved the campaign, maybe they deserve to have their morale crushed.”
Octo sighed and offered a half-hearted smile as he patted Hector’s cannonball shoulder. “Winchester has an update of his own that just came in. After that, if you still feel inclined to tell everyone about the unfortunate status of Julian’s fleet, by all means you should do so.”
Octo stopped walking, sat down, and immediately began talking to the tentacled alien beside him. Hector, unsure why Octo would think it a good idea to withhold important information from the Round Table, returned to his seat at the other side of the table.
“Something isn’t right,” he whispered to Cash.
Cimber saw the expressions on both men’s faces and asked what was wrong.
“I’m not sure yet, but something is.”
As everyone else filtered into the Great Hall and took their places around the table, Hector kept glancing over at Octo, trying to figure out what the man had in store.
As soon as the session started, Winchester pointed to a holographic display in front of him and told everyone he had just received important news.
“Arc-Mi-Die has sent a ransom demand.”
The room broke into chatter, with every human and alien talking at the same time.
“For who?” a Tricknon asked.
“How much is the ransom?” a Hurll asked, the fur on the back of his neck standing up.
A MaqMac bleated some noises, which the room’s translation software turned into, “We must pay! No matter the amount, we must pay.”
Winchester’s mouth curled downward with disdain. “The warlord is demanding that we turn over a dozen of our best flagships manned with enough androids to keep each vessel permanently operational.”
A human said, “For the scientists he kidnapped? That doesn’t make any sense. A person in exchange for a fully armed ship of war? Has Arc-Mi-Die lost his mind?”
A reptilian alien, sitting only three seats down from Hector, was translated as saying, “That is an absurd demand! He can’t be serious. No scientist is worth that much. Not considering all the damage Arc-Mi-Die could cause with those ships.”
Winchester shook his head as if the hundreds of noises around him were a bother. “I’m afraid you all misunderstand,” he told the group. “The ransom is not for one or even all of the scientists. Arc-Mi-Die has expressed no interest in returning them to their families.”
The room filled with chatter of a dozen different alien species, each translated by the room’s software. All around Hector, their were gasps and people shouting questions.
“What’s it for, then?” asked Cimber, causing Hector to grimace, knowing he wasn’t going to like the answer.
Winchester looked down at the display once more, then looked up and scanned the eyes of the various members. “The warlord says he will send one of the Excalibur Armada ships to a colony of his choosing and detonate it if we do not pay the ransom.”
The murmurs of questions, outrage, and concern came in a steady stream of translations, as well as people yellin
g in Basic.
“That’s not a ransom, it’s extortion.”
“We have to pay!”
“We can’t give him our ships, no matter what price.”
“What if your family is on the colony he attacks?”
“We don’t even know which colony he’ll pick.”
“He has plenty of Excalibur ships. If we give in this time, he’ll just ask for twice as much next time.”
“Or destroy dozens of colonies.”
“We have to do something!”
“What can we do? We don’t even know where he’s hiding.”
It was then that Hector realized he wouldn’t have a chance to discuss what had happened with Julian’s expedition. Not then, at least. By the time he did tell them, time would have passed and the outrage and concern would have dissipated. The only thing the people around him were going to care about for the foreseeable future was Arc-Mi-Die and the mayhem he promised. Knowing this, he looked over at Octo, who only shrugged and turned back to hear what all of the representatives around him had to say.
38
Exeter was the first officer to say what all the others were thinking. They were lost.
The pair of transport barges was supposed to be going back the same way it had come and yet they still hadn’t reached the cave’s entrance.
“It only took an hour to get to where the Carthagens ambushed us,” he said. “We’ve been traveling now for three hours and we still don’t have any idea where we are.”
Warwick slammed an armored glove down on the barge’s railing, breaking it. “It would help if our navigation systems actually worked.”
Lancelot Page 12