-Small authors note- I am typing this chapter on a borrowed laptop, since mine has finally hacked and coughed it’s last, it was a good system, and will be missed, but since my time online has become limited I cannot guarantee consistency in my updates any more until such time when I have either , A . Replaced my old device with a similar system, or B. Once again performed an incredible feat of technological idiocy, and repaired my old laptop, although with spare parts being unavailable for the specific device I have, it seems unlikely that my Frankenlaptop will rise again, I guess seventh time was the charm. so for now I hope you enjoy the chapter.
“What In Cog’s name was that and who is responsible!?” Grand mechanic Ingles’s voice quivered with incredulity, the entire Camelot had shook, as if it’s grand engines had come alive on their own, or more likely, someone fired them up without proper clearance. Both these cases seemed entirely unlikely. After all he knew the location of most his Knights, with one noted exception, Dame Krim. Ingleston was therefore about to contact her when another tremor, more powerful than the first, and more persistent, ensured that all loose matters got tossed around the once engine room, much like the white flakes in a vigorously shaken snow-globe. Because of this he had no time to open a channel to Dame Krim, since rather than doing that he was utterly pre-occupied with dodging girders, toolboxes, and more disturbingly, corpses. This in and of itself was bad enough, no one of the order of the road dealt well with corpses being thrown at them, or with injured people even, in fact one of the Knights of the order was known to faint at the mere sight of blood. However as these things tend to go, matters soon got worse, in particular when the lights died.
Elsewhere on The Camelot Cripa slowly rose to her feet, her head was pounding as if it had been one of the war-callers drums, the landing could use improving she was certain of that. Now if only she could find her father.
Carefully she took in her surroundings, or at least those parts of it she could see in the current twilight that seemed to swallow the world around her. “Dad? Are you there?” Cripa strained to keep her voice just above a whisper, if Gado was there he should hear her, yet there was no answer. For several long moments she stood still as a statue, knees slightly bent, her ears straining to pick up any and all sound. All she heard was a sort of low key buzzing, as if someone put a rad-wasp hive in a bucket, and like with rad-wasps in buckets, the sound seemed to be growing more agitated. Knowing what would come next Cripa tensed and leapt to the side of the chamber, ignoring the sickly crunch beneath her as she did.
The ship shook, yet Mordred payed it no heed, in his hands he held his mother, withered and aged, but alive, and undeniably his mother. “There you can lay her back down now Sir, and if it went well, she shouldn’t be in the feedback loop any longer.” Mordred carefully laid his mother back down in the tomb, before raising a finger to Dame Krim’s lips, effectively shushing her. “Shh mother is sleeping.” His voice barely registered to her, the volume low enough to be less than a whisper . It was a volume she doubted she could match, and as such she didn’t, choosing to nod her head gently instead. Of course she would be sleeping, the feedback loop being cut would mean the thing keeping Morgana awake would be gone, finally allowing the woman to rest. All in all she did a great thing, after all being forced to be awake at all times just to run the ship would be the same as being an indentured labourer, or a slave. It was at that point in her thought process that Dame Krim looked to her hands, to see the withered yellowed label, on the device she had just removed. It was at that moment she realized she had done a terrible thing, and it was that exact moment, that Morgana started dreaming.
The ship lurched as the main engines spun int high gear, a great bellow of noise ripped its way into Grand mechanic Ingles’s mind, it sounded like he was within two feet from a roaring furnace. Or possibly a starship’s inlet manifold while it was running a emergency lift off test, or a sudden course correction. He had no idea how right he was, at least not untill he looked up.
Right above his head was the dented and repaired inlet manifold, the emergency repairs they had done, and subsequently undone, being suspiciously re done as the manifold and the engine it was attached to, seemed to be oddly intact, complete, and running on maximum pressure. His head still swimming from what he could only asume must have been zero G toolbox induced trauma, Ingleston surveyed the engine room, searching for his men. It was however not untill he looked up, that he found them, most of the men and women of the order of the road looking worse for wear, somehow tied down to the ceiling by a expertly attached construction net.”All Knights counted and accounted for Sir Ingles, I think we made it Sir.” Dame Miriam Spriggot sat hunched down on what he percieved as the ceiling, holding fast to a cargo fastening hook. He was about to remark on her location when a scorch mark confirmed the sinking feeling in his gut. She was on the floor, whereas he was the one on the ceiling. “Status Dame Spriggot?” He knew not to ask, he knew he would not like the answer. “The engines are fully operational Sir. Somehow, and it appears that we are manouvering….” A sudden burst of engine noise cut her off, answering the question for her. The Camelot was running, it had repaired itself, and now she was running, and there was nothing they could do about it.
It’s a good thing I tend to write hard concept’s by hand before working on a chapter online. (thanks to my wife) because otherwise there would not have been a chapter at all, that said next up will be the epilogue, since this story started with a prologue, it feels only right to add an epilogue.