Avalon

by Chris Dietzel

“I know, I know, you’d rather go it alone. But you need him. And you need others like him. Who’s going to pilot the ship while you face the four mechs? Who’s going to distract one of the mechs so you can cut it to pieces?” She paused to let the questions sink in. “You need a team.”

  “And I guess teams just happen to grow on trees?”

  “No. I’m going to help you find one.”

  “I don’t want to be responsible for their deaths. I don’t want to be the one to take Talbot away from his mother.”

  “You won’t be. If they fight alongside you, they are responsible for themselves. And anyway, we all are reunited eventually.”

  The way Vere said it, Lancelot knew it to be a truth the other woman had learned either from Mortimous or from her own journey. Rather than question the notion, she only nodded.

  “What else? A team won’t help me do what an entire fleet couldn’t manage.”

  “I have an idea. I don’t know if it will work, but it’s worth a try.”

  They spoke for another hour as Vere explained everything she knew and everything she thought might be done. She spoke of Avalon and the place where time and space no longer existed. She spoke of the lesson the Word had learned and the ways that knowledge could be used in a fight.

  “The key is Avalon,” Vere said. “Some people think of it as the afterlife. Others think of it as the realm where the Word exists beyond time and space. Forget all of that and think of it as the way to defeat the Hannibal.”

  After they had a rough plan, Lancelot finally walked back to the passenger cabin. Across from her, Talbot frowned and mumbled in his sleep. She watched him for a moment, then closed her eyes.

  19

  For as long as the Vonnegan Empire had existed, each ruler had been protected by nine silent and elite guards clad in purple armor. Their demon helmets had become the symbol of Vonnegan cruelty and domination. In the blood tunnels, the nine Fianna that had accompanied Mowbray Vonnegan had all perished.

  However, the Fianna weren’t dead. Not all of them, anyway.

  Since their creation by Mowbai the Crippler, each Vonnegan ruler had not only allowed the rest of the Vonnegan population and the galaxy to think it was a single set of nine Fianna who guarded them, they actively encouraged it. After all, if nine guards were ready to kill every hour of every day, it augmented the aura around them, elevating them from elite warriors into something unnatural or even supernatural. In reality, only androids could go without sleep forever, so people should have known the Fianna had to rest some time. As a result, different sets of guards alternated in shifts.

  The various groups of guards never saw each other, but they knew other Fianna must have been protecting Mowbray when they themselves were not. By the time Enobarbus found out Mowbray and nine of his Fianna had died below the surface of Edsall Dark, it didn’t matter anymore. His only job in the Vonnegan Empire had been to protect his ruler and carry out any killings or punishments that were ordered. After the battle to form the Round Table, not only was Mowbray dead, the entire Vonnegan Empire also faded away as it became part of the Round Table.

  That left Enobarbus in a difficult position. He and the other eight Fianna in his detail were still back on EndoKroy, the Vonnegan capital, when the battle of the Round Table took place. When they got news of the defeat, of Mowbray’s death, and of the empire’s imminent collapse, the nine demon-faced fighters looked at each other.

  It had been Enobarbus who had taken off his helmet first. He was also the first to speak.

  “What are we going to do?”

  It was the first thing he or any of the other Fianna had said since entering the secret Vonnegan training academy as teenagers.

  The other Fianna around him had also taken off their helmets. One at a time, ghoulish metal faces were removed, revealing ordinary Vonnegan faces, each of which had a different skin tone and features but were otherwise fairly similar.

  “If they catch us, they’ll put us on trial,” Enobarbus had said. “The empire is gone. We were the face of the terror it brought to everyone.”

  “We were only protecting our ruler,” one said.

  “We were only carrying out orders,” another said.

  Enobarbus shook his head. “Our ruler is dead. We carried out orders to kill women and children, to kill people simply for questioning Mowbray. The people beyond these walls won’t view that as honorable. They’ll view it as criminal.”

  He hated verbalizing such things but it needed to be said. If they didn’t flee, and fast, they would either be behind ion bars the rest of their lives or they would be executed. Formerly, such a death sentence would have meant he or one of the other Fianna slowly cutting someone to pieces with the blade of a vibro halberd. Now, it could mean anything. Being tossed off the roof of the royal quarters by an angry mob and falling hundreds of stories to the ground. Being tied to a post while the families of everyone he had killed took turns pelting him with rocks. Dropping him into Lake Mishoff so the Inovian monster could feed on him.

  “I’d like to see someone try to arrest us,” the Fianna across from him said. “We could easily kill anyone who came for us.”

  “That’s your answer?” Enobarbus replied. “We don’t have an excuse for this anymore. Maybe we never did. Anyone you kill now just makes you a murderer.” And then, cringing, he added, “Of course, to the rest of the galaxy, that’s what we already are.”

  The others remained quiet. Each of them knew that what Enobarbus said was true. He told them they had to hide their armor and that no one could ever find out what they had done.

  The other eight Fianna nodded in agreement. Each of them made their own plans for what they would do after they left EndoKroy. None of them shared those plans with the others in case one of them were to be caught. It was the last time he saw any of the people he had spent every waking hour of his adult life with.

  He ended up on the remote forest colony on Tritive-L. The colony took up much of the moon’s surface but had fewer than two hundred residents. The expansive depths of trees across hundreds of miles gave him a place where he could disappear, where he could start a new life as a recluse.

  In the remote woods, he built a small shelter out of tree limbs and leaves. He hunted for his food. Only occasionally did he walk back into the one small town when he needed supplies. It was quiet and no one knew who he was. It was the best he could have hoped for.

  In the years since his arrival on Tritive-L, he had only spoken to three people: the pilot of the cargo vessel that had taken him there, the owner of the general store Enobarbus sometimes visited, and a boy who had wandered far into the woods. Each of them would have been terrified if they had met him back when he was protecting Mowbray. That would have meant seeing him dressed in ghoulish armor and knowing that they had somehow earned a death sentence. Now, each of them regarded Enobarbus as nothing more than a hermit who preferred the forest to civilization.

  In the years since his self-imposed exile, Enobarbus had come to many realizations about his time as a Fianna. He wasn’t any closer to reconciling all the things he had done in the name of serving Mowbray, but he was able to realize that by being recruited as a teenager, he couldn’t be blamed for getting caught up in the supposed honor and glory of his role. Maybe, if he died an old man, he would live long enough to forgive himself for all of the death and cruelty he had delivered on his ruler’s behalf. However, he was still far from that.

  Running low on fuel, Enobarbus once again entered the little town in the northeast corner of the otherwise barren colony. Instead of seeing kids playing in the street and the occasional trader visiting to buy or sell goods, he saw emptiness. The general store was vacant. Not even the owner was inside. The lone tavern was the same. Not a single person was in sight.

  Around the corner, where the space vessels were located, he heard a humming—the sound of a craft getting ready to take off—and went in search of it. After approaching the miniscule spaceport, he saw only one vessel remained. />
  Through the cockpit window, he saw the pilot. She was a Vonnegan woman who looked to be twice his age. They waved to each other and then she turned and left the cockpit. A moment later the ramp lowered and she appeared.

  “What’s going on?” Enobarbus said after walking to the bottom of the ramp.

  The pilot waved him aboard. “Everyone has already left. Get aboard and I’ll take you to safety.”

  The former Fianna remained where he was. It was impossible not to ask the next question.

  “Safety? What are you talking about?”

  “A vessel is coming,” the woman said. “The Hannibal. Their ship is destroying everything in its path. It’s due to arrive here in”—she looked at her wrist, then back at him—“in less than an hour. If you want to live, come with me.”

  Instead of answering or moving, he simply closed his eyes and thought. When he re-opened them a couple seconds later the pilot’s expression indicated her patience and bravery were both rapidly running out.

  “I’ll stay,” he said. “But thank you very much for the offer. It means a lot.”

  She squinted at him, more perplexed at why the sentiment would matter to him than by his decision to stay.

  “They’ll kill you,” she said. “They’re killing everyone. They destroyed three Round Table flagships back in the 16-D-10 sector and dozens more in the Thurndorian sector.”

  “Why are they doing it?”

  He knew it was a silly question but he had to ask. It was the question that had been posed to him by crying family members who were being tortured and didn’t know what they had done to earn Mowbray’s wrath. He had never given them the answer, which was, “Because my ruler commanded it.” Instead, he and the other Fianna had remained silent and done what had been expected of them.

  “The only communication they’ve sent said they are delivering judgment.”

  This made Enobarbus smile.

  What he said was, “A worthy deed.”

  Those words, combined with his grin, made the woman take an involuntary step backward, and Enobarbus knew that as much as he had tried to vanquish the inhumanity that had grown inside him, a part of it still existed.

  “Thank you,” he said again to the pilot before turning away and walking back in the direction of the woods.

  “But they’ll kill you,” the Vonnegan woman called after him as he walked away.

  He was barely to the town’s edge when he saw the small passenger vessel lift off from the spaceport, pass through Tritive-L’s containment field, and soar up into space.

  The sun was setting as he walked back to his shelter. By the time he had walked the four miles into the forest to where he lived, he could see the Hannibal vessel above him. Even from space, it would have been large enough to eclipse Tritive-L’s sun if the two objects had been aligned.

  Piece by piece, he took his Fianna armor out of a small chest and put it back on. It was the first time he had done so in years. None of it fit the way it had when he was in peak physical condition. The chest plate felt tight and restrictive. The belt wouldn’t latch, even on the farthest setting. Under different circumstances, it would have been disheartening.

  As he put the helmet over his head, he heard a droning noise and looked up to see four small craft descend from the large vessel and approach the colony. As he watched, one of the four changed courses and began to head in the general direction of his hut. He picked up the vibro halberd and scrambled fifty feet to a nearby ditch. There, he remained hidden and waited for the enemy to approach.

  As it got closer, he saw it wasn’t a craft but a mech standing atop a transport disk of some kind. Both the mech and the platform it stood upon were black, which made it difficult for Enobarbus to see in the growing darkness.

  He hoped it would assess the area and determine the site to be clear. Instead, as it hovered four stories off the ground, just high enough that the force of the transport made the trees sway and the leaves fall to the ground, it held out what looked to be a scale. Two clicks sounded. Black bubbles seeped from one side and black gas from the other. When the two sides touched, dark energy formed and began to disperse toward him. The mech, he saw, was able to somehow command the energy cloud’s direction.

  It was coming directly for his hiding spot.

  Realizing he hadn’t been hidden at all, he jumped from the ditch, vibro halberd in hand. The enemy was too far away for him to use his blade on it. He could run, but it would serve no purpose. The mech would easily ride atop its transport without getting tired and could clearly track his location.

  “Fine,” Enobarbus said. “If you’re here for judgment, have it.”

  He took off his helmet and laid it on a fallen tree beside him, then waited for the black energy cloud to engulf him.

  Art 1

  Fianna Armor, by Azimuth, digital art

  20

  “Come on, wake up.”

  Talbot blinked awake. Lancelot, dressed in all of her armor except for her helmet, stood over him.

  “What time is it?” he said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

  “Time to go.”

  “Are we in a hurry?” he said, his throat dry and scratchy.

  He got the message when one of her thick, Carthagen gloves reached down, took hold of him by his upper arm, and lifted his entire weight into a standing position.

  “I guess we are,” he mumbled.

  All of the niceties from the previous night were gone. In one evening, he had told her more about himself than he had anyone else, even his parents. Surely, after having lived in near seclusion, she had done the same. He blinked, trying to understand what had changed. At the least, they were friends. For her to act like they had only business ahead of them seemed cruel. He wanted to reach out and take hold of her arm so she had no choice but to look at him and acknowledge the bond that had been formed.

  However, he did no such thing. From their time together he knew she despised having any form of control imposed on her. Trying to force her to stop and listen to him would only push her further away. And anyway, she had just yanked his entire body weight into an upright position without much effort; there was no way he could actually force her to do anything. If he tried, he would just end up with a broken hand or jaw.

  Lancelot disappeared into a back bay then returned a moment later with a satchel slung over her shoulders.

  “But, I thought...” he said, trailing off. “Last night...”

  He cringed, hating the way he sounded. His eyes went down toward Lancelot’s boots so he didn’t have to see the contempt she had for his display. He sensed she was getting ready to hurt his feelings, which made his stomach grumble and turn.

  A moment later, however, she took a breath and forced herself to curl her lips into something that wasn’t exactly a smile.

  “It’s okay, whatever,” he said, not looking at her, instead reaching down to put on his boots. He mumbled the words so quietly that it was doubtful she had heard them.

  He was in the middle of tying his second boot when he felt one of her hands touch his shoulder. It took a moment for him to realize she had taken off the thick metal glove and was touching him with her skin and not armor. Her fingers traced along his collarbone, then up to his chin, where she guided his head to look up from his feet and stare directly into her eyes.

  His face went red, mostly with shame at how he was acting but also at how extraordinarily beautiful she was. He could stare at those eyes and lips and cheeks for the rest of his life and never get used to how miraculous and perfect they were.

  “I enjoyed last night too,” she said. “I did. I wish we could do the same thing today and the next day.”

  “We can—”

  The sweetness that had been in her voice faded when she cut him off to say, “But we can’t. Not when the Hannibal are approaching. Billions of people will die if we don’t do something.”

  He shook his head in exasperation. “They defeated a large part of the fleet. What can two pe
ople do besides get ourselves killed?”

  “I have a plan.”

  “You have a plan?”

  Her confidence faltered. “Sort of.”

  “You sort of have a plan?” He couldn’t help but laugh. “After I went to sleep, you came up with a way to defeat the Hannibal when no one else has been able to?”

  “Not me, really,” she said. “A friend offered suggestions.”

  “That was nice of him.”

  “Her.”

  “That was nice of her.”

  Her mouth opened to say something but she forced herself to remain composed. “I get it—you’re skeptical. I would be too. But we’re running out of time and I can’t waste a moment trying to convince you. You’re either with me or you’re not. If you are, we need to act right now.”

  “And if I’m not?” he said, knowing it was juvenile to have his feelings hurt so easily.

  “Then you stay here and enjoy the rest of your days.”

  “Until the Hannibal come and kill everyone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Or come with you and die sooner?”

  “Most likely, yes.”

  “You really think you can save the Round Table?” His voice grew louder. “And why should you even care?”

  “I don’t care about the Round Table. Empires fall. Kingdoms are made of clay. One way or another, the Round Table will eventually end. Maybe in a month or maybe in ten millennia but it will end all the same. Nothing is permanent.”

  “Then why?”

  “Because it’s filled with innocent people who didn’t sign up for any of this.”

  He looked around the cabin of the vessel he had never seen prior to the previous day. There were no personal effects, nothing to note it mattered to Lancelot at all.

  “Okay,” he said. “Give me an hour.” Then, embarrassed to have to say it, he mumbled, “I need to say goodbye to my mom.”

  She shook her head and said, “Get started on your part of the plan first. You’ll need all the time you can get. After that, then say goodbye to your mother.”