“Please, take us to the King,” Gwen said quietly. “We won't be any trouble.”
The jailer chuckled to himself as he unlocked the chains from the ring in the floor. Meanwhile, Lance helped Merlin to his feet. “Are you okay?” Lance asked. “Are you hurt?”
“Only my pride,” Merlin muttered in reply, staring daggers at the Mori who had struck him.
The jailer grasped the four chains in his fist and lifted them over his shoulder, walking from the cell and pulling them along like dogs on leads. One guard walked before him while the second walked behind, hands hovering dangerously close to their swords.
The corridor was just as damp and miserable as the cell, only much narrower. Arthur's broad shoulders almost touched both walls while Lance had to stoop through some of the lower parts of the passageway. The jailer seemed to enjoy their discomfort, pulling harder on the chains every time Lance bent over or Arthur turned sideways to avoid one of the burning torches.
Their jailer led them left and then right, taking the turns in the labyrinthine maze without a second thought, the master of his domain. They passed several other doors, though every metal hatch was firmly closed. No sounds escaped them and no eyes peered out through open hatches, making it impossible to tell if they shared their prison with any other inmates.
As they walked, Gwen noticed that the iron doors they passed weren't just similar they were the same. So were the torches, all casting a familiar light but never seeming to burn down or need replacing. There was a pattern to the stone walls too, the same patterns and textures repeated in a never-ending pattern in whatever direction she looked. It looked like a picture replicated over and over, joined together to form the length of the corridor.
The corridor ended at a set of roughly hewn stone steps, the middles worn away by repeated footsteps upon their surface. They ascended rapidly, their chains taught as the jailer hurried them onwards. At the top of the stairs was a large archway leading to another, wider corridor and then a closed double door. The foremost guard opened the doors wide while the jailer dragged his prisoners through and fastened their chains to another metal ring in the floor. Once he was happy they were securely bound, he left through the same double doors without another word.
They were left alone in the square room, two sets of doors facing each other. Lance tried the doors which the jailer had left through and Arthur the doors opposite, but both were locked. He turned to the others, a questioning look on his face.“What now?” he said. “I thought he said we were seeing Mordred?”
“So did I,” Lance agreed.
“He'll enjoy making us wait,” Merlin said.
“What does he want?” Gwen wondered. “The message to bring us here, trapping us inside this simulation? What does he want to get out of all this?”
“We'll find out, soon enough,” Merlin remarked.
They didn't have long to wait. Just as Merlin finished speaking, the second set of doors opened. Beyond them was a large stone room full of guards dressed similarly to those who had escorted the jailer. As Gwen watched, four of them approached and she realised that they weren't just similar, they were identical. Identical heights, facial ridges and armour, but also the way that they moved, their eight eyes fixed and unblinking.
The guards unfastened their chains from the metal ring and took one each, dragging them forwards. Lance and Gwen were kept near the door, pushed down to their knees, while Arthur and Merlin were taken to the centre of the large room and turned to face a large stone dais. Behind them was a further double door, the largest they had seen so far, and to their right were two narrow corridors leading into darkness. Beneath them was a long red carpet, running the length of the room from the dais to the large wooden doors behind.
Upon the dais were four chairs. The outer two were smaller, wooden and ornate. The inner two were larger, embellished with gold and lined with soft red fabric. Three of the chairs were empty, but the fourth, the largest, immediately drew their attention.
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.
X-Calibur: The Trial Page 6