“Mostly the other Carthagen warriors. But the Dauphin will not permit death. The duels always end before an injury becomes... permanent. The only people I am permitted to slay are the intruders. Sometimes the traders who try to steal from us or poison us.”
Every once in a while, as he put on his CAB, Julian glanced behind him to see where Lancelot was standing. He knew full well that he could have been allowed to die after the lance entered his back and burst through his stomach. He also knew the Carthagen could have killed him during any point in his recovery. However, now that he was back on his feet and getting ready to do combat again, his sense of self-preservation began to take control.
“The Terror of the Cartha Sector seems nervous,” Lancelot mocked.
“Stop calling me that,” Julian said, sounding more like a child than a general.
Without any help, it took him ten minutes to get each piece of the CAB back on. After everything else was situated, he put the helmet over his head. Most of the systems inside the suit still had power, but none of them seemed to work. The navigation display wouldn’t tell him which part of the asteroid he was on or where he was in relation to the cave entrance or to his other officers. The weapons systems were ready to use and had ammunition, but the targeting and firing status wasn’t active. If they were, Julian could have turned and blasted Lancelot with a rocket propelled ion grenade at point blank range.
The one bit of good fortune was that the suit’s sealing system was still intact. The status showed a puncture in the front and back of the suit where the lance had injured him, but the suit was also able to reseal itself so that even though no armor protection would be provided in those two spots, Julian would have a pressurized system if he went back out into the vacuum of space. His life support systems also showed he had reserve oxygen.
“Are you ready for your bout?” Lancelot asked. “Are you ready to be disgraced?”
When Julian turned back around, Lancelot was standing in the middle of the room. Seeing him with his CAB on, the Carthagen reached over both shoulders and around either hip, producing a pair of vibro lances and a pair of Meursault blades. Pointing the lances at Julian, knowing he was out of range, Lancelot ignited both weapons. A long spike of metal extended from both handles. Once they were at full length, both crackled with energy. He brought both swords in circular motions, the blades alternating between being visible and invisible depending on their angle, but always leaving a trail of mist behind them.
A thousand questions flooded Julian. He wanted to know where the Carthagen had obtained the pair of legendary swords. He wanted to know who had owned them prior to Lancelot. None of this was immediately relevant, though, so he asked something entirely different.
“Would it be asking too much to have a weapon of my own?” Julian said, looking at the four weapons pointed toward him.
“Of course not.”
Next to the compartment that had stored Julian’s CAB, yet another rock slab slid aside, revealing a dozen different weapons. Swords, a pair of lances, a vibro whip, a couple of laser halberds, and a vibro war hammer.
“Pick anything you want,” Lancelot said from the middle of the room.
Julian took his time. The delay served two purposes. First, he got to make sure he wasn’t feeling any residual effects of the wound or the bots’ treatment. Second, he had time to think of possible tactics for attacking a heavily armored warrior with four weapons.
“No blasters?” he said from within the hidden compartment.
“I’m afraid not.”
Julian ended up picking a vibro lance and sword.
From the wall where he stood, he pointed the first weapon at Lancelot. The metal spike of the lance extended from the handle, then blazed with energy. His own lance and Lancelot’s two weapons were long enough that they crossed each other by four feet.
Julian swung the vibro sword around in his hand to get a feel for its weight and balance.
“Whenever you’re ready, Terror of the Cartha Sector.”
Julian was smart enough to know Lancelot was trying to bait him. Rather than allowing his irritation to show, he gave a polite quarter bow and asked if there was any kind of ritual they needed to perform before a Carthagen duel began.
“Attack when you wish,” Lancelot said. “That is the only responsibility you must obey. And then I will fulfill my duty, which is dispatching you in short order.”
Julian gave a laugh, then began to circle his opponent. As he did, Lancelot remained in the middle of the room, neither pursuing nor retreating, only pivoting to remain facing him. Julian made a loop all the way around the room and was back where he started. The entire time, his lance and the two lances held by the Carthagen remained in contact. No matter where he looked, though, he didn’t see an opening for one lance and one sword to defeat two lances and two Meursaults.
“If you do not attack soon, Terror of the Cartha Sector, I will be forced to dispatch more of your officers.”
“If I win, you’ll leave them alone?”
Lancelot’s head moved to one side as if he were confused. “If you win, I’ll be dead and you can do as you please.”
There was nothing left for Julian to do and he knew it. If he ever wanted to see his son and wife again, he needed to act. It was all within his power. The outcome was his to decide.
The first strike came from his lance, which he thrust forward and up, directly at Lancelot’s faceplate. An instant later, Julian brought his sword up from his hip in an arc, toward his opponent’s lance.
Lancelot would attempt a parry of his own. Julian’s sword would force Lancelot to retreat or else lose a hand. From there, Julian would redirect the lance back at where Lancelot would step—not his current location but where he would have to move if he wanted to avoid both the first lance thrust and the sword.
None of that happened, however.
Instead, Lancelot remained exactly where he had been the entire time. Both of his lances formed an X, which safely moved Julian’s lance up at too great of an angle to be a threat. One of Lancelot’s Meursault blades clashed against Julian’s sword, cutting it in half. The other moved to Julian’s throat, pressing ever so slightly against the armor that protected his carotid artery. Before Julian could say or do anything else, Lancelot’s other Meursault came up and knocked the lance that was supposed to have killed the Carthagen, sending it across the room. Lancelot, no longer at risk, didn’t pause or say anything before initiating his own attack. In a single move, he thrust one lance through Julian’s right shoulder and the other through Julian’s left shoulder.
The scream that escaped Julian’s throat echoed in the chamber for a few seconds before finally dying out. Impaled by two lances, there was nowhere he could go. Sweat began trickling down his face and he blinked over and over as his body went into shock.
“Is there anything you want to say?” Lancelot asked.
“Give me another chance.”
“I told you: you had three chances. You ignored all of them.”
“Not to return home,” Julian gasped. “Give me another chance to kill you. You’re...”—he began to stammer his words—“the scourge of my life.”
“The Scourge of the Round Table?” Lancelot said, as if it were a worthy title of someone to face the supposed Terror of the Cartha Sector. “I like the sound of that.” Then, after driving both lances further into Julian’s shoulders, he added, “So be it,” and took a long step back.
Both lances were withdrawn from Julian’s shoulders. The general crashed to the ground, unable to brace himself. Even though he was still uttering unintelligible sobs, he was unconscious before he hit the stone floor.
The battle had lasted as long as all of Lancelot’s other fights.
42
Warwick was continuously shivering and sweating. He was also alert enough to know how his body was betraying him, which infuriated him to no end. It was a treason by his body to display weakness rather than allowing him to either get up and fight o
r just go ahead and die. Beside him, Lieutenant Alia was in perfect health, although his CAB suit was immobilized and useless after getting hit by the ion grenade.
The two of them, along with Exeter, Talbot, and two other officers, were in the lead barge. The rest were crammed together in the second transport. Everyone kept constant lookout for any possible alternate routes or clues to help them identify where they might be.
More than half a day had passed since the Carthagens ambushed them, captured Julian, and caused the cave-in. For almost all of that time they had been traveling through twists and turns in the tunnels, as well as long, straight stretches, with nothing to show for it.
If anything, their situation was worse. The chances of finding Julian alive decreased with every passing minute. Warwick was closer to death with each strained breath he took. And the longer Lieutenant Alia remained incapacitated on the floor of the barge, the more his anxiety spread to the other officers.
“This isn’t working,” Exeter said out loud even though he was solely in charge now.
The situation wouldn’t have seemed so dire if they could have communicated with the flagships still hovering in the asteroid field. With their transports and CABs being jammed by the Carthagens, Exeter felt lucky that they could at least still hear each other through their suits. But while Warwick’s CAB was advanced enough to seal his armor so he could survive in space if needed, it couldn’t heal his injury. The barges had basic medical supplies but nothing to help address a catastrophic injury. If they couldn’t find their way out of the caves and back to the flagships, he would eventually die a miserable death.
“You doing okay, buddy?” Exeter said on a private channel to just his fellow brigadier.
“I don’t even care if I live or die,” Warwick stammered through clattering teeth. “I just want to see as many of those things die in the worst way possible.”
“That’s the spirit,” Exeter said, trying to sound positive.
For the last two hours, Talbot had been drafting a chart of their path through the caves using old fashioned pen, paper, and navigation tools. For that entire time, he had checked the direction they were supposedly flying against their speed, how long they traveled in that direction, and the angle of each turn. The hope was that by creating a map of the caves, they would be able to find their way back out of the asteroid, at which point they would regroup with the flagships. Then they could either negotiate for Julian’s return or unleash their arsenal and obliterate the Carthagens.
That was the hope, anyway.
Exeter had as much faith in Talbot as he did in anyone else, but one look at the map Julian’s son had created made him cringe more than Warwick’s death wish.
“I know it doesn’t make any sense, but this is our rough path,” Talbot said, handing the paper over to the brigadier while the barge continued through the caves.
“Umff,” Exeter said, almost laughing at the absurdity of what he was looking at.
They had been following the tunnels in front of them and yet the map he looked at resembled a child’s doodle. There were wide overlapping circles. There were lines over top other lines as well as lines directly next to other paths that they had never come across. In short, it was nonsense.
“I know it won’t be as accurate as the nav systems could do,” Talbot said, dejection and apology filling his voice. “But this is where we’ve been traveling. I’m sure of it.”
“I believe you, kid.”
“Let me see it,” Warwick said.
Exeter thought about telling him not to worry himself, but leaned over and handed the paper to Warwick. He and Talbot both braced for the outburst they knew would take place as soon as the dying officer saw the unintelligible scribbles. Neither of them were ready for the extent of Warwick’s rage, however. He cursed until he was coughing up blood, and then, unable to wipe the inside of his visor clean, he cursed even more and slammed his fist against the transport.
“Okay,” Exeter said to everyone. “Full stop.”
Both barges came to a halt, hovering two feet off the ground. Exeter looked back at the way they had come and then at the path ahead of them. In both directions, he could only see as far as the light from his suit and the barges allowed.
“It all looks the same,” an ensign said from the second barge.
A lieutenant nodded and added, “Not just here, but all of it. It’s no wonder we’re lost.”
If Warwick were healthy and still in command, he would have told both officers to shut their mouths. Rightfully so. The desperation of their situation was making them forget protocol, and the next thing to go after that would be their training. Before that could happen, Exeter stepped to the back edge of the first barge and gazed at the officers gathered on the second one.
“If I hear any more talk like that—”
A light appeared at the far end of the tunnel. Exeter squinted to see what it was. A split second later, a streak of blue laser zipped past his helmet. Another flash appeared from down the tunnel. Then another.
“Forward!” he yelled, and both barges began to move again, picking up speed as they went. As they traveled, the officers in the second barge unloaded with rockets and laser cannons to make the Carthagens take cover. Immediately, the laser blasts stopped.
“That’ll teach them,” said Lieutenant Groth, the same lieutenant who had commented on being lost.
Exeter snapped at him, “Lieutenant, I want you to shut—”
The lieutenant groaned, then slouched forward into another officer. From where he was standing on the first barge, Exeter couldn’t see what had happened.
“Faster,” he yelled, and both transports picked up more speed to get them away from danger.
Only after they had turned the next corner and were halfway down the following stretch of tunnel did they slow enough for Exeter to see what had become of Groth. One of the other officers, with the strength offered by his CAB suit, held the lieutenant up by his armor. A proton arrow, still glimmering with energy, had penetrated Groth’s helmet and was protruding from either side. A Carthagen must have been hiding somewhere along the tunnel, then popped out just fast enough to get an easy shot while they were distracted by the blasts further down the cave.
As soon as he saw the arrow and the instant death it had caused, Julian’s voice echoed in Exeter’s head. Impaled by a lance and pushing his son to safety, Julian’s final order had been to do anything necessary to keep Talbot alive.
Exeter would never admit it to anyone else, not even Warwick, but he no longer had much faith that he would be able to fulfill his friend’s dying wish.
43
The three Dauphin stood in a line near the wall of their private quarters. In all the times over the years that Lancelot had entered their chamber, he had never seen them in any location other than where they currently stood, in front of the wall. It was filled with various displays, controls, and surveillance equipment. He knew they received notice any time someone approached the outside of their chamber, but the fact that they were always there and nowhere else created the impression that they never moved from that spot.
After the stone door slid aside and he entered the chamber, Lancelot stood in the middle of the room as usual, facing the three elders. He couldn’t help but wonder if the Dauphin stood exactly where they did because they had countermeasures in place to protect them. Otherwise, they would be defenseless if a Carthagen warrior became unruly or threatened them. With all of the technology the Dauphin had to dissuade visitors from entering the Orleans asteroid field, Lancelot didn’t doubt they also had safety measures to protect themselves.
A minute passed while Lancelot stood in silence, waiting for the Dauphin to speak. Lancelot held his tongue because it was the custom among the Carthagens to show the elders the utmost respect. This meant not talking unless formally addressed, doing exactly as instructed, and protecting them at all costs. And while Lancelot was not always patient enough to adhere perfectly to the first of those dictum
s, he always conformed to the latter two.
Patience, the Dauphin had told him more than once, was the trait of a true warrior. Respect, however, was the trait of the greatest warrior.
On one of many occasions Lancelot should have refrained from speaking, he had said, “I defeat the other Carthagen fighters with ease. If I’m not your greatest warrior, good luck finding a better one.” The comment had resulted in the three elders hissing in disapproval.
This time, however, he was determined to wait them out and stand in the middle of the chamber in perfect silence.
Finally, the middle Dauphin said “Tell us, why are the invaders still alive?”
“Yes, tell us,” another of the elders said.
Even though they weren’t wearing full helmets like the warriors, the elders still wore breathing masks that obstructed their mouths, preventing Lancelot from being able to tell which had spoken.
“I enjoy watching the way they react to the maze.”
“Your orders were not to watch them for enjoyment,” the first elder said. “Your orders were to kill them.”
“There are more of them above the asteroid. Thousands of them in their large ships.”
“Do you think we do not know that?” all three asked in unison, slightly louder than the low rumble when only one spoke.
The third elder said, “We were the ones who monitored their progress. We were the ones who activated the warnings.”
“The warnings that did not work?” Lancelot said, shifting his weight from his front two feet to his back two feet.
The Dauphin hissed.
Once more, there was silence between the elders and the Carthagen warrior. Eventually, the middle elder said, “We are responsible for ensuring the continuation of our species, Lancelot. If it were not for the elders, the Carthagens would have become extinct centuries ago.”
“And it is my job to protect the Carthagens once intruders are here. If I kill the humans in the caves, more will descend into these tunnels. If I kill those, even more will arrive.”
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