The Guardians of Sol Read online

  Michael glanced at Uther. “By matters of honor, I assume duels to settle his assault on your research facility, as well as to determine positioning at the table?”

  “That it would be. Do you have objections?”

  “Nothing that comes readily to the mind,” the Sentinel sighed resignedly. “When are we doing this?”

  “At this very moment! Now, let us proceed to the contest ring outside.” The Emperor rose, and led them all to a ring in his personal garden. The circle had a three and a half meter radius, and was outlined by milky quartz; smooth, bluish granite bricks made up its interior.

  The old man took a seat on a plush throne that had recently been moved to the circle. Careful to make sure that no one saw, Michael discreetly passed a credit chip to Telamon, all the while cursing under his breath about how inconsiderate young people were these days. Telamon just grinned.

  “Now, given the nature of one of these matches, the Guardian champion will face the European champion first. The winner’s side will be seated on my right at our meals for the duration of this conference,” the Emperor continued. “Winners will be called by the simple virtue that one champion is still in the ring, standing, or has not been beaten so obviously that he would be dead in a death match. Are there any objections?”

  The other sovereigns merely shook their heads. Telamon stood up straighter and stretched, tendons cracking and armor creaking all the while.

  “Now, Champions please proceed to the ring; that we may get this over with.” The Emperor gestured dramatically while setting himself slowly into his chair. The selected champions started forward, only to be stopped by their respective leaders. Telamon couldn’t hear what Pendragon was saying to the Ram helmeted knight, but figured it was something akin to what he was receiving from Michael.

  “Brother, teach them a lesson. HUMILIATE that knight. But subtly.”

  Telamon sighed. “I was going try to do that anyway. Blasted Europeans always seem to think us Greeks betrayed them by throwing in our lot with the Guardians instead of their little Union. Stubborn dumb-asses. Now can I go humble this sheep shagger, or do you want to hold hands?”

  Michael just chuckled, and pushed Telamon towards the ring. “Just… go have your fun, old man,” the High Sentinel called at the Spartan’s back.

  The Spartan paused in putting on his helm, face full of horror. “I’m at least ten years younger than you!”

  “Yes, but you’ve aged with so much less grace. Get your head in the game.”

  Telamon made a face. “I’m a Spartan, my head is always in the game; goatface.” He finished replacing his helm and took up his spear. Checked to make sure his sword was in place inside the bowl of his shield, and finally entered the ring.

  He looked across the battlefield to his opponent, and grinned even bigger than before.

  “Hey, look! A sacrificial goat!” Telamon taunted, laughing at his own joke. Out of his sight, the other Spartans just groaned, knowing that this performance could get a whole lot worse, but hoping that it didn’t. The Emperor’s attendant rang the gong, beginning the match.

  The knight came in fast, sweeping in with an underhand cut from his hand and a half sword. Telamon nudged the attack aside with the length of his spear, rolling with the momentum to slam his shield into his opponent’s side. The blow staggered the knight back a few steps, but did little damage due to the magnificently wrought plate mail.

  Now with more space to operate, Telamon began a series of lightning fast jabs with his spear. Each attack was defeated by the defensive knight, until at the end of his chain of attacks; Telamon slipped the blade past his adversary’s guard, denting the breastplate.

  As the assault slowed, the Knight found his balance again and took up a two-handed grip, putting the sword in between him and his enemy. “Is that all you have, traitor?”

  Telamon just laughed. “You idiots still don’t get it! I can’t be a traitor because I was never part of your cause, nor were any Greeks!” He put his shield in front of him, and took his spear into an overhand grip. “Now come on, you swaggering idiot. Time to break you.”

  The knight hesitated for a second before committing to an attack. He came in with an overhand blow that he swept out to a straight thrust. Both hits were deflected by that great shield held by the Spartan. Telamon hooted and started striking with his own weapon.

  He thundered a hit on the knight’s shoulder, whipped the shaft around and slammed another blow to the midsection with the butt spike. His shield kept deflecting his enemy’s sword through all this. Any blow to the shield merely slipped off into open air as Telamon kept moving, always in balance; always keeping his opponent off balance. He almost felt sorry for the overmatched knight; that is, until he thought of the more than overwhelming arrogance seemingly trained into Knights of the Table nowadays. Confidence backed by ability was what the Spartan liked in his opponents. In all honesty, Telamon had expected more of a challenge.

  As he rammed his spear forward in what he expected to be the final thrust of the match, the Knight grabbed the haft and slammed his sword across it. Telamon simultaneously swung his shield forward to prevent any further attacks and tossed the broken lance away. He pulled his short sword from its shield-sheathe. The Knight took this time to get better footing, farther away from the edges of the ring.

  Telamon brought his shield behind him, sword arm leading. Once again the two approached each other. Telamon leapt forward his blade aimed at the place where plates met at the shoulder joint. The large blade swept Telamon’s smaller sword aside and struck sparks and a deep furrow in his breastplate.

  Realizing his shield was slowing his attacks; Telamon spun and threw it at his opponent. The Knight dodged and came in fast; the tip of his sword drawing sparks from the granite flooring. Telamon stepped in close, locking both swords together near the hilts. He cannoned an armored fist into his foes helmet. However, the blow was robbed of some if its force, his gauntlet caught on the razor sharp ram’s horns for a second.

  The knight backhanded Telamon and pushed the interlocked blades forward. As he was stumbling, Telamon deflected the sudden flurry of blows coming at him. He stayed as close as he could, keeping the advantage of his shorter sword. The knight broke the rhythm, aiming an overhand blow. Seeing his chance, the Spartan grabbed the hilt and his enemy’s hands, holding them still. The knight flexed his muscles, trying to push his blade forward. Telamon’s muscles were iron, and his enemy’s sword moved not an inch. Following through, he slammed his sword into one of the shoulder joints, disabling the knight’s right arm.

  Crying out in alarm and pain, the knight bent forward into a head butt. Telamon barely had time to get his good eye out of the way of the horns. The force was such that Telamon thought he saw sparks jump from both helmets. The Spartan felt a little dizzy. Getting too old for this kind of thing, he thought.

  Once again the two separated. Telamon shook his head to clear it – not one of his best decisions as it only served to send searing pain shooting through him. Blood was flowing freely from the knight’s shoulder. Holding the overly large sword lightly in his left hand, the knight lunged forward for what he hoped would be the last attack.

  Telamon swayed – unintentionally – to the inside of the blade. He crashed the pommel down on the base of the knight’s neck – intentionally. The younger man stumbled and then tripped over Telamon’s outstretched leg, right to the edge of the circle. The old Spartan walked over while the knight was trying to regain his balance, and kicked him firmly in the buttocks.

  The knight sprawled out on the ground outside of the ring with a large crash. Telamon bowed to the Emperor, who nodded in turn with a small amused grin. The Spartan staggered slightly as he went back to his compatriots.

  He grabbed Michael’s shoulder. “Maybe you should have one of the younger mutts do that from now on… I think I’m going to lie down now.”

  Michael chuckled. “Go ahead Tel. And that last kick was a very thoughtful move on your part
.” Telamon’s reply was silent, graceful, and to the point as he collapsed onto the grass.

  “What was the point of all that?” Arkadios whispered to one of the other Spartans.

  “Politics” Was the only answer he got. Michael noticed the poor kid’s confusion and came to his rescue.

  “Uther risked very little, because it is known that Guardians are superior warriors, but if his man had won then it would have been a boon to his army’s moral and a potential bane to ours. But because of politics, I couldn’t refuse the challenge because it could be taken as a sign of weakness which would promote attacks on Confederate holdings, or it could be taken as a slight to the other King, could be used as a premise for attacks on Confederate holdings. You see my quandary?”

  “Yeah. I don’t think I want to get involved in politics,” Arkadios replied.

  “And yet… if Uther truly did want to get a win over a Guardian, then he should have sent Marcus to face Telamon. What kind of game is he playing?” Michael muttered, clearly worried.

  *****

  They watched the Emperor’s chosen Samurai take apart the opposing Eagle headed knight with little difficulty, literally disarming the man in the process. Michael shook his head. The poorly skilled Eagle knight should never have been a part of the King’s Guard. He could remember the Knights of the Table when Uther’s father was king. Now those had been worthy opponents. Now that they were finally done with the trials of combat, the Emperor led the party to an ornate, and overly large dining hall. Telamon was seated a few chairs away from Michael, who was in turn seated directly to the right of the Emperor.

  The Samurai Captain of the Royal Guard flagged down Telamon’s attention. “So, as I was telling you… I really favor the Phoenix team to win the Mecha series next year. If only we could get those beautiful machines to work in more of a wartime environment… Hm, they must be too complex if you ask me. But truly beautiful machines.”

  “I actually have my Tiger team engineers working on durability simplification. Who knows what things will be like in a few years?”

  From the other side of the Samurai Captain, Arkadios piped in. “What exactly is the ‘Mecha Series’? I’ve heard little details here and there, but nothing really definitive.”

  “It’s also called the Mecha Wars. It’s a tournament comprised of fifty different teams of three, fourteen to twenty meter tall robotic armors that are piloted by some of the craziest civilians in existence. Each team’s mecha is customized to that team’s strategy, so no two team’s robots even look the same. They use live ammunition. The pilots are usually protected by the 30 centimeter cage of titanium surrounding them–“

  “But accidents have been known to happen from time to time!” interrupted the Samurai captain.

  “I’ll show you some of the matches on the holo-viewer when we get back to the apartments after dinner,” Telamon continued. “Until you see it for yourself, you can’t really comprehend just how fun it is to watch. Or to take part. Of course, I’ve only done a little testing on the mechs in my occasional free time.”

  “I look forward to that then,” Arkadios said thankfully. He pointed to the Samurai seated next to him. “Think there’s any way me and him could set up a match? You know, like the one you had with that knight?”

  “I’ll see what I can do about it, just don’t kill him or we’ll both be in trouble.”

  Finally, the main course was served. It consisted of fish and venison, poultry and beef. All were lightly seasoned and quite fresh. Pastas and sauces from all over the world were provided on platters and bowls. Around the halls, conversation was small and polite. Little was actually said, despite all the noises coming from people’s mouths; and despite the European attempts to provoke the Spartans, or Corporate representatives trying to sell new products and investments to anyone who would listen, it was actually a nice meal.

  *****

  The armor clanged just a little when Telamon set it by the wall. With a great sigh, he fell onto a rich couch in the main room. He would polish the breastplate later. Now was time for sleep.

  “Sir, you said that you would show me some Mecha war matches?” Arkadios questioned tentatively, knowing that Telamon could be rather volatile at times. The old man sighed, no sleep for the deserving…

  “Yeah son, I did. Well, the viewer is in the corner, turn it on already. You sure are slow, pup.”

  Arkadios didn’t say anything, just clenched his jaw and did as he was told. With a small tone, the viewer activated and showed a three dimensional view of the earth.

  “Viewer, show the latest Mecha series match. You,” Telamon said pointing at Arkadios. “If you have any other questions or want to watch anything else. Just ask the machine.” Then he clambered up from the couch and went to his own room to rest in peace.

  Arkadios on the other hand, stayed up for several hours more, watching match after match, completely enthralled. The last one he watched was the championship bout from the last season. The one where Tortoise team went up against the Falcon team. After that, Arkadios went to bed. Just because he didn’t have any real duties the next day didn’t mean that he didn’t have anything to do.

  9

  June 11, 2289. Sol System, Kyoto Japan

  Michael wasn’t happy. He did a good job not showing it, but Telamon knew his friend well enough to tell otherwise. He also knew that the problem lay with the young king of the AEU. The young man just couldn’t seem to get it into his head that it was in the best interests of everyone involved to cooperate and share information.

  Telamon stood behind his leader, once again clad in his armor. Next to him was Argentos, with the other two Spartans waiting around back at the apartment. He wouldn’t have minded being in his combat armor though. Despite the size and gleaming surfaces of their armor, the Spartans didn’t actually look all that formidable compared to their equally accoutered counterparts. Spartans had built up quite a formidable reputation that was useful for intimidation. It merely gave credit to the saying that appearances were deceiving.

  Their powered armor had no obvious ranged weapons, but held extendable javelins in compartments on their backs. The Spartan armor was filled with other various deadly and inconspicuous armaments as well. The interlocking plates were designed to be reminiscent of their bronze armor, gold-bright on the inside, and copper-red at the edges. Given the impracticality of cloaks in modern combat, their traditional clothe was replaced by a scarlet skirt, made of the same durable material as the ballistic fiber-mesh bodysuits that all Castigars wore under their protective plating. The shields that went with the power armor were half again as large as the ones they carried the day before. Because they were the Sentinel’s Guard, Telamon and his men’s helmet sported black crests and their crimson kilts were edged with ebony.

  After the half-hour or so of political niceties, the talks quickly got heated. The Emperor, though most wise, was too old to do much more than conduct. Uther Pendragon was too young and belligerent to get the other sovereigns go along with his designs. If only those designs weren’t quite so opaque. Only Michael had struck the balance between wisdom and action, unfortunately; that did nothing to help him in this situation.

  “We need to track down the source of these unprecedented technological instances,” Michael began, and carefully eyed President Roberts and King Lwazi. “Do any of you truly believe that the Republics would have attacked the research base in California if they didn’t possess new weapons? Or that the Zulus could have held back your army last year, Uther?”

  “The only reason the Zulus beat my men was because of my former General’s ineptitude,” Uther retorted.

  “And who appointed him?” The Emperor chided. “Don’t let your pride blind you, young king.”

  “Superior strategy and tactics go a very long way toward evening odds,” Lwazi said.

  “Even with the superior tactics – compared to the Europeans - that the Zulus tend to use, there still should have been no way that they could have beat
en your army so handily.” Michael said candidly. “Both my satellites and those of the Emperor picked up strange images and energy emissions. Something was definitely different about those battles”

  “There were reports from the battlefield. I, however, do not trust them,” Uther declared.

  “What did these reports say, Uther?”

  “The men claimed that Zulu armor was practically as durable as their own. Though, a great deal less agile.”

  “I have my own researchers to call on. The Nation is not content to languish and fade into technological obscurity. I assure you,” he said, leveling his attention at Uther. “That the agility problem is being worked upon as we speak.”

  “I had thought that the Zulu nation was still technologically behind the Republics.” Michael took a moment to ponder. “I commend your people on their industriousness.”

  “Thank you, Sentinel,” Lwazi replied gratefully. “I am sure my people will be honored when they hear of your regard.”

  “Perhaps our peoples could work together on something? Like a joint research project. We’ll talk more later.”

  “What if the lesser nations were given their new technology? Perhaps they didn’t develop them on their own?” Uther asked.

  “Take care before calling a nation ‘lesser’ when its holdings and populations triple your own,” Lwazi warned.

  Sighing, the Emperor spoke quietly. “One would think that these leaps are too large for the normal evolution of knowledge, even accounting for the occasional data theft. Natural progression does not rule such leaps out.”

  Uther’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I think that it would be wise for all of us to look into this. To pool our resources, as it were,” He said slyly. “Of course, any information we glean will gladly be shared…”

  *****

  Back in the courtyard, Arkadios walked around the ring where only the day before had his Captain defeated his opponent so… nicely. Now, thanks to Telamon’s persuasion, Arkadios was going to get a chance to test his own mettle against a most worthy opponent.