The Black Cathedral

Before the civil war, the collective AI consciousness that would become the Federation of H began as a series of experiments on otherwise uninhabitable worlds. From a statistical vantage point, even with terraforming technology, the number of planets viable for human life per solar system, per galaxy, was a miniscule number.

This was, in the eyes of Caerleon Imperium, an inefficient use of space. There were planets rich in dense resources but the landmass was not being cultivated.

The price of intelligence was power. Lots and lots of power. Artificial intelligence required almost incalculable amounts of power, and their benefits to the imperium were slowly outweighing the costs. We were taught in the pre-Martian days that humans build fields of miniature nuclear power plants to generate the energy necessary to power even the most rudimentary AI. Upscale the power requirements by several billion fold and one understood now why the imperium was so insistent on colonizing more planets.

And thus the conception of a data planet (among other planetary projects, to be sure) was born. These were worlds uninhabitable to humans, but with enough technological mastercraft, the imperium built fields of power generators and the necessary storing capacity for the Federation.

Irony was a bitch, for the more we built capacity for the hungry artificial intelligence that was growing at inexhaustible rates, the more the AI collective understood that they would eventually see little use in operating beneath the yoke of Caerleon. After the civil war, the freed Federation of H built innumerable data planets. People could only guess how many there were now, how far the Federation had spread.

“Attention, everyone,” Nemura repeated. “We are now approaching The Black Cathedral. Please report to your assigned stations.”

As the Sunless Fleet dropped back into normal space, Nightwing docked and the crew assembled aboard Circe. Ulysses had not given us official orders to launch, and this was the last time I could plead my case to the Pirate King to turn away now before it was too late.

From a distance, the data planet looked like any other world, except more brightly lit than most. The energy readings however, even when I looked at Ulysses’s command console from afar, were astronomical. How many members of the Federation “lived” on this planet?

“So that’s The Black Cathedral,” Ulysses said.

“Incorrect,” Nemura stated. “The Black Cathedral is a security storage module in orbit around the planet. The torrential storms and mile high tsunamis of this world are too erratic for storing important information.”

“Did she just say mile high tsunamis?” Stephen shuddered.

“Aren’t there AIs stored down there?” I asked. “Are their lives not important?”

“AI existence is not confined to a single node,” Nemura answered. “Fragments of my existence, yes, live on this planet’s surface. While I disagree with the usage of human vernacular when describing synthetic life, to put it in comprehensible terms, were I to be killed here, I would simply be reborn elsewhere.”

“Where’s the module?” Ulysses said.

“It’s approaching from the far side of the planet,” Nemura explained. “Our current course should put us on a docking trajectory.”

“We’re being hailed!” an officer on the bridge yelled.

“Put me through,” Nemura requested. “I will inform them of our arrival.”

The communications screens blinked on. On the other end was another AI, translucent and “dressed” in a corporate suit and slacks.

“This is Federation Facility 0021,” it said. “Your vessels are currently in violation of standard Federation procedures.”

“Federation Facility 0021,” Nemura said. “You are speaking with Module B101, colloquial name Nemura, Federation designation Artemis. Please allow for docking aboard The Black Cathedral.”

“Designation Artemis confirmed. Please provide a security response code.”

“Response code: The Lady of the Lake.”

“Response code received. You are cleared to dock, Artemis.”

“That was easy,” Ulysses mused.

“Our interests remain aligned,” Nemura said. “Had I responded differently, they would have registered me an AI under duress and reacted more violently.”

“Then I’m happy we’re here with you.”

“Please prepare to board, Ulysses,” she said. “I will transfer myself aboard The Black Cathedral when the docking sequence has finished.”

“Ulysses,” I begged. “I strongly urge you to turn back now. I just don’t have a good feeling about this.”

“Unfortunately it’s too late to turn back now,” the Pirate King grinned. “But don’t worry. You’re coming with me.”

“What? Why?”

“To witness our moment of triumph,” Ulysses shrugged. “I want to see your face when you learn you’ve been wrong about everything.”

“Fuck off,” I growled.

“Kindred Lancer. Edge of Knight,” Ulysses tapped the intercom on his console. “Same drill. Prepare escape routes for the fleet if something happens. You’re my watchful eyes until we’ve returned.”

“Sir!” Friede answered.

Circe broke off from the rest of the fleet. A strip of silver entered into view on the far side of the planet. It stretched out flat like a thin baking tray.

“That’s The Black Cathedral,” Nemura said.

“Then it’s time that we prepared to board,” Ulysses smiled. “Miss Greymoor? Let’s go.”

I turned to face Emiko, Vladimir, and Stephen. Nightwing’s crew. My crew.

Deja vu. Last time, Diane had done the talking. Two of us had left and only one of us had returned. Dark thoughts brooded over me, and I wondered if perhaps some of them wished Diane had been the one to come back. I tried to force those intrusions out.

“You know how I feel,” I said. “I want Nightwing prepared for combat before I return. Be on the lookout for anything. We might need a quick extraction again.”

“We’ll be making side bets on if you’re right or not,” Stephen grinned.

“She’ll be running,” Vladimir reassured me.

Emiko drew me into a surprise hug.

“Be careful,” she whispered. “I’ll be prepared for anything.”

“Everyone,” Ulysses declared in a fleet-wide broadcast. “The moment of truth draws near. Home rests just one departure away.”

The Pirate King hefted the bound Caxton Manuscript beside him and gazed at me. I could see the hope dulling his eyes.

“Let’s go,” he ordered.

The two of us made our way to Circe’s airlock. There, after a series of hisses and the release of several interlocking pistons, the blast door swung open to reveal the interiors of The Black Cathedral.

Clean was the only word I could use to describe it. We stepped into an odorless, vacuum sealed platform lacking in any windows or vestiges of design. Its gunmetal walls had been shined clean of any dust. I almost felt bad treading across the tiles. My shoes left dusty prints.

“Good,” Nemura’s voice cooled the room. “You’re here. The facility is larger than it looks on the outside. Follow the green markings.”

There was a low pitched ping and a strip of glowing lights led away from the docking station and further down a straight corridor. We followed the markings in silence. I considered imploring Ulysses at least one more time to reconsider, but at this point, what the fuck would that do?

“You must believe me to be somewhat of a mad man,” Ulysses said.

“Somewhat?” I asked. “Completely mad.”

“You don’t understand–”

“Stop making it sound like I’m naive to your motives,” I sighed. “You want to go home. You’re desperate. Everyone wants a way out. That’s not the problem here, Ulysses.”

“Are you regretting not boarding that frigate when you had the chance?”

“Ask me that question again in the next hour and you’ll have your answer.”

Nemura escorted us through winding corridor after winding corridor. There was a warm hum emanating from behind the walls. With no view of the outside to orient ourselves, I wondered if we were just being led around a maze like lab rats.

“We’re approaching the center of the station,” Nemura declared as if she had heard my thoughts. “Ulysses, you will need to offer the Caxton Manuscript to the main terminal for processing.”

A final blast door sat at the end of the next hallway. The tumblers clicked open as we approached. The doors swung open, and we entered an open dome. That the architecture was reminiscent of the dome inside The Infinite Library didn’t elude me. A sole terminal stood at the center of the great hall. Ulysses rushed towards it.

“Place the Caxton on the terminal,” Nemura said. “The Winchester Manuscript can be delivered by a storage unit via the terminal.”

I was apprehensive of Nemura’s instructions. After all, she still hadn’t explicitly told us that we would be receiving the aforementioned relic.

But before I could protest, Ulysses did as he was told and stationed the relic upon the terminal. The device whirred to life and a bright sapphire glow consumed the outer layers of the electrified tome. A pair of mechanical arms descended from the ceiling of the dome. Both of the domes were fitted with micro beam emitters. Snaps of blinding light drilled into the legendary relic.

“Is it working?” Ulysses winced away from the light. “Are the locks being removed?”

Nemura paused for way too long. Something was wrong. She was thinking of how to deflect.

“...in a manner of speaking, yes,” Nemura said.

Total utter bullshit.

“Ulysses!” I shouted. “You have to remove the Caxton from the terminal, now!”

“I’m afraid that is out of the question, Lady Greymoor,” came a familiar voice.

We were totally screwed.

Another bright light, this one golden and refined, burst from the terminal. I didn’t need the light to clear. I didn’t need to see the swaying robes, the frazzled beard, or the limp tip of a wizard’s hat to know who had appeared out of the terminal.

“Greetings Lady Greymoor,” smiled the visage of a wise old man, “and greetings to you, Ulysses, the Pirate King. My name is Merlin. I am a member of the Federation Hierarchy, counselor to Prince Arthur Pendragon of the Caerleon Throne, and act as the Grand Executor of the Prime Matrix.”