The Excalibur (Space Lore Book 2)

by Chris Dietzel

  “That’s a lot of ifs.”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s the likelihood of all of those things actually happening?”

  Before he began the calculation, he said, “You understand, there is conditional information I am missing in order to make an accurate estimate to within one tenth of a percent?”

  “Yes.”

  His eyes lit up, a dot of colored light circled his irises while he processed every possible outcome for each scenario based on what little information they had, repeating the calculation thousands of times to arrive at a reasonably accurate probability. He was done seconds later, his eyes returning to normal.

  “Well?” she said.

  “There is a zero point zero-one-seven percent chance of success.”

  She groaned. “Less than one percent?”

  “Well below one percent. Not even a fiftieth of one percent.”

  The android’s voice, as always, was monotone. Usually, she liked this. At the moment, however, it made her want to strangle Pistol and leave pieces of him in the desert. But she knew Pistol was only telling her because she had asked.

  “Okay,” she said with a sigh. “Back to the ship. We’re wasting time.”

  The Moon’s Surface, by Tim Barton - Digital Art

  20

  Vere sat next to Galen in the darkness of the cave. It was the same conversation she had with him years earlier after she had returned to Edsall Dark.

  “Did you send the Green Knight?”

  “You know I did.”

  “Why?”

  “I had to make sure you came back home.”

  “Who is he?”

  “The Green Knight?”

  “Yes.”

  He shrugged, then pointed to where the Green Knight was standing.

  But when she turned and looked, she could barely make out his form in the shadows. And the harder she squinted, the more she got the impression that the Green Knight had faded into the moss of the cave’s walls.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, trying to remain calm.

  “I made a deal with Mortimous.”

  She cringed and looked at him with concern. “Galen, he’s been dead since before we were born.”

  “I made a deal with him.”

  “You aren’t making any sense.”

  He said, “You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve seen, Vere. There is so much more to life than what we can see.” He smiled. “Some beautiful things. Some misunderstood. Some bad things, even. But all of it amazing.”

  Vere listened, knowing that this was the part of the conversation where she had sneered in annoyance. But before she was able to say the next line that she too had said six years earlier, there was movement out of the corner of her eye.

  She stumbled backwards, sending rocks tumbling, but Galen didn’t seem to notice.

  From the darkness of the cave wall, a figure in black robes appeared, then stepped forth. She couldn’t see any part of his skin to find out what species, race, or age he might be.

  “Vere, Vere, Vere,” the figure said, the voice sounding old, yet decidedly filled with amusement.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “Do you think Galen made a bad decision? He didn’t have to make a deal to have the Green Knight fetch you.”

  She didn’t know what to say. Next to her, the conversation from six years earlier had paused. The sickly version of Galen she had seen that day was still, silent, waiting for her to speak her next line.

  “Who are you?”

  Instead of answering, the robed figure asked, “Have you thought about what he said to you in the cave?”

  She looked at the man in the robes. She knew he was a man only because of his voice and the way his body moved beneath his robes as he stepped closer to her. Like the Green Knight, no matter how much she stared she couldn’t see any part of him behind what he wore.

  “Am I dreaming?”

  The man shook with laughter. “Do you often have dreams where you are aware enough to ask if you are dreaming?”

  “What is this then?”

  “I’m talking to you,” the old man said.

  She didn’t want to ask who he was for a second time. His voice was one she had never heard before, and yet, somehow, she knew the name he went by.

  “Mortimous.”

  The figure gave a slight bow. “A pleasure to meet you, Ms. CasterLan.”

  “You’re dead.”

  “I am?” Another chuckle. “How am I talking to you then?”

  She remembered the deal he had made with Galen, requiring that either he or Vere die in the Green Chapel.

  “You killed him,” she said, nodding to Galen beside her.

  “He made a deal.” The voice sounded offended.

  “You didn’t have to kill him.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “He said you did.”

  “I’ve seen a lot of things, Vere. I’ve learned a lot in my travels, and yet I know almost nothing. There is one thing I do know for sure, though.”

  “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “You cannot cheat death.”

  Her instinct was to rush toward him, tackle him to the ground, beat him to death. Instead, she allowed herself to lean back against the cave wall, her back pressing against rock.

  “You didn’t have to make a deal with him.”

  “He wanted you back on Edsall Dark. And the best way to accomplish that was through the Green Knight.”

  “Was the Green Knight real?”

  “As real as I am.”

  She shook her head and sighed. “Says the dead guy.”

  “If I’m dead, how am I talking to you?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, her voice raising. “I don’t know and I don’t care. Galen said the knight fought in the Haiwan Wars a thousand years ago.” When Mortimous simply nodded, she added, “That’s not possible.”

  She could hear the amusement in his voice when he said, “Much more is possible than you realize.”

  “Well, I don’t want to make any deals with you. I’ve seen how they turn out.”

  “I’m not here to make a deal with you.”

  “Why are you here then?”

  “Galen asked me to talk to you.”

  Beside her, Galen was still sitting next to her, still swamp-colored as death began to take hold of him.

  She closed her eyes and stopped herself from yelling a barrage of questions at the magician. “Why isn’t he here instead of you?”

  “He’s right next to you.”

  “You know what I mean,” she snarled, her fingers curling into fists without her even realizing it.

  “Vere, Vere, Vere,” Mortimous said again in a way she was quickly finding infuriating.

  He nodded at Galen. When she turned and looked at him, she saw he was no longer sick with the Green Knight’s venom. He smiled.

  “He can’t talk?” she said to Mortimous.

  “Not now, no.” And then, when she didn’t speak, he added, “He wants me to tell you not to waste your time travelling to speak with the Vonnegan fleet.”

  Her eyes widened. “How do you know about that? Traskk is the only person I’ve told. Did you bug my ship?”

  Mortimous laughed. “I walked through a cave wall. The Green Knight was at my disposal. I am here and I am also not here. And yet you ask if I bugged your ship?” The figure raised a hand to his cloaked mouth to stifle the laughter.

  “It’s not a waste of time. It’s the only thing I can do to try and stop another war.”

  “You won’t accomplish anything and you know it. You are needed elsewhere.”

  “Oh yeah?” Vere was boiling over with defiance and skepticism. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he had shrugged, turned, and disappeared back through the cave wall and, furthermore, she didn’t care. “Where am I needed?”

  There were a thousand other questions she had for him. How was he able to do what he did? What did Galen mean when he said Mortimous had
no more power than anyone else, that his only power lied in having them listen to him? And yet these questions were immediately forgotten. Her irritation at being told her plan wouldn’t work enraged her enough that she only cared about putting him in his place.

  “Oh wise, Mortimous,” she mocked, “oh please tell me where I’m needed.”

  His entire response consisted of four simple words: “At the Excalibur Armada.”

  And then he was gone.

  21

  Hours later, as Baldwin stepped into the lower half of a non-weaponized suit of space armor, he said, “This will be my first time actually wearing one of these things. I never guessed it would be to walk out on the Excalibur asteroid.”

  Beside him, Quickly began putting on a suit of his own. While he did, he gave Fastolf dirty looks. As pilot of the ship, he was supposed to remain in the cockpit in case anything went wrong. But he knew Baldwin would need support investigating the Excalibur—the armada and the rock around it—and that Fastolf was too large to fit into any of the sets of space armor on the transport.

  Baldwin kept looking out the viewports at the stars and the vastness of space. Quickly knew exactly what he was thinking, that it was his first time going out where no one could hear him scream, where he could die if he made a single mistake. Going out in space armor sounded simple enough, but it was natural for anyone to have fears in the back of their head—floating off into space, suffocating, getting stranded too far from the ship.

  “It’ll be fine,” he told Baldwin. “Let the space armor do the work for you and everything will be easy.”

  Baldwin flinched, imagining himself out in open space, floating away and dying.

  “You’re sure the asteroid has cooled off enough for us to walk on it?”

  “Positive,” Quickly said.

  He made sure Baldwin saw exactly how he was putting on his space armor so the physician could do the same and didn’t make any mistakes. Taking his cue from the pilot, Baldwin latched his boots so they were snug, then clipped the reinforced leggings onto the boots so there was a perfect seal.

  Fastolf stood at the edge of the ship’s tiny cargo hold, smiling as the other two men prepared themselves for their expedition. Any time Baldwin or Quickly looked at him, Fastolf shrugged and rubbed his big belly as if he actually wanted to put on a suit of space armor and walk on an asteroid as it raced across the solar system. Seeing him so smug, Baldwin finally understood why it was easy for Morgan to act the way she did around him.

  “It’ll also be the first time I—”

  But Fastolf interrupted him before he could finish the thought. “We get it. You’re scared. Just relax and remember there’s nothing to be nervous about.” Then, extending his flask, “A drink to calm your nerves?”

  The two men looked at each other for a moment. Fastolf, seeing the familiar look of disgust directed toward him, shrugged.

  “I was only trying to help,” he said, walking away.

  “Doesn’t he get on your nerves?” Baldwin said to Quickly.

  The pilot rolled his eyes while he continued putting on his space armor. “Transporting politicians and delegates all over the galaxy, I’ve had to deal with passengers much more worse than him.”

  After the boots and pants were on, Baldwin watched Quickly put on a thick, plated coat. He left the main piece of it detached from the lower half of the suit while he latched the front clips together. Little by little, it looked as though Quickly was transforming from a man to an armored robot with a human head at its top. Baldwin followed his lead and repeated each step of the process. After the top half of the suit was on, he put on the helmet.

  “The last thing is always the gloves,” Quickly said.

  “Oxygen,” Baldwin said, his eyes darting in every direction. “Where is the oxygen?”

  It was common for people to panic the first time they put on a suit of space armor. Although it could deflect a laser shot from a handheld blaster and make its wearer ten times more impervious to impacts, it felt restrictive, like the wearer was stepping into a coffin. It didn’t help matters that there were no visible air tanks to let the individual breathe.

  “Oxygen pouches are built into the suit,” Quickly said. “It doesn’t look like much, but there are twenty small pouches of compressed oxygen all around the suit, and the armor is smart enough to make them last a good two hours and to let you know as the supply is depleted.”

  Baldwin put on his own helmet, gasping as he did so even though he was still in a pressurized cargo hold and not using the suit’s oxygen yet.

  “Try to breathe normally,” Quickly reminded him. “The more you breathe, the quicker your suit runs out of air.”

  “I know, I know.”

  “Well, then you’ll also remember fires can’t happen in space because there’s no oxygen. But if you’ve ever seen footage of a space battle you’ll see flames all over the place, even soldiers in space suits on fire for a second before the flames go out. It’s because the oxygen in their space armor gives the fire fuel to burn for a moment.”

  “Quickly?”

  “Yes?”

  “I know all of that. You’re not helping.”

  If Fastolf had been there he would have thought this conversation was extremely funny. But to Baldwin it was a reminder that men like him didn’t belong in space armor at all. Especially not on an asteroid that contained an alien fleet of vessels that detonated if anyone tampered with them.

  Quickly patted him on the shoulder. “You’ll do fine.”

  The two men put on their reinforced gloves. Quickly motioned for Baldwin to tap a pair of buttons on his sleeve. When he did, Baldwin felt cool air flood into his helmet, which calmed him down. Then the pilot tapped two other buttons. When Baldwin did the same, he heard Quickly’s voice come through the speaker in his helmet.

  “We’re all set. Are you ready to find a way to free these ships?” The smile in his voice was audible.

  Baldwin wanted to say he was ready. He wanted to be able to return the boyish enthusiasm and say that was exactly why they were there, to save the kingdom and everyone living back on Edsall Dark. Instead, he gave a cheerless nod and walked silently toward the ship’s rear hatch as if marching to his death.

  22

  Scrope’s Llyushin transport raced toward the maroon and grey planet at the far edge of the Dan-Two-Ine system, his pair of Llyushin fighters following in formation. The planet got its color from the noxious gases that were constantly igniting and erupting into firestorms. The planet’s terrain, the grey parts, would have been some other color, maybe a vibrant green or yellow, but were instead covered with ash from everything that the firestorms burned. And yet, a large colony existed because a long time ago someone had thought the planet might make a safe place to hide.

  “I would hate to live here,” the pilot said as they made their approach.

  “Everything is in the eye of the beholder,” Scrope said, chewing on a seed from the handful he carried with him. “To us, it looks like the underworld of the ancient gods. To them, it probably seems much more like a home than Edsall Dark ever would.”

  The pilot laughed at the absurdity of this idea. With a shrug, Scrope tossed another seed into his mouth, grinding it down with his back teeth.

  Since the colony was first established, it had changed hands countless times, but always between warring tribes or battling warlords—never as part of some greater kingdom that was recognized across the galaxy. Currently, it belonged to the warlord Arc-Mi-Die, an alien without a species to call his own. His mother was a mix of four different alien species. Although no one knew who his father had been, he also must have been a mix of various species. The result was an enormous olive-colored alien with two mouths, four legs, four arms, a tail, and a surprisingly human face. Whether it was the worst qualities of each species’ genetics making their way into his personality, or perhaps simply an unpleasant childhood, he was also known for his temper and predisposition for violence. Even amongst the
galaxy’s other warlords, Arc-Mi-Die was thought of as a brutal and ruthless barbarian.

  “Why would Vere want this guy’s help?”

  Scrope answered the question with a question of his own: “Since when can beggars be choosers?”

  An alarm began sounding from within the transport’s cockpit.

  “They’re locked onto us!” the pilot yelled.

  Scrope put a hand on the man’s shoulder and said, “It’ll be fine. They’re just taking precautions. They won’t fire.”

  “How do you know?”

  Scrope’s only response was another seed in his mouth, followed by more chewing.

  “Sir,” one of the fighter pilots next to the transport said across the radio, “our ships are locked onto. I suggest we—”

  “We’ll be fine,” Scrope said. “Continue ahead.”

  The alarm kept sounding in the cockpit, but no surface-to-space cannons fired, no single-man fighters raced from the planet’s surface to confront them. The trio of ships entered the planet’s atmosphere without being attacked.

  “See?” Scrope said. “I told you. Nothing to worry about.”

  As they raced toward the self-contained colony, the violence of the rest of the world became more noticeable. Swirls of dark clouds raced in circles across the ground. Every few seconds, one of the clouds erupted into flames, burning everything near it. As they looked out across the planet, thousands of such fiery cloud storms were raging. A section of the planet that was ash and dust became engulfed in flames. In another part of the planet, the dark maroon of the intense fire passed from one section of land to another. The area that was no longer in flames was nothing but soot. Nowhere on the planet, except within the colony walls, was there anything resembling life. Outside the containment field, there was only fire or the residue of fire.

  And this was where Arc-Mi-Die called home.

  “Yeah,” the pilot said. “Nothing to worry about.”