The Green Knight (Space Lore Book 1) (31 page)

“You would have died.”

“You would have let the Green Knight kill me?”

“It was part of the deal with Mortimous. Someone had to die—whoever touched the axe last. If you hadn’t come back, that would have been you.”

“But you already said the Green Knight can’t die.”

He said nothing. Nor did he move.

“Galen?”

Still, he remained silent. She replayed the Green Knight’s game in her mind. He had handed her his axe in Eastcheap. She and no one else, save for the Green Knight, had touched it. Then, only moments earlier inside the cave, the Green Knight had held his weapon until the game was over. Once it had finished, he had rested on the axe… and a hand had reached out from the shadows and touched it.

“Galen?”

She leaned forward to get a look at his face and gasped. The veins were protruding from his temples and forehead as if he were holding his breath, but instead of being blue, they were green. She looked down at his hands. They were even worse.

“That’s why I didn’t want you to touch me,” he said. “Not because,” and then he trailed off.

“Why did you do this?” she said, not mad or accusing, only concerned.

“I had to get you to come back. It was the only way.”

“Galen, I—”

“I don’t mind,” he said. “If this is part of my destiny, so be it. I did what I set out to do.”

“I loved you more than anyone else in the galaxy,” she said.

He smiled, but at the same time his eyes became wet and he had to blink away a tear. “I loved you more than anyone, Vere. But I didn’t love you more than
everyone
.”

“Galen, don’t—”

“By doing this, by everything I’ve done since walking away, I’ve helped more people and made a greater difference than by anything else I could have done. I hope some day you can understand that.”

“Galen?”

But instead of replying, he only groaned and leaned his head back against the rocks behind him. When she leaned closer, she saw the green of his veins had spread through the rest of his face and skin. His lips were green. His ears. Even his hair. He was becoming part of the Green Chapel the same way the Green Knight had.

“Tell me where Mortimous is,” she said. “I’ll kill him.”

“Don’t you realize?” Galen said, trying to smile. “He did the best thing he could have ever done.” He coughed. “I got to see the only person I’ve ever loved before I died. He got you to return to save your people.” He grinned, and a tear rolled part of the way down his face before being absorbed by the moss that covered it. “The galaxy is an incredible place when you start to see how it works.”

“Galen, I don’t want to lead these people. They had my father for that.”

“They still have him,” he said weakly. “But they need you now, too.”

“My father is dead.”

He tried to laugh but couldn’t. Instead, the attempt looked like it caused him pain. “He’s not dead, Vere.”

“He is. You don’t know because you’ve been in this cave for who knows how long.”

“He’s not dead. And his people need you. They—”

She waited for him to finish his sentence, but when he didn’t say anything she leaned closer.

“No,” she said, barely getting the words out. “No, no, no.”

Galen’s eyes were green and motionless. Already, she could see the cave reclaiming him. His back, where he rested against the cave wall, was indistinguishable from the stone. His skin glistened like the moss. His hands, sitting peacefully on his lap, looked to be made of rock rather than flesh.

There were so many more things she wanted to say. There were so many more questions she wished she could ask. Instead of saying any of it, she stood up, looked one last time at the features of Galen’s face before it disappeared into the stone, then walked back toward the cave’s entrance. As she did, she passed a formation of rock protruding from the cave wall exactly where the Green Knight had been.

67

 
“Sir?”

Modred looked at the closed door to the king’s chambers and wondered if he should let the man inside. On his earlier trip from the chambers to the control room he had felt the eyes of everyone he passed. They hadn’t been looking at him with kindness. Now, back in the chambers, he was becoming pickier and pickier about whom he let into the room.

He had the sinking suspicion that if he did open the door, an ambush would ensue. Would the officer on the other side of the door have brought with him a group of soldiers who were ready to slay the king’s stepson? Did they blame him for the Vonnegan fleet being here?

“Who’s there?” he asked.

“Sir,” the private answered, “You asked me to come see you with updates.”

For a moment, Modred thought about holding the conversation through the door, the private out in the common area where anyone else might be able to hear him. His left hand remained at an angle behind his back. In his hand, the king’s Meursault blade. With a gulp, he pressed the entry button and the door raised to reveal the young private.

“Come in, come in,” Modred said.

As soon as the private took two steps forward, the door to the chambers immediately closed again.

“What news do you have?”

The private grimaced and tugged at his collar. “Hotspur’s fleet is suffering massive losses.”

“I knew they would! I told him not to engage.”

“He is sending communications down, asking why we aren’t using the Crown to assist with the battle.”

“Because I said not to!”

“Is that what you would like me to tell him, sir?”

“Don’t get smart with me.”

“I wasn’t getting smart, I—”

Modred waved a hand for silence, then said, “Where is Vere CasterLan?”

“I’m not sure, sir.”

He threw his hands in the air and yelled, “How can you not be sure? You lost her? Tell me you didn’t lose her.”

“She was not aboard Hector’s ship when he arrived back at the port.”

“Maybe she’s dead,” he mumbled, nodding his head. Then added, “Where are the others?”

“They have split into two groups. One group is outside the main control room, trying to get inside.”

“They never will. It’s sealed tight. It’s blaster-proof.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And the other group?”

“The other group is heading for the upper levels of this building.”

“What for?” Modred said, stepping backward and clenching his jaw.

“We think to try and find a way to shut off the portal, sir.”

“Shut off the portal?” Modred erupted into a fit of boisterous laughter. “Shut off the portal?”

The private tried to smile but could only grimace in a way that made it look as though he had to relieve himself. “Sir?”

“There is no way to shut off the portal from here!” Modred howled with laughter.

The private stood there for a moment, giving Modred time to get over his fit of hysterics. When the king’s stepson kept laughing, though, he backed away toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Modred said.

“I thought I would get back to my post, sir.”

“In such a hurry?”

“I thought you were done with me, sir.”

“Are you planning something against me?”

“What?”

“Are you?” Modred said, yelling so fiercely that spittle hit the private’s face.

“No, sir, I just—”

“This would all be over if I just happened to die, right? Is that what you’re thinking?”

“No, sir, I—” The private backed toward the door.

Modred let both arms return to his side. The hand that had been behind his back was now visible. But when the private looked, all he saw was a handle and crossguard. He frowned, trying to make sense of what the king’s stepson might be holding. Then Modred turned his wrist and the blade came into view. A Chameleon. The Invisible Death.

“Sir, I—”

The private stepped back once more but his back was against the closed door. Modred was coming toward him with a crazed look and a sword that kept appearing and disappearing as the blade changed angles.

“Sir, please,” the private said, but he saw in Modred’s eyes that the other man wasn’t listening.

Self-preservation took over and without thinking of the repercussions, an excuse, an alibi, or anything else, he raised his blaster and pulled the trigger.

Click.

Nothing happened. The private looked down at his blaster, confused.

Click.

Again, nothing happened. That was when he realized the king’s chambers must be protected by a Treagon barrier and that his blaster would never work there. In the next instant, a flash of sun-colored light came sweeping at him as the blade came down.

After the private’s body had crumpled to the floor, his head bouncing across the room, Modred let the sword hang by his side. Blood dripped from the invisible blade.

“Shut the portal off?” Modred said, laughing once more.

68

From underneath Hector’s ship, Morgan held her hand out so Fastolf could see it. “Wrench,” she commanded.

“Is there anything we can help with?” Baldwin said, looking over at Fastolf with doubt.

Morgan’s voice came from under the ship: “Just stand there and look pretty.” And then, “Calibration spanner.”

“I already handed you one,” Fastolf said.

“Another one!”

She said it in the tone that he associated with having his nose broken or his ear torn from the side of his face and he immediately thrust his hand into the bag of tools to retrieve what she had requested.

The two men stood next to Hector’s ship while Morgan banged away at the Llyushin’s underside. Traskk stood watch at the nearest entrance to make sure no one came to try and kill them. Finally, Morgan slid across the ground so she was out from under the ship, then reached back under and dragged out another of the ship’s blast plating panels.

Leaving the tools on the ground, she took one of the panels and began jogging back toward the control room. After a few steps, she looked behind her and said, “Don’t just stand there, each of you grab a panel and let’s go.”

She was off then, with Baldwin and Fastolf hustling as quick as they could to keep up with her.

Back at the blast-proof control room door, Morgan dropped a satchel of blasters on the ground and began sifting through them for her favorite type of weapon. Fastolf and Baldwin arrived a minute later, both out of breath, neither of them with a metal panel in their hands. She was just about to scold them when Traskk appeared, holding the entire stack of panels—a few hundred pounds’ worth of blast-proof paneling from Hector’s ship.

“What now?” Fastolf asked, hunched over.

“Place a sheet parallel with the control room door,” Morgan said. “The door is blast-proof, but that’ll only last for so long.”

Baldwin looked at the panel nearest to him, then the bag of blasters. “I don’t get it.”

“Traskk is going to hold this panel in place. I’m going to stick a blaster through the gap and keep shooting. The blast coating will wear off after it gets shot a couple thousand times.”

“A couple thousand times?” Fastolf said. “You need a drink if you think the war will still be going on by the time we get done.”

“That’s your entire plan?” Baldwin asked, shaking his head.

Above them, a monitor outside the control room showed a pair of Solar Carriers that had been reduced to burned out hulks. Others had exploded and were nothing more than space debris. And still more Athens Destroyers were coming through the portal.

She looked at the group in front of her. A physician’s assistant she had never seen before they both happened to appear at Eastcheap. A fat thief she never wanted to see again. A Basilisk with a temper to match her own. Seven days earlier, she never would have guessed that these people would be all the help she would have to stop a war.

“It’s the only plan we have,” she said.

Traskk growled something and everyone looked at him. With Pistol and Vere gone, no one could understand what he was trying to say. He hissed a second time and held his hands up to show them.

“I think he wants to know if you’re going to shoot his hands off,” Fastolf said.

Almost all of Traskk would be protected by the blast panel he was holding, but his hands could still get hit, or a blast could get past him, ricochet off the wall, and hit him in the back.

Morgan smiled and said, “I guess we could let Fastolf hold it instead.”

The drunken thief immediately stepped away from the rest of the group. “I don’t think so.”

Traskk gave a resigned hiss, his long tongue slithering in and out from between his fangs as he did so. Without another word, he picked up the first panel and moved in place.

Morgan patted him on the back and said, “Hold it still and I’ll try my best. I promise.”

He inched forward even more, allowing less room between the panel he was holding and the control room door.

Without another word, she began to fire.

The first shot hit the control room door, bounced off, hit the blast-proof panel of Hector’s ship, ricocheted back at the control room door, over and over again. By the time she fired the second shot, the first laser streak had already bounced back and forth between the two panels a dozen times. By the time she fired the third blast, the previous two blasts had bounced back and forth more times than she could keep track of.

Over and over her finger pulled the assault blaster’s trigger, causing flashes of laser fire to burst forth. Each one struck the control room door, then immediately bounced off and headed back toward her. But just as quickly, the shots hit the blast panel of Hector’s ship and once again were deflected at the control room wall.

Hundreds of lines of laser fire bounced back and forth like a science fair project. Slowly, the blast coating on the control room door began to deteriorate and the laser streaks began to burn into the panels. Brown spots of tinged metal began to spread across the once mirror-like door. When the first assault blaster ran out of a charge and the lasers were all absorbed into the burning metal, Morgan tossed it aside.

“New panel,” she said.

Traskk tossed the charred and smoking blast-proof panel behind him, picked up another, then aligned it in front of the control room door. Once it was in place, Morgan began firing with the fresh blaster.