X-Calibur: The Trial

by Jackson-Lawrence, R.

  “You two, in here,” Triltan ordered. Sol-Dan and Mir-Bir obeyed without question, Sol-Dan's face still oozing. They stopped on the opposite side of the security desk, looking so much smaller than they had done when Triltan first encountered them. They were beaten, broken, and their body language betrayed that fact.

  Triltan hesitated, wondering what best to do with them. Just thinking about Sol-Dan charging towards her made her heart race and her muscles tense. It was luck, nothing more, that had saved her the last time. Even as broken as they were, if they saw another chance to overpower her they might just take it. Could she really concentrate properly on the interrogation equipment if she was constantly checking her on her prisoners?

  The answer was right in front of her. Once the security console was up and running, she powered the energy field to one of the cells and marched her prisoners towards it. Neither of them objected, it was as though they had accepted their fate.

  The hand scanner beside the cell refused to open for her, but her hacking software was already worming its way into the security system. A thought to her capsule lowered the energy field, and Sol-Dan and Mir-Bir stepped inside without resistance. Triltan felt a little uncomfortable, locking them away, but she thought it was for the best, for all of them.

  She didn't want to think about it, but had her rifle been raised she could have quite easily fired on the charging Sol-Dan, killing him instead of only knocking him off his feet. She wasn't like Arthur and the others, she'd never killed anybody except a few of the mindless spider creatures deep beneath the surface of a frozen alien world. To imagine killing someone like her, an actual person capable of independent thought made her sick to her stomach.

  Triltan returned to the security station, choosing not to look behind her as she did so. The scanner had already broken through the console's defences and changed the display to the Teleri language. Within minutes, Triltan was watching a recording of an interrogation.

  The video showed one of the technicians attaching a series of pads to the suspects head. A second technician then worked at a console as the suspect writhed and screamed in pain, pleading his innocence and begging for mercy. A moment later, the display changed to show the data being removed from the suspect's memory, a continuous stream of disjointed images and sounds. Intermittently the technicians would comment or prompt the suspect with a question, causing the images to reflect an unspoken answer. Whatever the suspect had been accused of, the images had satisfied the technicians that he was guilty and at that point the stream ended.

  There were several more files to examine but Triltan didn't think she could face it. The suspect had clearly been in a great deal of pain and distress and it had only lasted minutes. Arthur, Lance and Gwen had been inside the birthing pods for over sixteen hours. Had they been in similar pain the whole time? She wanted desperately to be able to speak to them, to let them know that Caran Doc was on his way and that everything was going to be alright. But did she know that for a fact? Was everything going to be alright?

  With a new-found sense of urgency, Triltan detached the scanner from the security console and began searching for one of the interrogation rooms. She found one behind the second door she opened.

  The room appeared unimposing at first glance. A single chair in the centre, straps attached to the arms and legs. Opposite the chair stood a raised semicircular console, its screen dark without power, and a collection of cables trailing behind it towards the chair. It was only when Triltan stepped inside the room that the lingering scents of fear and desperation invaded her nostrils, a bitter tang that hit the back of her throat. Not knowing if the odour was real or imaginary, Triltan did her best to dismiss it and tried to focus on the task at hand.

  She connected her scanner to the console and powered it on. She analysed the hardware first, focussing on the pads that attached to the suspect's skull. There were a total of eight pads, though it appeared that not all of them needed to be used at once to extract memories. Humans, as she had discovered, only had two major hemispheres to their brains and so two pads were often sufficient. From the pads, a series of nanowires snaked through the skull and soft tissues into the brain itself, worming their way into various areas just like her own capsule had done when inserted all those years ago.

  The nanowires fed raw data back to the console, where a combination of hardware and software translated it into images and sounds. Understanding exactly how that worked was going to take some time, and hopefully wouldn't be beyond her. She had to try though, her friends were counting on her.

  Triltan was just beginning to analyse the code when a second, short high-pitched burst of sound startled her. It came and went as quickly as before, but she couldn't determine exactly where it came from. It wasn't an alarm or coming from the security system in front of her, and if she hadn't been so distressed by Sol-Dan's attack she would have thought about it sooner. Now that she did think about it, it seemed to have come from right next to her, and the only sounds that felt like that were ones relayed through her capsule.

  Triltan quickly reviewed the sound and found that it had been sent directly from Arthur's capsule to hers. Upon analysing it, she discovered that it sounded so high pitched because it had been highly compressed, and slowing it down allowed her to listen to his message.

  “Triltan, are you there?” Arthur's voice said into her ear. “Our capsules are working again so why can't you hear me? You have to get us out. Tell your father to do whatever it takes. The AI, Mor-Dred, it's insane. We're counting on you. Please hurry.”

  They were alive! For the first time since stepping off the Vanguard, Triltan allowed herself to finally feel what she had been longing to feel.

  Hope.

  With a flurry of excitement, she responded to Arthur's message and redoubled her efforts to understand the system before her, finally allowing herself to imagine that it really was going to be alright.

  *****

  “You're not Joseph of Arimathea!” Arthur exclaimed.

  The man leant forwards, his hand to the side of his mouth as whispered to Merlin, “Smarter than he looks, this one, though I suppose that's not saying much.”

  “What is this trickery?” Merlin demanded. “We were to be treated fairly in our pursuit of the Grail?”

  “And so you will be,” Joseph replied. “Is it because I'm a younger, better looking version or yourself, Merlin? I'd never have thought you so vain!”

  “Enough of this nonsense,” Merlin continued. “Arthur, I'm sorry but this has been a complete waste of time.”

  We have them, the fragment hissed. They have to play the game!

  “Leave now,” Joseph announced, “and you will never see your friends again. I promise you, the Grail is hidden behind these walls and you are more than capable of finding it. I, I mean King Mor-Dred of course, is patiently awaiting your return.”

  “Why make us travel all this way?” Arthur asked angrily. “If you wanted to test us you could have done it back at Camelot. Why all, this?”

  “You're on a quest!” Joseph explained, his hands gesticulating his excitement. “There are rules, doctrines, ancient conventions. They all have to be followed! If you don't journey to find your prize, face trials and tribulations beyond measure, any victory you achieve will be hollow! You are on the grandest of quests, Arthur, and so you must be tested!”

  As he finished speaking, Joseph's face became dark and serious, all gesticulations stopping instantly. Make them suffer! the fragment was shouting inside of him. Make them hurt!

  “So what now?” Arthur continued, his tone a little less angry and a lot more unsettled. “What trials are we to face?”

  “The trials,” Joseph muttered to himself. “Oh, the trials! Just you wait and see! But first I must invite you into my home. There will be feasting, frivolity, such good, good times! And then, tomorrow, you'll most likely die. Aren't you excited?”

  “No more, Mor-Dred,” Merlin complained. “Enough with the games. Just let us get on with
the trials and return to our companions.”

  “I am inviting you into my home,” Joseph said sternly, raising an eyebrow. “I'm doing my best to be a kind and gracious host. Do you want me to be ungracious, Merlin? I can be, if you wish?”

  “No, it's okay,” Arthur said quickly, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. “Let's just do it your way. We'll do what you want as long as Gwen and Lance are safe.”

  “I said alive,” Joseph reminded them with a chuckle. “Let's not get ahead of ourselves.”

  Joseph turned and, with a mock bow and flamboyant wave of his arm, invited Arthur and Merlin inside. The house was like nothing Arthur had ever seen. The floor was made of white marble and there was wood panelling to the walls. Grand portraits hung on every wall depicting images of Mor-Dred in a variety of locales. The largest picture, framed in gold, showed him slaying Arthur on the Fields of Camlann.

  The wide hallway leading from the front door ended in an enormous staircase which curved left and right as it rose. Instead of ascending though, Joseph led them around it and through another set of double doors behind. Through the door was a grand ballroom where long tables had been arranged, covered in all manner of delicacies. There were two suckling pigs, turning on their spit, surrounded by other meats, fish and vegetables. One table was dedicated to fruits, pastries and deserts, while another was positively overflowed with wines and mead.

  “Who else are you expecting?” Arthur asked as he took it all in.

  “No one,” Joseph replied with a smile. “Oh, don't worry, I don't expect you to eat all of it, I just didn't know what you'd both enjoy. Come on, come in and eat your fill!”

  Joseph walked towards the nearest table and helped himself to a plate, piling it high with whatever took his fancy. Arthur and Merlin stayed back, waiting for the opportunity to speak to each other.

  “He's insane,” Arthur whispered as soon as he felt it was safe. “I've messaged Triltan again, she needs to get us out of here.”

  “Not long now,” Merlin replied. “We just need to play his game for a little while longer. Caran Doc must be close.”

  “I hope so,” Arthur said. “You heard what he said, he expects the trials to kill us. What happens if we die in here? Is that it, or do our bodies keep living? Can we even die in the simulation or is it just another part of his twisted game?”

  “I don't think we should be in a hurry to find out,” Merlin remarked. Ever since entering the house he had developed an overwhelming sense of dread, a terror deep in his chest that wanted desperately to surface. They were in danger, no doubt about it, but they'd been in danger before and he had never felt anything quite like it. Something was coming, that's was it, something terrible that he was powerless to stop.

  “What are you two whispering about?” Joseph shouted, interrupting them. “I do hope you're not planning on double crossing me?”

  The look of amusement on Joseph's face served only to ignite Arthur's anger once more. “Don't worry,” Arthur replied. “I'd rather look you in the eyes as I kill you than stab you in the back.”

  “That's the spirit!” Joseph replied with a chuckle. “Now eat something before I change my mind.”

  Arthur and Merlin followed Joseph's example, helping themselves to a plate before choosing a selection of food. Joseph then directed them to sit at the high table in a position of honour; the two central seats. Once seated, Joseph returned to stand in the centre of the ballroom, turning his attention back towards the high table.

  “Arthur, Merlin,” Joseph began, looking down at his plate of food with confusion before throwing it casually over his shoulder. “Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin.

  “You've had a long and tortuous journey to reach the shores of my island home. What perils await you inside? What dangers must you overcome? Will either of you will survive, hmm? All these questions and more will soon be answered!

  “Now, when I invited you into my home you expressed a desire to begin the trials post haste. And so, it gives me great pleasure to announce that your wish has been granted! Behold, Arthur and Merlin! Let the trials begin!”

  With a sweeping gesture Joseph vanished before them. As Arthur and Merlin looked on, the food upon all the tables slowly turned into sand, overflowing onto the floor. Within seconds the ballroom was knee-deep in sand with no sign of slowing.

  Arthur climbed onto the high table before helping Merlin climb up after him. “Thanks!” Arthur yelled to the otherwise empty room.

  “Oh dear,” Merlin mumbled as he watched the sand climb ever higher. “I suppose the old adage is true; you really should be careful what you wish for.”

  Chapter 9

  The Art of War

  Earth Year 6239

  “Merlin, do you trust me?” Arthur asked hurriedly, his eyes darting left and right as he searched for the quickest route from the ballroom.

  “Of course, my King,” Merlin began to say, but before the sentence had passed his lips Arthur had already tossed him unceremoniously over his shoulder. Merlin squealed as Arthur took a running leap from the high table towards the table nearest the entryway. The sand was already as high as their waists, and with every step Arthur sank deeper, each movement more difficult than the last.

  With grim determination Arthur pressed on, driving himself forwards as the sand continue to flow from the rapidly hidden tables. He groaned with every step, swearing in frustration as he edged closer to the entryway. Once he felt he was close enough, Arthur lifted Merlin above his head and threw him to safety, the older man's body making a soft thump as it hit the shifting sands before sliding into the hallway to safety.

  The sand now up to his chest, Arthur forced himself onwards, his arms pulling his body through the sand like a swimmer. His feet had long since lost purchase on the table, and there was nothing more he could do but press onwards, eyes fixed upon his goal. He could see Merlin in the entryway, fighting to get to his feet as the sand continued to move and shift beneath him.

  “Hurry, Arthur!” Merlin screamed, one arm holding the wall whilst his other reached as far as he could into the disappearing room. “Take my hand!”

  Arthur reached forwards, the sand at his chin and continuing to rise. His arms flailed wildly, seeking to find something, anything to hold on to. Try as he might to keep them open, his eyes closed as the sand crept past his nostrils and up his cheeks, seeping into the delicate folds of his lower lids. He was lost in the darkness, buried alive.

  Suddenly a hand found his, fingertips touching as each man scrambled to find purchase. Seconds seemed like hours as their fingers interlocked and each pulled against the other, Merlin's ageing arms at breaking point as he pulled Arthur towards him. With a last-ditch effort, Merlin pulled with all his might and both men tumbled, sliding down the flowing wall of sand and out into the space behind the winding staircase.

  “You're stronger than you look,” Arthur panted, each word punctuated with a heavy intake of breath. He was red faced and covered in a fine coating of silicate, but his admiration for the older man was plain to see.

  “And you're stronger than I realised,” Merlin replied, equally breathless. “Don't you dare throw me like that again!”

  Arthur chuckled before coughing, the sand irritating the back of his throat. “I'll try not to,” he said wryly. “But the way today's going, I can't make any promises.”

  “Duly noted,” Merlin muttered with a slow shake of his head.

  “So what's next?” Arthur asked as he got to his feet. He offered Merlin a hand which was gratefully accepted.

  “As I recall, the grail was hidden in catacombs deep beneath the castle,” Merlin replied. “Perhaps we should look for a way down?”

  “Or we could just ask them?” Arthur suggested as he moved to put himself between Merlin and the black-clad soldiers running towards them.

  *****

  Gwen had been pacing the small cell for what seemed like hours, walking in circles as she waited for news, answers, anything. T
he sound of the lock turning from the other side of the door drew her attention immediately, and she was already moving towards the door as it swung slowly inwards.

  She expected to see Lance or the jailer, but instead the doorway was blocked by two of the identical guards who wasted no time walking towards her. Each guard grasped one of her arms and dragged her backwards, pinning her against the opposite wall. “Get off of me,” Gwen demanded as she struggled in vain to free herself. “Let me go.”

  “All in good time,” the jailer announced as he joined her in the cell, an air of awkwardness about him she had never witnessed before. “I wanted to explain my side of the story first, I'm sure you understand?”

  “Story?” Gwen mumbled with confusion, though the connotations of the jailer's words quickly became apparent.

  As the jailer stepped to one side, two further identical guards dragged Lance through the doorway and laid him at her feet, or at least what was left of him. His normally blue face was a bloody mess, as was his chest, but that wasn't the worse thing she saw. The blacked arm she had tried so hard to care for was missing, and in its place was a ragged, burnt stump.

  “Lance!” Gwen screamed, fighting harder against her captors though try as she might they hardly moved. “What have you done to him?”

  She had a look of such fury, such anger, the jailer himself was stunned by it. It took him a moment to regain his composure along with his feelings of arrogance and authority. “I, erm,” he began. “I, well, I broke him.”

  Gwen stopped fighting, her body going limp as she looked down at her fallen friend, willing him to still be alive despite all he had endured.

  “In my defence,” the jailer continued, his confidence growing with every word. “I didn't mean to. It was just his pain, his screams, I, I couldn't help myself. You'll tell him, won't you? You'll tell the King it wasn't my fault?”