The Green Knight (Space Lore Book 1)
Chris Dietzel
Contents
Copyright
Also By Chris Dietzel
Title Page
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Art1
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Art2
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Art3
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Art4
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Art5
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Art6
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The Adventure Continues
Acknowledgments
About The Author
About The Artists
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidence.
THE GREEN KNIGHT, Copyright 2016 by Chris Dietzel. All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Watch The World End Publishing.
Click or Visit: http://www.ChrisDietzel.com
Cover Design: Grosnez
Cover Typography: TrueNotDreams Design
Editor: D.L. MacKenzie
Author Photo: Jodie McFadden
Illustrations: This book contains concept art based on various aspects of the story. For each design, an artist was given a basic description and then allowed to create their vision of that scene, character, etc. Artist biographies can be found at the end of the book.
Also by Chris Dietzel
Space Fantasy
The Excalibur – Space Lore II
The Round Table – Space Lore III
Dystopian
The Theta Timeline
The Theta Prophecy
The Theta Patient
A Quiet Apocalypse
The Man Who Watched The World End
A Different Alchemy
The Hauntings Of Playing God
The Last Teacher
The Green Knight
Space Lore I
Chris Dietzel
1
Surrounding the portal, all was black and empty of life. No sound. No movement. Void of everything. Stars, billions of them, twinkled in the distance. But these far-off dots didn’t seem like real things near a portal. Portals were pure energy, and everything else—for hundreds of parsecs—was only a glimmering emptiness.
Any traveler approaching a portal from a distance saw its light twinkling like a miniature sun, growing in size until it dwarfed the very vessel approaching it. No matter how large the ship, it looked puny compared to the immense disc of energy. Even flagships, thousands of times larger than a star fighter, seemed small by comparison.
The portals were so large that some scientists wanted them classified as man-made celestial bodies. Entire asteroids could pass through—if detection and prevention systems didn’t keep such random objects away. In fact, even the smallest moon of Mego Turkomann could almost fit through.
Close to the portal, different people claimed to see different things in the glowing white light. Some said they saw lines of energy. Others saw swirling waves. Some observed cloud formations. Still others saw outlines of space vessels that had already passed through the portal, transporting spices or rare metals from one solar system to another. Some people even swore they could see the future when they looked into the portal’s energy. Others insisted they witnessed the spirits of those they had loved and lost.
Like everything else in the galaxy, it was commonly accepted that people saw what they wanted to see, regardless of whether it was actually there.
Before any ship could enter a portal, its tinder walls had to be lowered, closing off all the windows and viewports, every exhaust port and ventilation chamber. Put even the finest crafted seagoing vessel in the ocean and drops of water will somehow find their way into the ship. Eventually, it will fill completely, drowning anyone aboard. In the same way, if a vessel passes through a portal without its tinder walls lowered, the energy contained within the portal will find a way through every part of the ship. Instead of taking time to fill, however, it would only take a fraction of a second. Instead of drowning, all life aboard a ship that passed through a portal without being sufficiently secured would be wiped away, turning it into nothing more than a ghost vessel.
That is why, in those last few moments before a ship passed through a portal, everyone aboard went from seeing brilliant white light to nothing but a metal shell.
Each portal was made of three hundred and sixty cylinders, banded together into a giant loop. Each cylinder was larger than most vessels that passed through the portals.
The ship that appeared from the portal at Troy sector resembled a tiny insect coming out from the energy. It was an Ornewllian Compact, a vessel that typically held no more than twenty people and carried little more cargo. The Compact’s single engine was enough to get the ship everywhere it needed to go.
A moment after the ship appeared from the portal, it raised its tinder panels and the cockpit and side windows changed from being sheets of atomized steel to once again allowing the pilot and passengers to look outside the ship at the endless space all around them.
The Troy portal was one of the few around the galaxy that wasn’t near a major planetary hub. At almost every other portal, an arriving ship would have its choice of two or three planets and between ten or fifteen moons to land on. From these choices were trading posts, major commercial ports, and colonies. But the Troy portal opened to empty space. No one could remember why the enormous amount of time, resources, and money had been put into building a portal there. In other words, the Ornewllian Compact had everywhere it could go. And nowhere.
A moment later, another ship began to emerge from the portal. The tip of the vessel was the same size as the entire ship it was following. But as more of the craft came into view, any other resemblance disappeared. A few seconds later, the portion of the ship that was coming through the portal was the size of the great cylinders encircling the portal’s powerful white energy. As it rumbled forward, it grew from being as large as two of the cylinders, to four, to eight, to sixteen. A minute after it began appearing from the portal, it was still only halfway through the energy field, but was already so large that it took up more space than ten thousand Ornew
llian Compacts. And still it came, each of its thirty cannons slowly appearing through the energy. The captain’s deck came into sight. A while later, each of the eight grand engines—Category-5 IZer turbines—came into view.
A Solar Carrier. The flagship of the CasterLan Kingdom.
As soon as the ship was all of the way through the portal, its tinder panels raised and the viewports could be seen. At the same time, the eight cannons at the front of the ship pointed forward and opened fire on the Compact, sending yellow laser blasts exploding into the other ship’s engine, frame, and the interior of the ship. Even when the passenger ship’s engine went dark and the Compact began drifting into space, the larger ship’s cannons continued to blast away.
2
Inside the captain’s deck of the Solar Carrier, men in naval uniforms stood at attention, watching part of the Ornewllian Compact’s rear deck explode away from the rest of the ship. As it did, sparks of energy shot in every direction like the famous lightning storms on Zephyr. Finally, the energy dissipated and all that was left of the back half of the ship was metal wreckage drifting aimlessly in space along with the bodies of those who had have been huddled for safety in that part of the ship.
The Solar Carrier’s laser cannons stopped firing.
The only officer on the captain’s deck not wearing a naval uniform narrowed his eyes, waiting for the cannons to resume their blasts. Everyone else had flinched when Hotspur first came onto the deck dressed in full battle gear. They were wearing traditional naval suits. He was coated in space armor. Their hands and faces were visible. Only Hotspur’s eyes and part of his nose and forehead could be seen through the visor of his helmet. Rather than the gray and charcoal blue that everyone else around him wore, Hotspur’s armor was various shades of dull, matte steel. The only way to determine which kingdom he fought for was from the CasterLan crest—the blue dragon’s head with five tails spreading from behind it—that appeared on either shoulder plate. Every part of the man, save for the oblong diamond of space between his eyes, was covered in dull metallic armor that made him appear twice as large as he actually was. This for a man who was already the biggest person on the deck.
The result was a figure like a barbarous conqueror amongst pleated cadets. His shoulders were round and bulging in every direction, looking like he had been given a pair of silvery blue moons that were stuck in orbit around him. His gloves, dark and metallic, looked more mechanical than human.
In their finely pressed uniforms, the other soldiers looked like they might tuck napkins into their shirts to prevent any stains. Hotspur, on the other hand, looked like he would relish having blood and carnage smeared all over his armor. If the rumors were true, the discoloration in the creases on his elbows and knees was just that—the blood of victims that he had chosen to let remain on his armor rather than cleaning it off. “The legacy of victory and defeat,” he liked to call it.
It was this man who stared at the ensign, waiting for the Solar Carrier’s cannons to begin firing again. When they didn’t, he brought one gloved hand up to meet the other, the thin metal lining creaking against the force of his knuckles.
Even as he looked down, the ensign knew he was being stared at by the highest ranking officer on the entire ship. Even so, he could do nothing other than look down at the vast array of symbols on display in front of him and hope he hadn’t messed up too much. After all, if he began firing again it was an admission he shouldn’t have stopped firing in the first place. It was better to hope something else distracted Hotspur. But of course, nothing did.
“Tell me,” Hotspur said, still looking at the ensign. “Why did the cannons stop?”
These few words echoed around the deck in a thunderous mechanical voice as if the ship’s computer were under orders to repeat anything its captain said.
“Sir?” the ensign said, looking up at his senior officer and the leader of the vessel.
Hotspur didn’t bother to repeat his question. Instead, he closed his eyes for a moment. When he reopened them, he strode a few paces across the deck to where the young man was cowering.
The ensign’s feet moved ever so slightly away from his captain. Anything else, anything more noticeable, would get him sent off the deck. Or worse.
“I’m sorry, sir, it’s just that—”
“It’s fine,” Hotspur said, standing next to the young man.
A giant gloved hand rested on the back of the ensign’s neck. When Hotspur flexed his shoulder, a click and a hum of energy sounded, imperceptible to everyone else on the deck except for the ensign, whose ear was only inches away from it. In one motion, Hotspur’s fingers wrapped around the ensign’s neck. The man was dead before the cracking and crushing sound that his spine made finished echoing around the command deck. With one hand, Hotspur held the dead body upright until a human-shaped bot appeared and took possession of it before disappearing from the deck.
“Years of peace have made you all weak,” Hotspur yelled. “What if this were a trap? What if that ship was part of a Norannado Ambush?”
Everyone aboard the vessel knew of the Norannado Ambush. Granted, it had taken place more than one hundred years earlier, but it had become galactic lore. One tiny ship had lulled a much larger army into a false sense of security before destroying the entire armada with a battery of concealed atom mines. Hotspur seemed to be the only person to think that could have happened here at the hands of the Ornewllian Compact.
Without speaking, he stood over the display panel where the ensign had been tapping in battery sequences.
“Sir?” one of the senior officers said.
Without speaking, Hotspur looked up and stared at the officer. When he did, his helmet moved slightly from the muscles in his tightened jaw that pressed against it.
“There may still be survivors in the front half of the ship,” the officer said, pulling down on his vest to make sure it was straight and crisp because that was better than looking Hotspur in the eyes.
“Yes,” Hotspur said, “there might be.” He then resumed tapping on the display panel in front of him.
“Survivors must be brought aboard.”
Hotspur didn’t scream or yell in a fit of rage. Instead, and to the fright of the other men and women around their captain, he burst out laughing. “Must they?”
“Yes, sir. And, as you know, we are now in Vonnegan-controlled space.”
Hotspur’s hands remained at the control panel, but all of his fingers curled into a pair of fists. “Yes.”
“This is a violation of intergalactic law,” the officer said. The more he spoke, the more confidence he got that what he was saying was the right opinion to voice, even to someone in full battle armor when everyone else was wearing uniforms.
“Would you rather violate intergalactic law or your king’s orders?” asked Hotspur.
“Sir?”
“I have it directly from the king. We are to destroy the vessel. There will be no prisoners. It doesn’t matter where it happens.”
“But sir!”
Hotspur tapped two more buttons on the display panel. Five of the heavy cannons came back to life, tearing apart every chunk of the already lifeless Compact in front of them.
Even as the cannons fired, Hotspur left the controls, making his way toward the officer who had spoken out against what was happening. At first the officer stood his ground and looked Hotspur squarely in the eyes, sure that he had said and done the right thing. No one in their right mind would destroy a ship in Vonnegan space. But as Hotspur got closer, the metal clack of his boots ringing louder with each step, the officer saw his captain’s shoulders flex, his fingers become rigid, and knew what was coming. He started backward, as far away from Hotspur as he could get.
“This,” Hotspur said to the entire deck, “is what life is about. If you aren’t here for war and conquest and all of life’s other wondrous happenings, why are you here at all?”
Everyone else nearby moved away from the retreating officer, each pretending an ur
gent duty had come up on another part of the deck. As Hotspur came upon the man, the carrier’s cannons automatically ended the firing sequence he had programmed and the officer and Hotspur both watched as bodies and parts of the ship glided and drifted through space without any more life or purpose.
“Ensign Tolliver,” Hotspur called out.
“Yes, Captain,” a man on the other side of the deck said.
“Release our dragon.”
“But, sir,” the officer in front of Hotspur said, “we’re in Vonnegan space.”
“King’s orders,” Hotspur said, before his gloved hand reached out for the officer’s neck and the familiar crack sounded once more.
3
The Solar Carrier angled back toward the portal like the lumbering giant it was. But before it returned through the energy field, a tiny flash sparked from the side of the ship and began making its way toward the wreckage of the Compact.
It was not another laser blast. Nor was it any variety of missile. The small metal rocket was no larger than a man’s hand. One second before it would have hit the ship’s remains, it burst into a ball of light. The original metal projectile was gone. In its place was a wall of luminous colors in front of the wreckage in the design of a dragon’s head with five tails. The same emblem that was on Hotspur’s shoulders. The symbol of the CasterLan Kingdom. The light display was space’s version of a flag waving in the breeze, and it would remain there to let every passing ship know exactly who had destroyed the Compact.
Then the Carrier passed back through the portal, leaving the banner and the drifting wreckage for whomever would find it.
4
Every possible type of alien drank at Eastcheap. Aliens ranging from those with no legs to those with over one hundred tiny appendages congregated in a den of thieves and drunks. Skin color varied from white to blue to orange to silver. Skin texture ranged from smooth to hairy to scaly to horned.
