The Excalibur (Space Lore Book 2) (30 page)

All across the galaxy there were places like Eastcheap. Places where the approaching battle had no meaning or consequence. Places where war meant nothing more than a chance to scavenge for scrap parts from destroyed ships drifting in space.

In one way or another, life would continue around the galaxy no matter what happened at Dela Turkomann.

68

There was an exception to this rule, however.

For Fastolf, life as he had known it was over. He sat in darkness. The air around him was stale. Having not bathed for a week, he was sure no one would want to be around him.

“As if they’d want to be around me even if I didn’t stink,” he said, snot running down his nose.

The Llyushin transport he had used to take Quickly back to Edsall Dark on had been parked for days. He hadn’t left the ship. He hadn’t radioed anyone. Instead, he remained aboard the cramped vessel all day, every day. There was no other place for him to go.

There were long periods during which he sat in silence, the only sounds being his labored breathing, his desperate drinking, and from time to time, his slobbering cries.

There were also long stretches of time when he gave into feeling sorry for himself, whining sobbing, and delivering endless, drunken monologues on how misunderstood he was and how he just needed another chance. In his isolation, hidden away day after day, he indulged in entire conversations with himself, entertaining irrational and unrealistic thoughts.

“I’ll save everyone,” he mumbled in between sips. “I’ll show them Fastolf is worth being around.”

Only moments later, another round of sobs having racked him, his outlook changed.

“Why doesn’t anyone understand me? Why does everyone hate poor old Fastolf?”

He took another sip from his flask. In the old days, back when he and Vere and Occulus and A’la Dure and Traskk sat around a table, all of them laughing and drinking, one of them would have offered a comment at his expense to make everyone else laugh. Even Fastolf would have thought the comment funny. He knew his friends well enough to know the jokes weren’t really at his expense. Now, though, he was all by himself.

“Because you mess everything up,” he said with a sniffle.

That’s wasn’t true, though, and he knew it. He hadn’t messed anything up. Morgan had by taking Vere away from Eastcheap. The galaxy had by forcing her to be a leader when she had wanted nothing more than to have a good time.

There was a famous galactic saying:
Life is anguish
. But life hadn’t been terrible at all back when he and the others had sat around that table at Eastcheap. They spent each day laughing and drinking without a worry in the world. Life hadn’t been difficult at all. It had been perfect.

No, he wasn’t the one who messed things up. Morgan and Baldwin had by showing their ugly faces at Eastcheap. The Green Knight had by offering that stupid challenge. Even Occulus and A’la Dure had by dying. Why couldn’t Vere see that they were the ones who had ruined their perfect times together, not Fastolf? He was the only person who hadn’t messed things up! And now he was the one who was being punished.

“It’s not fair,” he mumbled into his flask.

Maybe it was true. Life is anguish. He hadn’t done anything to deserve being tossed aside. After everything he had done, he was to turn himself over to Cade like some kind of traitor or common prisoner?

“I’ll show them,” he said.

He put the flask up to his mouth and tilted his head back. Realizing the container was empty, he braced a hand against the ship’s wall so his legs didn’t fail him when he tried to stand. Crossing the cramped compartment, he opened a storage bin and pulled out a new bottle. After uncapping it, he held the container up to the flask’s mouth. The flask’s opening seemed impossibly small at that moment, however. Liquid splashed out around his hand and onto the floor. He tossed the flask aside, listened to it clatter in the darkness, then put the entire bottle up to his mouth.

“I’ll show Vere she needs me. I’ll show her I’m the only one who cares about her.”

Why couldn’t they all just go back to those perfect days at Eastcheap?

Another sob sneaked out of his throat. A tiny, almost imperceptible cry. But once it was free, another burst forth. Then another. Soon, the tears were flowing again.

69

“My Lord, five minutes to the holding zone.”

Mowbray acknowledged his officer’s update with a slight nod. The officer bowed, then backed away to finish preparations.

Already, Mowbray could see the lead Athens Destroyer becoming more distinct as it got nearer to his own vessel. Before, it had been so far ahead that it had been nothing more than a blinking dot.

For six years, ever since the battle at Edsall Dark had taken his son, Mowbray had been patiently planning for this. The entire time, his factories and shipyards had been reconstructing the Vonnegan fleet. For more than three years, he had been traveling across the galaxy to destroy the kingdom that his son had been destined to rule. In that time, he had rarely given thought to the lead Athens Destroyers, far ahead of his own ship. But there they were, slowing their approach so they didn’t arrive at Dela Turkomann too much before the rest of the fleet.

“I will see your vengeance carried out, Minot,” Mowbray said, staring at the expanse of stars and knowing that one day, not a single one would be exempt from Vonnegan rule.

Orders were going out amongst the entire fleet that all Vonnegan ships were to hold their current positions. Once the hundreds of vessels had gathered, they would move into the assigned formations. Waves of twenty Athens Destroyers would approach the desert moon in four ranks of five ships each. Mowbray’s Supreme Athens Destroyer would be in the very center of the first rank. His generals had strongly advised against such a plan, but Mowbray wanted each and every one of the people aboard the CasterLan ships to see the size of his command vessel, to see that he wasn’t afraid of the rebuilt Solar Carriers, regardless of how many Vere had managed to scrounge together.

Additional Athens Destroyers came into view as the ships began aligning into ranks. With every minute that passed, the stars surrounding Mowbray’s viewport were blotted out by the sight of more and more Athens Destroyers. He had enjoyed hearing the seemingly random statistics that his generals had given him—the fleet of Vonnegan ships was so large that it took three hours for the entire fleet to pass through any one point in space—but now, gathered all in one spot of the solar system, he smiled again.

It was a fleet that would have made Murdoch the Conquerer, Malbad the Insane, Moredead the Staggering, and all of the other Vonnegan rulers before him proud. It was a fleet that was worthy of being considered the greatest in Vonnegan history. It was a fleet that would have been worthy of Minot’s command if the boy were still alive.

Mowbray’s eyes narrowed. Every reminder that his son had perished at the hands of the forces he was soon going to meet was a reminder that the galaxy was watching what was happening here. The only option in front of him was to make an example of the CasterLan Kingdom. To brutalize them. To rip their fleet apart.

Now, all three suns that were normally visible from Mego Turkomann were blotted out behind his Athens Destroyers. The beautiful purple and blue nebula of the Annwn system was no longer visible. Every star comprising the famous Qi-Mi-Die constellation—the archer with his bow pulled back and ready to shoot—was also blocked by his vessels. Everywhere he looked, another of his ships hovered in space.

His fleet would win this battle, then they would continue on and claim the rest of the CasterLan Kingdom. At that point, this thing they called a war would be over until the next kingdom fell under his grip. And then the next and the next after that.

“Move into formation,” Mowbray said from the window of the command deck.

No one was close to where he stood and he hadn’t said it loudly, but all the way across the deck, a senior officer nodded and bowed, then told the other Vonnegans around him to have Mowbray’s Supreme Athens Destroyer advance to the first rank.

The Solar Carriers would never know what hit them. Vere and her friends would pay for what they had done six years earlier. Most of all, they would pay for Minot’s death. Everything was unfolding just as he had planned.

70

As pixels, the approaching Athens Destroyers were nothing more than glowing dots assembled into vague outlines of ships. The officer in charge of each Solar Carrier could see a holographic representation of the approaching fleet of hundreds of ships anytime he wished. More than two hundred Athens Destroyers were displayed on the holographic map as a collection of dots, with one hundred supporting Vonnegan crafts following close behind. The dots had slowed outside the Tertiary Region, then begun arranging themselves into ranks of five ships, with two formations so closely aligned that it actually looked much more like four ranks of ten ships in each column. After the Vonnegan vessels were organized, the column of Destroyers began their approach toward Dela Turkomann.

It was one thing to see a computer’s three-dimensional representation of the approaching Vonnegan fleet. It was quite another thing to actually see the ships with one’s own eyes. Red blinking dots couldn’t show just how many cannons each Athens Destroyer had. They didn’t show that each ship was roughly the same size as a Solar Carrier. And they definitely didn’t show just how large a Command Class Athens Destroyer was, or how a Supreme Athens Destroyer made a Solar Carrier look like a personal transport in comparison.

“Oh my god,” one of the junior officers said from behind Westmoreland.

Only the first wave of ships was coming into view, but two things made that junior officer panic. These first ten Athens Destroyers were close enough to seem menacing on their own, but perfectly aligned, with nineteen more rows directly behind them, the mere sight struck fear in the hearts of every Solar Carrier crewman. Second, none of the officers aboard Westmoreland’s Solar Carrier, not even the more experienced ones, had ever set eyes on a Supreme Athens Destroyer before. It was three times larger than any ship around it, with more firepower than four Solar Carriers put together.

“We don’t stand a chance,” the wide-eyed junior officer said behind Westmoreland, staring without blinking at the mighty ship in front of them.

Westmoreland was a quiet and mild-mannered leader. He was patient and understanding. But he had also seen soldiers die in every possible fashion, and he knew that nothing killed a ship’s ability to fight quicker than the belief that they would inevitably lose the battle. A fight that might have taken two days to play out would be lost in ten minutes if one side believed they would eventually lose. It was one of the ways war chiseled away at the minds of its combatants. A soldier who was willing to face certain death in battle as long as he believed his kingdom would ultimately prevail was turned into a mere observer, all determination having fled his bones, if he came to believe a different flag would eventually be raised.

With a nod of the head, Westmoreland signaled for his security officer to escort the young man off the command deck and relinquish all of his duties to another officer. Hopefully, if the same reaction was happening on other Solar Carriers, and he was sure it was, the generals in charge of those vessels were taking similar measures.

If not, this could quickly become a painful and short-lived battle.

71

The Vonnegan fleet of Athens Destroyers weren’t the only ships arranged in formation. The Solar Carriers were in what Morgan called a swinging bell formation. Three ships took the lead, one in front and the other two to either side and slightly behind it. Further back, each rank was progressively wider, with the next row having six ships, the subsequent row having twelve, and so on. The idea was that they would be able to face an onward assault, with three primary ships taking the brunt of the assault, while also being in position to sweep left or right if Vonnegan ships broke from their formations and tried to outflank the CasterLan forces. After conferring with Westmoreland and the others, the swinging bell formation was adopted unanimously.

The ships were massed on the far side of Dela Turkomann so that the Athens Destroyers would have to circle around the desert moon and turn their backs on the portal. In so doing, Mowbray’s forces would be opening themselves up to the armies that Scrope had recruited. Vere smiled, hoping she would get the chance to see Mowbray’s reaction when the first Excalibur Armada battleship appeared. Would the entire Vonnegan fleet turn around and head back the way they came? Would they focus all of their weapons on the first Excalibur ship to make its way into the battle, only to watch in horror as it absorbed everything they could send at it? She couldn’t wait to find out. A grin stretched from one side of her face to the other when she envisioned all the ways the Vonnegans might react.

Vere would have to observe from the surface, however, as she, Traskk, and Morgan remained at the command center on Dela Turkomann. Outside the tent, the Griffin Fire, Pendragon, and a pair of Llyushin Transports that were no longer needed in space were all parked in the sand.

Just before the Vonnegan fleet got within striking distance, the three of them had draped a cover over the tent that blocked ships’ sensors from detecting life forms inside it. With no mechanical or electrical equipment to be detected either, Mowbray would be convinced that no one remained on the moon’s surface. A message that Vere had pre-recorded would be sent to Mowbray’s ship, inviting him to discuss a way to avoid the battle. The vacant desert moon would be the perfect neutral meeting place. A Llyushin transport would still be sent from a Solar Carrier toward the planet’s surface as a decoy. This would serve to see if Mowbray ordered one of his ships to destroy it. If an Athens Destroyer targeted the transport with its cannons, Vere and the others would know that diplomacy was no longer an option—if it ever had been.

Assuming Mowbray did agree to meet her on Dela Turkomann, Vere had no idea what would happen when the two of them met. It was unlikely that Mowbray would put himself in a position to make an assassination attempt possible. He would take his precautions, as he always did, to negate any possible method of killing him.