Avalon

by Chris Dietzel

  From there, she walked three blocks to where a primary school was located. Talbot hadn’t been born or raised on Edsall Dark, but Margaret listened to the children playing in the courtyard and remembered the days when she had walked her own boy to and from school each day.

  With an hour before the cargo ferry left, she walked to the public square outside the Great Hall. Julian had held so much hope for the Round Table and the possibilities it offered. However, instead of a functioning government body, she knew the representatives would still be talking about the same things as usual, with no chance of reaching consensus.

  It was the only stop on her final tour around CamaLon that she regretted, and she found herself wishing she had instead gone through the capital gate and into the fields one last time.

  With the ship ready to leave, she walked toward the ramp. She did not look behind her as she boarded the large vessel. At the top of the ramp, she walked through the aisles until she came upon an empty seat by one of the windows.

  Across from her, a young Gthothch couple sat, a baby Gthothch on the man’s lap. Margaret smiled at them, then turned to look out her window. At first, she only had a view of the spaceport.

  A series of beeps sounded throughout the passenger cabin to alert everyone that the ferry would be lifting off in a matter of moments. A sensor scanned each passenger to make sure they were buckled into their seats. A final series of beeps rang out and the engines grew louder, and a moment later Margaret let her head rest against the back of the seat as the force of the ship’s engines pushed the mighty vessel up against the weight of gravity.

  As the ship rose away from CamaLon and angled toward space, she looked out the window. Far below, she got to see a perfect view of the fields she had crossed so many times with her best friend.

  “I miss you,” she said in a whisper that not even a passenger beside her would have been able to hear.

  She wasn’t only talking to Portia, though. She missed Julian and the merchants in the market and everyone else she had ever known and would never see again.

  79

  In the weeks since being visited by a young women dressed in Carthagen armor and claiming to know Vere, Traskk still hadn’t left Eastcheap. He had meant to, wanted to. It just hadn’t happened. It was easier to remain where he was comfortable than it was to go out into the unknown.

  He was still getting into fights everyday, but not because he was angry. He bared his fangs and slammed his tail into other patrons because it helped him feel at peace with the galaxy. To each their own.

  The previous day, an Algunatuan had spilled a drink on Traskk as it tried to get back to its table. The alien was only five feet tall but weighed three times more than the average human because of how much muscle it had. Traskk had not only knocked that Algunatuan out with his tail, he had also faced three more of them at the next table. One of them had managed to break two of Traskk’s ribs, but he was a fast healer. And while he had suffered minor injuries, the group of stocky aliens would never want to go to Eastcheap for another drink.

  “They were good customers,” the bartender yelled at Traskk.

  Traskk turned and looked at the tiny, winged alien who ran the establishment. He then unleashed a roar that frightened the patrons at three other tables into leaving without finishing their drinks.

  “You’re a good customer too!” the bartender said, fluttering away to the opposite side of the bar as fast as his wings would take him.

  A day later, Traskk’s ribs were already fine. When he ordered his first drink of the day, the bartender stayed a couple feet farther away than normal. At first, he had no idea why. Then he remembered giving the winged alien a terrible fright and offered a hissing laugh to let him know he held no grudge from the previous day. The alien, the fifth bartender to hold the job in as many months, continued to keep his distance.

  Later, Traskk was on his way back to the bar to order his third round when he banged his shin on something. A drunken MaqMac, only as tall as the reptile’s hip when it was standing upright, had passed out on the floor. It was a matter of time until a goon either beat up or robbed the little MaqMac. In Eastcheap and on most of Folliet-Bright, any sign of weakness was asking for trouble. Being an alien that weighed only sixty pounds and was so inebriated that it couldn’t function, it was amazing no one had harmed the MaqMac yet.

  Traskk wrapped one large, clawed hand around the alien’s torso and picked it off the ground, then carried its limp body back to the corner booth where he, Vere, Fastolf, and the others had spent their days. No one would dare bother the MaqMac there. Eventually, it would wake up, see Traskk sitting next to it, and have such a fright that it would either pass out again or scurry out the door as fast as possible. But at least it would be safe.

  Traskk had just put the little alien down on the bench when a metal hand grabbed him by the shoulder.

  “I’ve got a blaster pointed at your back,” a man’s voice said. “Don’t move.”

  Traskk’s first instinct was to lash his tail diagonally upward. From the angle of the grip, he could tell the person offending him was roughly three or four feet shorter than he was. A swipe of his tail would send the idiot flying across the room.

  That idea only lasted for a second because he much preferred getting to enjoy the look of fear on the goon’s face when Traskk turned around and bared his fangs from a foot away. Such a delight wouldn’t be possible if he threw the drunk across the room without first turning around. Better to take hold of the idiot, roar in his face, and let him understand the enormity of his mistake.

  Even before he had spun all the way around, his right hand shot out, claws wide so as to not accidently kill the drunk before Traskk got his enjoyment out of the confrontation. The man’s neck was in his grasp faster than any alien in the bar could blink. It would have been even faster if Traskk hadn’t already had a couple of drinks.

  The man gagged. His eyes became enormous with fright.

  He looked familiar, though. Very familiar.

  Only after Traskk frowned in confusion did he realize an even larger adversary was behind the man. His oblong reptilian pupils shifted to meet the other goon but it was no goon at all. It was Lancelot, dressed in her Carthagen armor. A low droning hum emanated from her helmet, the sound of her voice processor turning her very human, very feminine laugh into something cold and harsh.

  Traskk’s eyes shifted back to the man whose neck was still in his grasp. The man gagged again, then tried to gasp a word.

  Traskk let go just enough to hear what it was, then realized the man was calling Traskk by his name.

  “I told you it was a terrible idea,” Lancelot said to the man between the reptile and herself, still laughing at how badly the joke had turned out.

  Traskk narrowed his eyes and got another look at the man. He was bearded. Had wrinkles. Gray hair. One arm was ordinary flesh and blood and the other was metal.

  “Traskk, it’s me,” the man said with a hacking cough.

  Quickly.

  The reptile, realizing he was among friends, released his grip completely. The pilot fell to both knees and held his throat. He was only there for a second before Traskk’s two enormous reptile hands yanked him back up to his feet and embraced him.

  “You got old!” Traskk hissed in Basilisk even though Quickly didn’t understand his language. Then, to Lancelot, “What are you two doing here?”

  With the aide of the translator built into her helmet, Lancelot had no problem understanding what he had said.

  “The last time I was here, you asked if you could join me. Well, I’m back, and I need your help.”

  Without even realizing he was doing so, Traskk let out a series of happy purrs. It was the best news he had heard in a while.

  “When do we leave?” he asked.

  “Right now.”

  80

  Lancelot rejoined Swordnew in the Carthagen shuttle while Traskk sat in the co-pilot seat of Quickly’s modified Llyushin transport. With a si
ngle glance to his side, Quickly could see how happy it made the giant reptile to be in a cockpit again.

  He rubbed at his red and swollen neck and said, “I don’t care if I do look older. You should have recognized me. Aren’t you supposed to have an incredible nose? You should have remembered what I smelled like.”

  With the ship’s holographic translation program turned on, it was easy to understand what Traskk’s hisses and coos meant. A series of reptilian sounds was interpreted by the ship and the pixelated words formed in the air.

  It’s been a long time. And anyway, you’re always asking for trouble if you sneak up on a Basilisk like that.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Quickly muttered. “You should have known, though.”

  He could tell from the way Traskk’s tail was curled into a circle that the reptile felt bad about what he had done, but Quickly also thought once more about Enid, alone by herself on a barren planet.

  “I left the woman I love to join this fight and I almost got killed by my own friend.”

  The end of Traskk’s tail gave a sad tap against the floor of the cockpit as he offered yet another apology. Then the Basilisk did the same thing as anyone else who regretted something they had done, regardless of whether they were human or alien—he changed the subject.

  Lancelot said we’re going to face an alien race called the Hannibal.

  “Yeah.”

  And they defeated the Round Table fleet in multiple battles?

  “Yeah.”

  Will we have a fleet?

  Quickly chuckled and shook his head. “Pretty sure our fleet is this ship and the one next to us.”

  Traskk considered this for a while, his tongue darting in and out of his mouth as he processed the idea of facing an enemy of unparalleled might. When he spoke again, Quickly glanced over to see the translation.

  Vere thinks we can win?

  Quickly shrugged. “Supposedly, she’s the one encouraging Lancelot to rally this band of misfits together.” To make sure Traskk didn’t take it as an insult, he held up his metal arm, received after nearly dying on the Excalibur asteroid, and added, “We have a pilot with one real arm who swore off fighting, a reptile who hasn’t left a dive bar in years, a woman dressed up as a Carthagen, and a real Carthagen we’re tricking into helping the same Round Table forces that tried to kill him.”

  He laughed at the absurdity of it. Traskk, rather than take offense, was delighted to be included as part of the group. Neither of them mentioned the severely injured Fianna receiving medical attention in the Carthagen shuttle because Lancelot hadn’t yet told either of them that she had impetuously recruited him as the fifth member.

  81

  “Doesn’t look like it, but he’s doing better,” Swordnew said to Lancelot as he motioned to the unconscious Fianna guard they had rescued.

  With his helmet off, the Vonnegan resembled a completely different type of disfigured demon than when his ghoulish face protection was on.

  As they spoke, the Carthagen shuttle, set to auto-pilot, lifted off from Folliet-Bright and raced toward their next destination.

  “He won’t be in any pain when we wake him?” Lancelot asked, looking at the comatose fighter.

  “His injuries have been addressed. Cosmetic corrections did not seem necessary.”

  She didn’t bother to ask if that assessment had been made because Swordnew thought less of anyone who wasn’t a Carthagen or because he thought the Vonnegan, along with everyone else, would be dead in the near future. Why waste time making a warrior look pretty if he was just going to get killed in the next battle?

  “Okay, let’s wake him up.”

  Swordnew motioned to one of the medical bots hovering next to the Fianna. It injected the man with a small dose of clear liquid. A moment later, the Vonnegan’s eyes fluttered open. His head moved slightly to one side and then to the other. Lancelot could tell from the way his pupils bounced that the Vonnegan wasn’t actually looking at anything, he was merely in the beginning stages of getting his mind working again. It would take a while for him to process where he was and what had happened.

  Lancelot took a step back to give him more room so he knew he wasn’t being threatened, then motioned for Swordnew to do the same. It took about thirty seconds of blinking for the Fianna to come to his senses and to realize he was on a shuttle rather than Greater Mazuma.

  His eyes settled on Lancelot, assessed her, then moved to Swordnew and did the same. His eyelids narrowed as he tried to make sense of the unfamiliar aliens in front of him. Then he looked around at his surroundings, and Lancelot saw him glance to his wrists and ankles to make sure there were no restraints around them.

  When he finally spoke, he didn’t thank them for saving him. He didn’t ask why two Carthagens had been at Greater Mazuma or where they were going next. Instead, he offered a weak growl, the best he could muster in his stupor, and said, “You cheated me of my redemption. I should kill both of you.”

  Without saying a word, Swordnew’s upper two arms reached over his shoulders and extracted a pair of swords. Before they were out, Lancelot already had one of her Meursaults out to block Swordnew’s ability to attack.

  “Don’t,” she said. “We need him alive.” And then, after Swordnew shrugged and sheathed his weapons, she added, “Anyway, I’m sure you admire his fighting spirit as much as I do.”

  Swordnew shrugged again and turned his back. “Whatever,” he said, returning to the cockpit.

  “My fighting spirit,” the Fianna said with a laugh, his voice dry. With some effort, he propped himself on one elbow.

  “Your strength and coordination will come back over the next couple minutes,” Lancelot said. “That’s only the effects of the—”

  “My fighting spirit?” he said again, this time louder. “If you admired my fighting spirit you would have left me there to fight.”

  Lancelot knew it would only inflame the warrior’s irritation if she laughed but she couldn’t help it. “Are you delusional? You were stumbling through the streets. You weren’t offering much of a fight.”

  “Do you know the things I’ve done?”

  “I can guess,” Lancelot said. “I’ve done similar in the name of protecting the Carthagen elders.”

  “Then you know that was my chance at redeeming myself. Maybe I was beaten. Maybe I was going to die in those streets. But I owed it to all the people I killed in the name of the Vonnegan Empire to die there with them.”

  Even though she had left the Dauphin, Lancelot understood this too. In one of her most recent talks with Mortimous she had admitted that part of what drove her to protect the Round Table now was all of the blood on her hands after twenty years of serving the elders.

  “Listen,” she said, wishing she could take off her helmet so Philo could hear the sincerity in her voice rather than the washed out drone of the Carthagen voice modulator. “There is no maybe. You were going to die there. The battle was lost. Everyone you know on Greater Mazuma is dead or is going to die. I know that hurts but it’s the truth.”

  “I should have died with them,” he said again, anger filling each word to the extent Lancelot thought he might reach for his vibro halberd, which was resting on the floor five feet from him.

  “You can die if you want,” she said. “But not yet. If you want to redeem yourself, fight with us.”

  “Why would I join you?”

  “Where do you think the Juggernaut is going next?” When he didn’t reply, she answered for him. “Greater Mazuma was the financial capital of the Vonnegan Empire. Do you know what else lies in the Hannibal’s path? I’m sure you do.” She gave him another chance to say something but again he remained silent. “EndoKroy,” she said. “The center of what was once the Vonnegan Empire. More people than Greater Mazuma. More people to redeem yourself with. That’s why you should join us.”

  “You’re going to EndoKroy?”

  She nodded and gestured toward the cockpit. “We’re headed there now. We plan to face the Juggernaut and
the mechs there. We aim to defeat them once and for all.”

  All of the anger went out of the Fianna’s face, replaced with resignation. “You saw what they did to the Round Table fleet and to Greater Mazuma. How can you think you can possibly defeat them?”

  “Because I have friends in a lot of places,” she said. “And my friends are people you don’t want to mess with.”

  82

  Vere had faced many challenges in her life. She had accepted the Green Knight’s game when no one else would. She had returned to CamaLon after a self-imposed exile. In the ensuing years, she had faced Mowbray twice, freed a legendary fleet thought to have been lost to history, and been imprisoned in the Cauldrons of Dagda. Through all of it, she had endured and been victorious where others had failed.

  However, her struggle to understand the Word was an altogether different kind of fight. It was one in which lasers and swords meant nothing. It was a test that took place entirely in the realm of her thoughts.

  She allowed her mind to drift into the silence that proceeded Avalon. The only sound she paid attention to was her slow and steady breathing. Eventually, that faded away as well. With her eyes closed, there was only darkness. She was surrounded in a void of black, a complete absence of light, but it was different from simply having her eyelids shut.

  Patience had taught her that looking for the civilization that existed neither in time nor space only made it even more elusive. It was best to remain quiet and observant of the energy around her. It took a while but eventually she sensed another presence. She couldn’t see or hear it, but somehow she knew it was there. There was no telling if it was one member of the Word or a few or even all of them.

  A question formed in her mind, and it was so similar to the questions she was always asking herself that she almost ignored it as being yet more self-doubt.