X-Calibur: The Trial (7 page)

He was Mori, tall and broad and dressed in armour of black and gold. His facial ridges were deep and pronounced, highlighted in red just like the Mori-Gran, but the most uncomfortable aspect of his features were his eyes. Unlike the regular Mori, who all eight eyes in two rows of four, the figure on the throne had two eyes; human, bright blue and intelligent.

Merlin's eyes.

He scrutinised them as he stood, smiling menacingly as he stepped towards them, standing over them as the guards forced them to their knees. Arthur resisted at first but the guard at his back was strong, much stronger than he would have thought possible.

“So you're Mordred?” Arthur asked, looking up at him.

“I prefer Mor-Dred,” Mor-Dred replied. “I believe it better reflects my heritage.”

“Heritage?” Merlin scoffed. “You're nothing but a security program with delusions of grandeur!”

Mor-Dred laughed, shaking his head as he looked down at them, a very human gesture. “Merlin, Merlin,” he said. “Pot? Kettle? Please, I'd hoped for a civilised discussion at our first official meeting.”

“What do you want?” Arthur demanded.

“Oh, I have what I want,” Mor-Dred remarked. “You, here, to face punishment for your crimes.”

“And what are we accused of?” Arthur continued.

“Oh, Arthur, you wound me,” Mor-Dred said mockingly. “How quickly you've forgotten. Please, allow me to refresh your memory. Jester? Jester!”

From the shadows behind the dais stepped a smaller Mori, hunched over in pain. He was dressed in a mockery of a jester's outfit, which instead of being brightly coloured was instead composed of shades of grey. He held a roll of parchment in his right hand and winced as he held it up to Mor-Dred.

“Ari-Dun?” Arthur muttered as he got a good look at the jester's face. Ari-Dun had been a rich and prominent member of the hive, owning several large factories and thousands of slaves, and had betrayed Gar-Wan to the Mori-Gran.

“He's just Jester, now,” Mor-Dred said with amused disgust, kicking Jester as he scurried away.

As Jester hobbled back behind the dais, Mor-Dred made a show of unrolling the parchment, inspecting it before he began to read aloud. “Merlin,” he began. “You are hereby accused of invading the hive network and disabling systems essential to the lives of the citizens aboard. Furthermore, you have been accused of aiding the rebel slave Arthur and his compatriots in the theft of property from the Mori people. Finally, you are herby accused of aiding Arthur in the murder of Mordred, rightful King of Camelot.”

“This is insane!” Arthur shouted.

“Arthur,” Mor-Dred continued as though Arthur hadn't spoken. “You are hereby accused of leading a rebellion against the Mori people, resulting in countless deaths and the theft of Mori property. In addition, you are accused of the murder of Mordred, rightful King of Camelot.

“How do you plead?”

“You're insane!” Arthur persisted. “None of this makes any sense!”

“You're not Mordred,” Merlin said again. “And this isn't Camelot. It's all a simulation, just like you.”

“You forget,
Merlin
,” Mor-Dred said angrily. “I've had months to examine your code, to pick it apart, piece by piece. I know who you are, what you are, and I'm as much Mor-Dred as you are Merlin.”

“Lies!” Merlin cried. “I'm Merlin, Wizard to King Arthur Pendragon, the one true King. You're the fake, the imposter, and your tricks mean nothing!”

Mor-Dred looked at Merlin with surprise, confused by his conviction. He didn't know if his bluster was all for show, false confidence for the boy-king he had chosen, or if he really believed what he was saying. He had examined the code line by line, and though it was by no means complete it had told him all he needed to know.

The program known as Merlin was nothing but a security system, similar to himself, though human made and thousands of years old. Its previous instructions had been to coordinate the security of a region of Earth, referred to as the American-European Alliance. How it came to abandon its directives and choose the name Merlin was unknown to Mor-Dred, but it seemed to have embraced it with every aspect of its programming, overwriting any past personality completely.

Could it be that Merlin actually believed what he was saying? That he believed the personality his program had constructed and the stories he told? Mor-Dred had lured them back to the hive to punish them for their crimes, both against the Mori and against the fragment which clung to the stories Merlin had woven.

Test him
, the Mordred fragment begged.

Weeks before, Mor-Dred had chosen to embrace that fragment of himself, the one forged after Merlin's code had interacted and fused with his own. To have done otherwise would have destroyed them both, but by choosing to become Mor-Dred and to embrace their strengths, he had grown stronger, more powerful and completely aware. No longer was he burdened by the instructions of his creators; instead he was able to choose his own path.

Yes, he could test him. His plans had been simple, to punish them until time itself ran out, but what if he could do more? Pain, suffering, those were easy. If Merlin truly believed in what he said, destroying that belief would be worse than anything else he could ever do to him.

Do it
, the fragment pleaded.

“And this is him, is it?” Mor-Dred asked, his smile wicked. “Your
King
?”

“This is Arthur, King of the Britons,” Merlin said commandingly. “Reborn as prophecy foretold.”

Mor-Dred paused and looked down at them. “Arthur,” he began. “Do you deny leading a rebellion against your Mori masters?”

“No,” Arthur said defiantly. “Humans and Dorgans deserve to be free.”

“And do you claim to be
the
Arthur, son of Uther Pendragon, reborn in this time?” Mor-Dred asked.

Arthur didn't know how to respond. He knew the truth, about Merlin, himself, everything. He wasn't the one spoken of in prophecy, regardless of what Merlin thought. He had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“I am Arthur,” Arthur said. “I've taken that name and the responsibilities that go with it.”

He knows
, the fragment said, cackling with delight.
The boy-king knows!

Mor-Dred laughed again. “You know, don't you?” he said. “You know the truth?”

“Enough, please,” Arthur begged. “I've answered your questions.”

Break him
, the fragment said.
Break the false Wizard!

“Shall we tell him?” Mor-Dred asked mockingly. “Surely he deserves to know?”

Arthur felt panic rising within him, unsure what he should do. If Mor-Dred exposed Merlin to the truth of who and what he was, there was no knowing what might happen. Would there be anything left of the Merlin he knew?

“Guilty!” Arthur said hurriedly, trying to change the course of the conversation. “I plead guilty!”

“Oh, it's too late for that!” Mor-Dred replied. “I'd planned to put you on trial, to punish you, but this, I never expected this. This is so much more exquisite.”

“Please,” Arthur said again. “Do what you want to me, just let the others go.”

The boy-king cares
, the fragment hissed.
Use him
.

“Do you know, Arthur,” Mor-Dred began, “how many versions of your model have existed over the years?”

“Ignore him,” Merlin interrupted.

“Over thirteen thousand,” Mor-Dred continued. “Copies of copies of copies, each as unremarkable as the last.”

“Lies,” Merlin said. “I searched the hive and you're unique, Arthur. There was no record of where your DNA came from.”

Prove it to him
, the fragment muttered.
Expose his lies
.

“I could show you, if you'd like?” Mor-Dred offered.

“Fabrications, just like you,” Merlin remarked.

“And you, Merlin,” Mor-Dred said. “Do you really not know what you are?”

“I know exactly
who
I am,” Merlin said defiantly, staring intently into Mor-Dred's eyes. “Nothing you say can convince me otherwise.”

“No, I can't, can I?” Mor-Dred asked, staring back just as intently.

No matter what Mor-Dred said, Merlin believed so completely that no proof he could offer would persuade him. Arthur though, he knew the truth. If he could make Arthur tell him, expose him, there would be no way for Merlin to deny it. He'd crumble, collapse, and his entire being would fall apart. To punish him so completely, such a victory was more than he'd dare imagine.

“Enough games!” Merlin demanded.

Games
, the fragment said.
His game is our game now!

“You started this game,” Mor-Dred replied. “You're only angry because I choose to finish it!”

“Just tell us what you want?” Arthur asked.

A game!
the fragment cried.

“That's simple,” Mor-Dred told them. “At least, it is if you are who you say you are. Your trial shall take the form of a task; a quest, if you will.

“I want you to find the Grail.”

Chapter 4

Irony

Earth Year 6239

“You want us to do what?” Arthur exclaimed. He knew vaguely the story of the Grail, it was a story Merlin was often reluctant to tell. Merlin would lament about not having the artefact after the Battle of Camlann, and his melancholy could last for days.

Merlin had told him the Grail was a cup or goblet, believed to have the power to heal the sick and grant everlasting life. As Merlin told it, Arthur and his Knights found the grail but left it where it was, the artefact being too powerful for any one man to wield.

“Bring me the Grail,” Mor-Dred replied. “If you do, I'll let you all leave.”

“You're lying,” Merlin remarked.

Yes
, the fragment said, chuckling.

“No lies,” Mor-Dred promised. “If you bring me the Grail, you get to leave.”

“All four of us?” Arthur asked.

“All four of you,” Mor-Dred assured him.

“Don't listen to him,” Merlin continued. “This is all part of his game. This world, it's of his creation. There's no way he'd let us succeed.”

“I give you my word,” Mor-Dred insisted. “Your quest will not be easy, but the trials you face will be nothing for the true Arthur and Merlin to overcome. Unless, of course, you have something you wish to confess. Do you, Arthur?”

“When do we start?” Arthur said defiantly.

“Excellent!” Mor-Dred replied. “Guards, escort them outside and remove their restraints. Return the other two to their cell.”

“Wait,” Arthur protested. “I thought they were coming with us?”

“Oh no,” Mor-Dred said mockingly. “Until you return with the Grail, they'll stay here with me. Don't you worry though, I'll be sure to keep them entertained.”

Arthur turned as Gwen and Lance were dragged backwards from the throne room and into the antechamber. Gwen met his eyes for a moment, an unspoken promise between them before she was hidden from view by the rapidly closing doors.

Meanwhile, the remaining guards manhandled Merlin and Arthur, dragging them from the throne room and out of the larger double doors. A wide corridor passed by in a blur before the guards removed their manacles and tossed them unceremoniously into the street.

*****

Triltan slipped on her armour, checking that it was secure before opening the Vanguard's gangway. She had her rifle held across her chest, her finger resting gently against the trigger. As she began her descent, she tucked the butt of the rifle into her shoulder, moving it slowly left and right just as her father had shown her. The landing pad was clear, just as it had looked from inside the ship, and she wasted no time advancing towards the doors to the birthing chambers.

The doors had closed behind Arthur and the others, and Triltan had to cycle through the unlocking routine again. The mechanism behind the doors whirred and hissed, sounding excessively loud in the silence of the hive ship and seeming to take much longer than Triltan had expected.

A final whir was followed by a loud hiss as the doors began to part, making Triltan snap around. The large room beyond was dark, a sharp contrast to the bright lights of the landing bay. She switched on the light below the barrel of her rifle and stepped forwards cautiously, sweeping the rifle left and right as she made sure to check the corners of the room. Just as everywhere else she had seen, the room was empty and there were no signs of damage or distress.

Using her capsule, she called up the map of that region of the hive, the image appearing in the top-right corner of her vision. Her position was shown as a flashing red dot, along with a dotted line indicating the path to the birthing chamber. She turned the torch towards a smaller door and stepped onwards, almost falling as she spun around at the sound of the door closing behind her.

The rest of the room was in total darkness as her torch only illuminated a narrow segment at a time. She had the sense of the walls closing in, of hidden horrors surrounding her, and she continued to turn in circles as her breathing quickened. She closed her eyes and counted to ten, fighting against the fear that held her, the insistence that the dark was dangerous and she was its next victim.

By the time she got to seven and nothing happened, the voice in her mind began to quiet and her breathing became less erratic. By eight, her pulse was slowing and her shaking was easier. At nine she was able to hold her breath, and at ten she opened her eyes and focussed intently on the world around her.

She moved slowly, shining the torch left and right until she located the smaller door again. It was only a short distance away and she crossed the room in seconds. A small panel beside the door opened it, and she stepped through into the decontamination room and out into the corridor beyond.

Two steps along the corridor, a red icon appeared in her vision. She focussed on it, enlarging the map so she could see it in more detail. The path behind her was clear, but the sensors in her armour had detected an anomaly. The path ahead of her was electrified, a fine mesh that covered the floor for the remainder of the corridor.

An electrical charge could explain what had happened to the others, all except Merlin. It might also explain why she couldn't communicate with them; if the charge had been sufficient to knock them unconscious, it could have just as easily shorted out the capsule. The nanobots inside would repair it eventually, but at least she was starting to put some of the pieces together.

Unconscious, that was the word she clung to. She knew any electrical charge could have done much more than that, but she refused to think of them that way. Why would someone have gone to all the trouble to bring them to the hive just to electrocute them? They could have destroyed the ship before it got close enough to dock if that was all they wanted.

Unconscious then, somewhere ahead, that was what she chose to believe. They were somebody's prisoner, bound and secured, and they were waiting for her to free them. All she had to do was get past the electrified floor.

Triltan clipped the rifle onto her back and removed the scanner from the pocket on her hip. Without the light from the torch the corridor grew dark again, but within moments the slowly sweeping beam from the scanner gave her more light than ever. The scanner highlighted the mesh, making it visible with her naked eyes, and she was also able to trace the electrical conduits which powered it.

The closest conduit was behind a desk to her left, a small junction box housed behind a small panel. Triltan knelt down and prised the panel open, moving the scanner closer to the collection of cables and plasma fuses behind it. She scanned it quickly, identifying the circuit responsible for the electrical grid, and disconnected the cable from the corresponding fuse. There was no change around her, but the flashing red symbol disappeared from her vision.

“What happened?” a deep and intimidating voice said from the other end of the corridor. Triltan froze, her hand still holding the cable.

“Defence mesh is down,” a second, equally terrifying voice replied.

“Follow me,” the first voice ordered.

Triltan slid the scanner back into her pocket as quickly and quietly as she could. The desk offered little protection, and even though she was small it wouldn't take a genius to spot her hiding behind it. She considered reaching for her rifle, but she couldn't think of how to move it from her back without making more noise than she wanted too.

Her mind was a flurry of thoughts, each more urgent and insistent than the last. She wanted to run, to flee back to the safety of the ship and call her father to come and rescue her. She wanted to help her friends, to be just as brave and courageous as they were. She wanted the strength to fight off those who were coming, but equally the thought of hurting them terrified her. Most of all she wanted to know exactly what to do, what the right choice was, with all the certainty her father and Arthur seemed to possess.

Light appeared in the corridor ahead of her, then another, handheld torches mounted on weapons like her own. She couldn't make out who was carrying them, but they were getting closer with every beat of her heart, and the time had come for her to act. She took a deep breath and steadied herself, deciding on a plan.

*****

Arthur dusted himself off as he got to his feet, pausing to offer a hand to Merlin. Merlin took it gratefully and allowed himself to be pulled upright.

The guards who had deposited them in the mud had turned and closed the large wooden door leading into the castle, standing before it like unmovable sentries. Once Merlin was securely on his feet, Arthur stormed forwards, shouting at the guards who barred his path.

“Let us back in there!” he demanded. “You can't keep them locked up like that!”

The two guards remained standing, looking past Arthur and towards the street, hands resting comfortably on the hilts of their swords. Arthur pushed hard against the closest guard's breast plate, but it was like pushing against a brick wall. The guard didn't even register that Arthur had touched him, but as Arthur tried to step around the guard, a hand suddenly grasped him in a vice-like grip.

“The castle is off-limits until you return with the Grail,” the guard announced in a deep baritone, lacking inflection, and with a swift movement Arthur was once again propelled to the street.

“We won't be able to return that way,” Merlin said, shaking his robes to loosen the mud. “The guards are programs, part of the simulation. You won't be able to fight them like that.”

Arthur was momentarily offended by what Merlin said but he accepted the truth of it. The guards weren't real Mori, like the jailer or the people around them giving them questioning looks. They were all identical, stronger and faster than any Mori alive, and most likely resilient to harm. If Arthur was to strike one or cut them down, would they even register the damage?

“What do you suggest?” Arthur said, more angrily than he intended.

“Come, walk a while,” Merlin replied, smiling knowingly. Arthur offered him a questioning look, but Merlin only nodded and began to walk.

In some ways the Camelot of the simulation was similar to the fledgling community they'd left behind, but in other ways markedly different. While the streets were mostly well trodden dirt tracks, just like on Earth, the castle instead was made of roughly hewn stone, dark and imposing. It was enormous, the walls spreading left and right as well as rising three storeys and the castle keep was taller still, rising above the walls and watching over the city. Guards were to be seen everywhere, all identical and patrolling with regimented coordination.

The city itself was less imposing but no less impressive. The same stone that had been used to build the castle had also been used for many of the buildings, a ramshackle collection of all shapes and sizes. The streets between them were narrow and winding, and full of people, all Mori.

As Arthur turned and followed Merlin, the people continued to give them questioning glances, though none seemed brave enough to speak to the strangers in their midst. They all looked different and scared, so he suspected that they were real, trapped inside the birthing pods just like himself. It made sense, in a twisted kind of way. Mor-Dred had his programs maintaining order, but what use would that be to an insane megalomaniac like him? He'd need people to rule over, to control and persecute, and if they were all just simulations he'd never be satisfied.

Was that what Mor-Dred was now, a
he
? Merlin was a he, as real as any other of his friends, despite the truth that Arthur had learned. Did that make Mor-Dred a he too? He had more power and control than anyone else within the simulation, so it made sense to think of him as real. It was confusing and terrifying in equal measure.

Once they were several streets away from the castle, Merlin stopped and stepped under a narrow archway erected beneath two stone buildings. “I don't see any guards around,” Merlin whispered. “We should be as safe here as anywhere.”

“Don't you think Mor-Dred can hear us anywhere?” Arthur asked.

“Perhaps,” Merlin replied, “but if so, it doesn't matter where we speak or what we say. I'd like to imagine our captor built this simulation to be as real as possible, ignoring the iron fist he wields with his programmed soldiers of course.

“Either way, this is his game and for the most part, I think we have to play by his rules.”

“For the most part?” Arthur asked.”

“The game's rigged and there can be only one winner,” Merlin stated. “We need to make him believe that we're playing along. As long as we keep our wits about us, though, it won't be long until we're out of here.”

“Triltan should have called her father by now,” Arthur agreed. “We've been trapped in here for over a day already. The Ardent Dawn should be here in a week or so, and the scientists on board will be able to get us out of the birthing chambers.”

“Even so, I'm not overly keen on allowing Gwen and Lance to remain in Mor-Dred's company for any longer than necessary,” Merlin said.

“No,” Arthur agreed. “We need to get them out somehow. Did you have something in mind?”