The Round Table (Space Lore Book 3)

by Chris Dietzel

  “This is just for one battle,” Morgan said in Vere’s ear, watching the aliens, humans, and hybrids argue with one another. “How do you think it’s going to be when they actually sit around your precious round table and try to manage every aspect of ten combined kingdoms?”

  Vere motioned with her hand at the group of people arguing with one another. “They’re used to giving orders. They don’t know what to do in a room full of equals. And they all want the glory of victory for themselves.”

  Morgan laughed. “And?”

  “And,” Vere said, “that’s why the round table won’t have any military leaders. It will be composed of people who want to avoid war, not go running into it.”

  “You think you have everything figured out, huh?”

  Vere didn’t answer, but continued to observe the arguments between the leaders of Kaiser Doom’s army and Baron Von Wrth’s and all the others. Morgan gripped Vere’s jacket collar and pulled her closer.

  If a drunken patron had done that to her at Eastcheap, a streak of colored air would have swirled through the room as her Meursault blade cut the offending hand off at the wrist.

  Vere looked down at the hand holding her in place, then up at Morgan’s angry face. “Let go.”

  Pistol, his face and arm repaired, turned his head to assess what was happening. A ring of light circled his eyes one time as he calculated whether or not to intervene. Seeing that Vere was calm, he took the cue that he should not interfere with the proceedings.

  “What if I don’t?” Morgan asked, her eyes narrowing, her knuckles turning white.

  Vere took a deep breath, then exhaled. A humming came to the edge of the room, causing everyone to turn and see what it was.

  Hector approached, dressed in his old military uniform.

  “May I offer assistance?” he said to Vere, ignoring Morgan’s hand that was still gripping her collar.

  “Of course,” Vere said.

  Morgan’s hand immediately fell back to her side.

  The group of foreign generals fell silent when they saw Hector hover into position beside them. All at once, ten arguing voices belonging to at least seven different species went quiet.

  “Hector,” one of them gasped.

  “Oh my,” another said.

  “I told my son stories about you when he was little,” yet another said.

  After assessing the formations and positions that the other generals had been arguing about, Hector moved forward, reaching out and touching the moveable holographic images.

  “Can I suggest something, gentlemen?”

  The other generals all murmured their approval. Vere noticed that Morgan inched forward as well, wanting to see what he would propose.

  “Move these ships here,” he said, dragging the images further to one side. “And these, here,” he said, moving a different set of holograms to the other side. “The rest stay here, by the Crown.”

  The generals looked at the formation in silence, none of them doubting Hector’s brilliance but also none of them wanting to admit they didn’t understand what he was suggesting.

  Hector said, “Mowbray’s fleet will come from this direction.” He pointed to the lights that represented Dela Turkomann’s portal. “That much is obvious. He needs to avoid the Crown. If he doesn’t, he will incur too many losses before the battle properly starts. Anywhere else, we get him before he can organize the attack.”

  Morgan smiled. She had figured out what Hector was suggesting. The rest of the room still looked on in utter confusion.

  “His only option,” Hector continued, “will be to avoid both the Crown and the fleets completely.”

  “A land attack?” one of the aliens asked.

  Hector nodded.

  “Ah, very good,” one of the aliens said.

  “I should have seen that,” Westmoreland’s protégé whispered.

  When no one disagreed, Hector turned to the gathering of generals and said, “Have your soldiers depart for the surface of Edsall Dark as soon as they are ready. There are a lot of preparations to be made on the ground. Then move your fleets into position.”

  As Hector folded his arms, the generals nearest to him had to move slightly away. Even with only half of a body, he looked twice the size of everyone else. His shoulders were larger and rounder than the ancient Cascade shields that soldiers used to carry into combat.

  In a consensus, the generals nodded and left the room.

  Vere, Pistol, Hector, and Morgan remained in the room.

  Morgan said, “There will be a lot of death in a ground battle.”

  “No more than a space battle,” Hector said, “It will be good for these military leaders to see the death up close. It’s one thing to see a starship reduced to wreckage as it floats away into space. It’s quite another thing to see a soldier dying on a battlefield within arm’s reach of you.”

  Morgan shook her head. “Don’t you think the other generals know that?”

  “I’m sure they must,” Hector said. “But it’s easy not to think about. I’m sure the leaders who sent me into one battle after another wouldn’t have been so quick to do so if they had been aboard the ships that were doing the fighting.”

  “I don’t know what’s getting into everyone,” Morgan said, shaking her head at the sight of Hector in a CasterLan uniform, something he hadn’t done in more than ten years.

  Hector turned to Vere and asked where he would be the most useful. As he spoke, the energy of his transport disc crackled. Vere opened her mouth but didn’t speak, and Hector said, “I’m not going to suggest anyone’s soldiers go into battle without being a part of it myself. No soldier should ever follow a leader who would do otherwise.”

  Morgan’s mouth hung open. This was a man who had vowed never to fight again, who could have fought in the battle of Dela Turkomann two years earlier but had instead chosen to remain on Edsall Dark.

  “I know,” he told them when they didn’t speak. “But I believe in what Vere is doing.”

  Morgan sighed and shook her head. “The round table?”

  “Yes.”

  Vere watched the two without saying anything. When she had proposed the round table she never expected Morgan to be so incensed by the idea. She had also never expected Hector to take up arms in defense of it.

  Morgan’s voice was low and angry, as if she were young and talking back to her father. “You’d fight to protect some piece of wood, some symbol?”

  “Don’t you see,” Hector said, “I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to see anyone go into battle, especially not by my recommendation. Their deaths are on my conscience. But if we win out on those fields, there won’t have to be any more fighting.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Morgan said.

  Hector nodded. “If we defeat Mowbray, if we do it as one united galactic army, there will be no need to fight again. If the round table is populated with everyday men and women, people who just want to see people be happy rather than politicians and leaders bent on power and glory, I absolutely believe this could be the final battle.” Then, reaching out and putting a huge hand on Morgan’s shoulder, he added, “I would gladly give my own life for such a cause.”

  Morgan’s eyes dropped so she was looking at her feet. Her shoulders slumped. A moment later, she turned and left the room.

  “She’ll come around,” Hector said.

  Vere only nodded, hoping he was right.

  64

  Each group of CasterLan soldiers had specific orders for what they should do outside CamaLon’s perimeter wall in preparation for the coming battle. One team scanned the fields of Aromath the Solemn, assessing the types and quantities of weapons that would be needed, where they should be placed to maximize their effectiveness, and where enemy placements would likely be set up on the far side of the field. Another team worked to prepare the dozens of trenching machines. Others set up mess tents and latrines.

  As little time as they had to prepare, the workers couldn’t help but st
are each time a new ship came down to the fields to unload friendly forces. The first time they saw the dark metal of one of Kaiser Doom’s enormous HC Ballistic Cruisers as it descended, everyone stopped and gazed in awe. They paused again when the Cruiser landed on the planet and the ground shook as if a tremendous earthquake were hitting the capital. Once more, they stopped when the Cruiser’s main hangar door slid open and Kaiser Doom’s troops began disembarking, along with dozens of multi-terrain transports, each made of dark metal like the rest of Doom’s fleet.

  Doom’s top general, without an armed complement of troops to ensure his safety, met with Morgan and Hector in a tent just outside the capital wall. Minutes later, he headed back toward Doom’s forces, which were amassing to the left of Vere’s soldiers, and gave them their orders.

  When the first of Baron Von Wrth’s forces made their way toward the surface, everyone watched the Mach-Z Cruiser land where Doom’s ships had been. The Mach-Z Cruiser looked like a gentleman’s naval ship. It had none of the hard edges and breathtaking array of cannons that most other flagship vessels were outfitted with. Instead, it was curved and sleek, relying more on positional warfare and explosive charges and gravity mines than on overwhelming amounts of cannon fire.

  After the ship landed, squads of Von Wrth’s soldiers began to disembark, along with a complement of ion tanks and trench busters. Just as the previous general had done, Von Wrth’s key military leader made his way to Morgan and Hector’s command tent. A couple of minutes later, he reappeared and took a transport back to his ship. Immediately after, his troops began working on the assignments they had been given.

  The same thing happened when the first Armored Raft descended and also the first Firebrand Destroyer.

  Late in the day, another shift of soldiers took over for the men and women who were too exhausted to work another minute. While the second shift worked, another ship descended toward the surface. It was a fraction of the size of a Solar Carrier, a ship that would easily land in one of the Solar Carrier’s hangar bays.

  Everyone paused. Instead of marveling at its size or weaponry, they stared at the small vessel because they had never seen a ship like it before, except in history books. It was roughly the same size as the Griffin Fire, but looked like the rocket ships of the very first space-faring vessels. It wasn’t awkward looking like some of the other uncommon ships the workers had seen arrive. It also wasn’t outfitted with any of the usual armaments found amongst most vessels.

  “Who does that thing belong to?” a worker asked.

  Unlike the flagships, this vessel landed fairly close to the command tent because there was no danger of its engines accidently causing damage below.

  “Beats me,” another worker said, his weight resting on the shovel in front of him. “Looks like they’re out of the stone ages.”

  The rocket ship’s hangar bay door began to open.

  A CasterLan soldier, covered in dirt from head to toe, said, “With a ship like that, I wouldn’t be surprised if whoever it is brought bows and arrows.”

  The other workers laughed.

  What appeared was a group of soldiers, completely covered in armor, mostly varying shades of brown and gray, but in random places a dark green shoulder plate or a crimson visor. The soldiers were slightly shorter than an average human. Each one had nearly identical armor, except that one shoulder plate might be a different color or a utility belt might hold different devices. One had green gloves. One had black gloves. Another had a gold visor. There were ten soldiers in all.

  The few people who watched the group disembark from the vessel all whispered to anyone near them. It took mere seconds for the entire contingent of workers, every alien species and every army, to stop what they were doing and behold the fighters everyone had heard stories about but had never actually seen. Not only had they arrived, they had done so in a ship that looked outdated but was probably full of advanced weaponry, just like the soldiers it had brought.

  The Gur-Khan had arrived.

  Letter Home, by Mike Peluso - Ink

  65

  From the other side of the field, Morgan watched the ten Gur-Khan soldiers walk down the ramp of their ship. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

  The Gur-Khan were known for two things: they never fought away from their own planet and they never lost a battle. For thousands of years, the Gur-Khan had lived a peaceful existence on a planet with a name Morgan had never been able to pronounce correctly. They were the only advanced species in the entire galaxy that had never gone to war amongst themselves nor traveled to another planet to do battle there. The only time they did fight was when an invading army attempted to expand its territory.

  There were only ten Gur-Khan warriors at any one time. Never more, never fewer. And yet no invading army had ever defeated them. In fact, no invading army had ever lived to talk about their failed conquest. Every single ship belonging to invading fleets, every single soldier and android, was destroyed.

  There was a period of time, between fifteen hundred and two thousand years ago, when competing rulers coveted the Gur-Khan home world as a prize to be won for no better reason than because of the challenge it presented. Each ruler had sent their forces to conquer the planet and none of them ever heard from their generals or saw their ships again. In time, the Gur-Khan’s reputation was such that only the occasional ill-informed warlord would try to extend their territory by defeating the ten soldiers. They too were never successful.

  It was rumored the Gur-Khan had advanced weaponry that no one else in the galaxy had even thought of. It was thought that they had battle tactics that the most logical military minds couldn’t begin to fathom.

  The truth was that not much was actually known about them beside the fact that they never lost battles and were not motivated to conquer other worlds. They were a solitary race, neither welcoming others to their world nor leaving their planet to live elsewhere in the galaxy. No one was even sure what a Gur-Khan looked like. Some people said the Gur-Khan were smaller than their battle uniforms made them look. That they had large, bulbous eyes and a small mouth and almost nonexistent nose. Others insisted the Gur-Khan could communicate with each other telepathically and that this was one of the reasons they always had an advantage in battles. But this was only how storytellers portrayed them. None of it could be verified.

  Morgan blinked in amazement. As long as other civilizations had known about them, the Gur-Khan had refused to fight in anyone else’s war. And yet, here they were.

  Between their appearance and Hector’s participation she wondered if she had misjudged Vere’s message. Each time she tried to assess how they had gotten to this point, all she could see was the young woman she had met back in Eastcheap, sitting in a dark corner with her friends, drinking and thieving. Someone who had run away from home rather than face her problems. Someone who had been handed every opportunity in life, even a royal name, and had bungled it all. Morgan thought of how she had risked her life for Vere and instead of being thanked she was having her kingdom dissolved before her eyes.

  By the time she got to this last thought, she was so angry—at herself as much as at Vere—that she growled without realizing it. Hector turned to look at her to see what was going on. Her junior officers had become accustomed to such moments and, rather than face Morgan’s wrath, would usually leave the tent and give her time to calm down.

  “Vere’s message got the Gur-Khan to fight for a kingdom that’s doomed to vanish anyway?” she muttered.

  Hector nodded. “It appears that way.”

  The entire galaxy was going mad. This was all the proof she needed.

  66

  Mowbray’s Athens Destroyers came to a stop at the other end of Dela Turkomann’s portal.

  Half of his generals had told him to expect an ambush as their ships appeared through the energy field. They predicted space mines would be arranged to explode when Destroyers appeared and that the first dozen or so ships that went through the portal would be dama
ged, if not completely lost. Or a small pack of CasterLan forces would be there to cause havoc as Mowbray’s ships entered the sector.

  “Fine,” he had told them. “If you are afraid of mines or a few Llyushin fighters, I’ll go through first.”

  Some of his generals looked down at their hands rather than question their ruler. A few cringed, unable to hide their concern. Only one said he thought a different ship should pass through first.

  Mowbray listened to the general’s advice, but still ordered his crew to take his Supreme Athens Destroyer through the portal without any further delay.

  His generals were succumbing to the fear that came with knowing various armies were uniting against them. It was normal to have concerns upon hearing the Vonnegan fleet no longer had a superior number of ships or any kind of advantage in might. His generals didn’t realize it, but Mowbray was reminding them that they were invincible. Anyone in his fleet who secretly doubted their chances would see that Mowbray had no concerns and would then follow his lead.

  In truth, he was also eager to pass through the portal because he was losing patience. More than anything else, the loss of his command ship had enraged him two years earlier. It had amused him when the fat drunk had tried to shoot him from afar. And anyway, his Fianna had done their duty admirably. It had tested his patience when the dirty Basilisk had grabbed his throat, but the reptile had gotten far worse in return. However, seeing his Supreme Athens Destroyer reduced to scrap still made his purple face darken. Even though he had won the battle, losing that vessel had been unacceptable. That was part of the reason he had sent Vere to the Cauldrons of Dagda to suffer rather than simply executing her.