As death surrounded Camelot, within the town hall the three Pendragons squared against each other. In each heart love warred with greed. And within each mind scenarios whirled. Guinevere was the quickest on the draw, no question, but maybe she could only take one of them down before the other shot her. Lancelot was the best shot, but slowest to slap leather, if he could stay alive long enough to draw, it was over. Arthur could beat him on speed, but Guinevere might be counting on this. A cloud of rust billowed in the breeze from the open door, but no sound broke the silence.
Then all at once, each of the three realised their hands were moving away from their guns. As they locked eyes, they knew that love had won. Lancelot and Guinevere nodded to Arthur, who without a word moved forward towards the console, to declare himself Captain with their blessing.
They knew what would happen. Fort Galfridean would live again. He could move them away from the sun. He could reactivate the lights and the radiation shielding of the lower levels. He could bring back prosperity to the hydroponics. Just this once, there could be a happy ending.
Three shots rang out from the shadows of the doorway. Guinevere fell dead. Lancelot fell dead. Arthur fell to his knees. Mordred walked in with blood on his hands and tears in his eyes.
“I’m sorry, father”
What words passed between them then are perhaps too personal for us to share, but when they were finished, Mordred placed his wounded father into the lifepod, and fired him into the aether. With the sound of killing fresh in his mind, the broken, hate-filled Mordred chose the new Captain and set a course for Fort Galfridian’s engines.
As as high noon rang in his ears, Mordred rode his rotten world into the sun.