“The cruel Sheriff and her kin were dead, their bodies tossed to Annwn, the lightless levels of the outer station, where the ghouls lurked and feasted on corpse meat. And with her death, settlers came from the far reaches of the steel sky to live and work, for Camelot was one of the few places in the central ring which had been plugged into the water supply. Food was brought from farms on the hydroponics levels, and a seemingly neverending stream of do-gooders with guns came riding into town, offering their services of protection against the gangs that roamed the vast inner wastes.
The Pendragons took these lost, violent souls and gave them purpose, sat around the huge metal table that had been in the town hall since before the oldest could remember. The three Pendragons’ rule was wrought in iron, but fairly done, for though each one craved power, it was tempered by their love for the other two.
And when Camelot was safe and prosperous, Arthur sent his youngest hand, a hotheaded child named Gawain, to ride to his old camp and bring his people to Camelot, among them Arthur’s daughter Morgause.
The inner level of the space station curved back on itself – steel ground that turned to sky with no horizon, but it was still a hundred miles by the shortest route to Camelot when they set out, clad in dust masks and goggles, over sandy dunes of rust.