A New Home: A Sci-Fi Arthurian Retelling (The Camelot Project Book 1)

by Abigail Linhardt

  Uther looked back and forth between the D.R.U.I.Ds. “I am my father’s son. I am not Constans with his courage and mind, but I am of the same blood. If it is hemo-sensative, then I can pilot it.”

  “That is only a mere part of the payment for piloting Excalibur,” Vivian said, a warning in her voice.

  “Enough!” Uther barked at last. “Bring me Excalibur, D.R.U.I.D. Land it on those rocks there and I will meet you to take control. Merlin, with me.”

  Uther took his men with him, crossing out of the hangar and to the large rock face near the fort where he waited for Vivian to bring him the great mecha.

  “It doesn’t matter if it is hemo-sensative or not,” he said quietly to Merlin. “I have the blood and can pilot it.”

  Merlin crossed his white arms, but did not look at his master as he spoke. “These mecha bind with the mind, Uther.” He did not address him properly and Uther felt the sting. “Once the flight helmet is attached to your head, the system accesses your cerebellum where you humans believe the soul is located. It then becomes you.”

  Uther turned his head toward Merlin at this. “So, it’s some sort of a psychic connection?”

  “You could say that,” Merlin sighed. “Here is your chance to find out what happens.”

  The great white and silver mecha rose up out of the lake and drifted towards Uther and his troupe where they waited. With expert grace and management of the thrusters and rudders, Vivian sat the beautiful machine down upon the rocks and exited it from the front cockpit where the “face” should have been.

  She vaulted from the shoulder to the mecha’s open palm as though it had been waiting for her, then down to the ground. Excalibur knelt, waiting for Uther to enter.

  “Why do you hesitate?” Vivian smiled wickedly. “After all, if a machine can pilot a machine, surely the great heir of Constantine the First can do it.”

  Thinking of Camelot, of Vortigern, and then of Igrain and how she had spoken of her dreams for Camelot, Uther marched toward the giant robot. It knelt down on one knee, its palm out and the cockpit still open as though it called to him. Mustering his lordly strength, he ascended a little shakily into the open space.

  Inside, the mecha gleamed clean, but felt small. The cockpit was big enough for the one in the pilot’s seat and perhaps a tiny space for two to stand behind. The soft chair had two wings rising on the sides to protect the head from bouncing. There were also three belts to hold the pilot in. In the seat rested the helmet Merlin had mentioned.

  Uther wondered what would happen once he put it on. What if the machine didn’t recognize him? What if it searched for something in his brain that only firstborns have? What if his mind couldn’t handle the task?

  For Camelot.

  He picked up the black helmet and shoved it onto his head. He now looked through a mirrored visor. When he sat down, the belts activated and held him in place firmly against the soft chair. In a flash, something stung his forehead, then a blinding light erupted into his eyes. His body went limp and he could no longer feel his legs or his arms. A buzzing sensation made his torso itch. He felt like a stump of a man with no limbs.

  He blinked a few times and his sight came back to him, but it wasn’t what he expected. Instead of seeing through the cockpit window in a blue hue through the visor, his vision showed clear and in color. Along the side of his vision, beeped and flashed gauges and symbols giving him readings he didn’t know anything about. He saw clearly a fuel gage on the left and scrolling across the top a system’s check report listed in rapid fire the machine’s health and something about a left rear light being out. Over his right eye, the round sight and measurements of a highly sensitive scope flicked to follow his line of sight. As he focused on objects outside the mecha, a successful hit percentage appeared under the scope. The numbers were constantly dancing and changing before his eyes as they flitted about, trying to focus on the words and numbers.

  Lastly, below his fuel gauge, a strange circle with six symbols pulsed softly. Under that, it read “pilot psycho-analytics.” His glowed blue and flashed on one symbol. As he tried to move his head to look around, all of this moved with him, overlaying the horizon before him. The trees were now at eye-level and the mountains didn’t seem as imposing. He was looking through the eyes of Excalibur.

  He tried to move his hand to his head, but the mecha’s hand moved to its “face” and he saw it wave in front of him.

  “Whoa!” he laughed in surprise. “I can move it.”

  “Yes, sir,” came Merlin’s voice in his head. “This is a D.R.U.I.D machine of war from our planet Avalon. It was created originally from our Avalonian metal, but this time was fused with Constantine’s DNA to make it adhere to his psychic commands. The computers inside that connect to your brain are of Avalonian make as well, using our highly sensitive communication technology. It communicates directly with your central nervous system, allowing you to see as the mecha sees. There is more science to it than that, but you warlord types don’t ever really care about that so long as it kills things.”

  “Tell me one day, Merlin.” Uther flexed his arms. He could feel it now. The mecha was part of him and he could sense its strength in his arms and legs. Like he had suddenly grown new, powerful muscles. He would be unstoppable now.

  He took one step and then another. “Vivian, get the others.”

  He watched as the female D.R.U.I.D bowed her head, a small smirk on her lips, and left back to the lake with a few other D.R.U.I.Ds with her.

  “It is worth noting that the other mecha are hardly anything compared to Excalibur,” Merlin’s voice said. “They were not meant to be war devices as much as this one. And they do not require the psychic connection this one does.”

  “Does that mean you’re not in their heads like you are in mine?” Uther asked in good humor.

  Merlin politely laughed. “No, I wouldn’t be. This mecha is as much a part of my planet as I am.”

  Uther began to walk the mecha out behind his fort to where he could see one of the moons, Lothian, fading in the daylight. “I thought it was the machine part of your brain that let you communicate with this thing. Can’t most computers communicate that simply?”

  A small delay in Merlin’s response lowered his voice an octave before he spoke. “Of course, sir. Just one machine speaking to another.”

  Uther looked ahead to the vast open prairie of Camelot’s fragrant blue grass.

  “Stay close,” Uther whispered as the urge overtook him. He flexed what felt like his legs and launched into a sprint. He felt the ground giving and trembling under his feet. He galloped away from the fort, no doubt quaking at his steps, and sped to the mountains. He leapt over a small pond and through a little forest in no time at all. He then bounded up the side of a medium sized mountain in only a few minutes. When he reached the summit, he was surprised to find himself panting for air.

  “Whoo!” he called out over the mountaintops and Excalibur raised its arms up in triumph. He had claimed the mountain easily. “Merlin,” he said, “get my men into mechas. And summon Galois. He needs to see this.”

  “Shall I tell you a little about them then?” Merlin asked. “Or would you rather run around like an exposed little boy?”

  “I don’t appreciate your tone, D.R.U.I.D,” Uther said. But he couldn’t resist knowing a little about the machine. “But go on, if you must.”

  Merlin cleared his throat needlessly. “You ran to the mountain, but your mecha also has the power of flight. There are torque generators inside, so you don’t lose your balance. Also, it runs on fuel, which I’m sure you’ve seen on your view screen. The psych-link as you see is your mental gauge. Don’t lose sight of that.”

  Uther eyed the devilish-looking symbol to his left. “How do I know if my psych is not working?” he mocked Merlin, but Merlin didn’t care.

  “You’ll know, sir.” He paused, waiting for any other smart-ass comments. He went on, “There are several weapons available on mecha, which I pray you do
not attempt here. One is obvious as any weapon can be made for and allocated to a mecha. Be it a sword, a rod, gun, or rockets. Mecha also have Mist.” He stopped there.

  “And?” Uther prompted.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but it looks like your guests have arrived.” He paused again. “You may want to consider why you desire to use these. Your friends may need convincing.”

  5

  Making a King

  Uther leaped out of the mecha as the transport with Galois approached. Lot, Morgause, and Igrain were with him. He couldn’t help but beam as he met them among the many legs of the now-present large mechas.

  “Look at them,” he raised his hands over his head, smiling, his voice echoing oddly off the metal beasts. “Can’t you just see us in these, staving off Vortigern and his army?”

  “Where were these hiding?” Lot laughed out loud at the sheer size of the machines. “There is nothing we can’t do with these.”

  Uther smiled. “Exactly, Lot! Galois, what’s wrong? We’re safe now.”

  Galois had not uncrossed his arms the whole time and surveyed the wonderful machines with more than deep scrutiny. “Uther, they’re amazing, I’m sure. But think of the destruction they’ll bring. What are they exactly, do you know?”

  “Merlin, explain it, please,” Uther summoned the wary D.R.U.I.D over.

  “The mecha are of Avalonian make,” Merlin said in a calm voice. “There are none like Excalibur, so you need not worry about mental damage. They act as a suit of armor and can be equipped with weapons and shields, cloaking devices and silencers for the engines. Of course, once a mecha is suited up for war, it is far heavier than it is now. The use of fuel for transportation will astronomical.”

  “Merlin,” Uther moaned as Lot’s eyes lit up with a bloodlust.

  “Mental damage?” Igrain asked, her elegant brows rising up.

  “Excalibur uses the mental capacities of the pilot. The first Constantine had it made to suit his brain patterns and emotions. His chemistry, if you will. Only one of the House of Pendragon can activate it. Something similar to hemo-sensitivity.”

  Galois and Igrain exchanged concerned looks. It wasn’t like Galois to be so cautious, but he had changed once on Camelot. Lot had more of his father-in-law’s ravenous hunger in his tense jaw now.

  “It sounds fun,” Galois said. “But, Uther, that’s not good. There is no way you can lead an army, against our friend, with a machine in your head. What if it gets hurt?”

  “Then Uther would suffer the damage,” Merlin said.

  “I won’t get hurt,” Uther cut in. He hadn’t wanted to defend the machine or his ideas, but Galois tried his patience. “Why the change in spirit, my friend? You weren’t like this at the academy. Or even on the colony ship.”

  Galois drew himself up. “I didn’t have the same priorities, Uther. I had a family and I ignored it. We have a home now. This coming war could be dangerous. You could die in this machine!”

  Uther held up his hands to silence his friend. “I see where you’re going with this. You don’t want me to use it. I understand, but what you need to understand is that our new city is under threat and it is my duty to do what I must to save it and protect what we’re just staring here. I want to protect that life you are creating.”

  Galois raised his head, his expression turned to disbelief. “You sound like a warlord, Uther.” His voice grew calm. “What is it about fighting Vortigern right now that you love so much?” He pressed his hands to his face. “You said you have to protect us. Do what you must? What if it’s not right?”

  Feeling the change in Uther’s air, Morgause took Lot’s arm and backed away a pace. Igrain tensed as well.

  “Loving war was my father’s business,” Uther said evenly, trying not to spit out every word. “But he was a great man. I’m sorry I’m not noble like Constans would have been or brave like you. I can’t meet a man in physical battle, guns blazing. This technology is our chance to make sure what we’ve started here isn’t taken from us so soon. Can’t you understand that? The people of Camelot are depending on me.”

  Igrain took her husband’s hand and squeezed it, telling him to let the argument go before he exploded in rage and confusion. Instead, Galois saluted Uther.

  “Do as you see fit, sir.” He turned calmly and left with his family in tow. Uther watched them go, feeling unsatisfied. The sun seemed to light up Igrain’s hand as it clutched Galois’s. She loved a foolish man.

  “Ready all the mecha,” Uther ordered Merlin, turning away from the sight. “Or rather, have Vivian prepare them. I want you with me.”

  That evening, Uther commanded his generals to assemble all the troops who could fight. They had been taking surveys the last few days trying to sort out the new population of Camelot and Uther fell behind on reading all the information. He tried to catch up on it all in his private chamber—a clean, white suite of rooms in the central fort—reviewing on a glowing tablet what had come in thus far.

  “So many children,” he mused out loud to Merlin who stood perfectly still near the window. “Have the medics reinforced our stalk of the life elixir?”

  “They have been preoccupied by the presence of the D.R.U.I.D facilities on this planet. I don’t believe they have ever seen such a production reactor before, sir.” The D.R.U.I.D’s voice came in a monotone.

  Uther shrugged as he went through the other stats. “What are those?”

  “Camelot is full of D.R.U.I.D technology. It’s how we built this world for you while you slept. Cell research and regeneration, bio-metals, telepathic communication technology…among others.”

  “I saw your tower circle while I was out with…” he stuttered a moment. “While I was out exploring the terrain,” he finished. No need to tell the android he had been with Igrain.

  “Our gateway to Avalon,” Merlin explained. “Our home is so far away. It allows us access to our planet. Keeps us who we are, in touch with our past.”

  Uther sighed and tossed the tablet onto his desk. “I never know how human you are. Pasts and histories are humans, not machines, to pour over.”

  “I am neither,” the D.R.U.I.D replied.

  “I wasn’t really asking.” Uther rubbed his face in embarrassment and thought. “Merlin, what are the chances of me dying while piloting Excalibur?”

  Reaching a white hand up to the dimming button by the window, Merlin said, “There is as much of a chance as you dying in the Avalonian mecha as there is of you dying in real battle, sir. You will just be able to destroy more things before you die.”

  Uther didn’t miss the sadness that permeated Merlin’s voice as he spoke. He stood next to the D.R.U.I.D and looked into his face. His blue eyes seemed surreal in the white face framed by the straight, white hair.

  “You look as warn out as I feel,” he said in what he hoped sounded like a kind tone. “When we beat Vortigern, you may take a short leave and visit the circle with your people if it will make you feel better.”

  “It’s not that I am physically tired.” Merlin shook his head. “This is not what was written and I am concerned about what will happen.”

  Uther shook his head and shrugged. “What does that mean?”

  To answer, Merlin walked to one of the suspended clear screens in the middle of the room and activated it with a single touch. He flipped through security and entered the war machine’s files. With a flick of his finger, he pulled up an image of Excalibur. He began to select upgrades from the hangar and apply them to the hologram mecha.

  “I am outfitting your armor with shields and weapons you will need to defeat Vortigern.”

  Sighing, Uther joined him by his side. He wasn’t sure why Merlin changed the subject, but he liked the new one. “I don’t know. Galois hates the idea of these things. Maybe he’s right.” His shoulders fell. “I’m a bad leader, Merlin. Constans would have known what to do.”

  Merlin kept upgrading. “You know what to do.”

  “But I don’t. Do I fight Vortigern,
my father’s friend? Do I ignore Galois’s advice and use the mecha?”

  “Yes.”

  Uther looked up at the D.R.U.I.D, their faces mirrored in the glassy, glowing screen before them. “I know I need to defend my people, but there is no way Galois will let me use Excalibur.”

  Merlin clicked a finishing button and the new weight of the mecha under armor appeared. It now weighed roughly twenty tons. “Is the son of Constantine to be ordered around by a foot soldier?”

  “No, but Galois is my friend. I must listen to his words.”

  The screen shut down and the lights dimmed back up. Merlin met Uther’s eyes. “You are like a king here, Uther. Act like one. Take command like one. Those who oppose you must be dealt with. Assert yourself, Your Majesty.”

  Uther glanced at the glowing clock and saw that the twenty-fourth hour drew close. He was tired and wanted to sleep. He groaned and unbuttoned his uniform, flinging it across the room.

  “But a good king listens to council, right? Takes advice.” He tossed his shirt off and fought his belt buckle, trying to unfasten it.

  “A good king never gives advice.” Merlin hovered right behind him. Uther gasped quietly as he felt the cold android breath on his bare neck. He didn’t turn around. “I have seen many wars and many lords fall because of weaknesses like these. Betrayal is the death of the greatest of kings. Weakness for friendship blinds him. If he had done as I said, none of this would have happened.”

  Now Uther listened. “What?” he breathed. “Who are you talking about?”

  “Think of it this way.” Merlin moved to stand near the window again. Uther shuddered and went into his next room to finish dressing for the night. “Once Galois is out of the way, you may lead the people how you see fit. You may establish your base as you wish and deal with treason as you wish. You may even… take a bride once he is gone.”