Nemura

We were invited to yet another conference. Hordes of judgmental expressions surrounded us on high definition screens. Unlike last time, however, I was free to speak, and I intended to give the Pirate King a piece of my mind.

“Welcome all,” Ulysses said. “I apologize for the relative silence from Circe since our operation at Hadrian. By all accounts, the mission was a success, and I have simply been plotting our next move.”

Ulysses foisted the Caxton Manuscript for all to see. Stubborn and impatient faces softened into shock and awe. The Caxton’s brimming electric blue surface captivated the audience.

“I know some of you have been skeptical of my motives,” Ulysses said. “But rest assured, the Caxton Manuscript has finally been found. I hope this proves my commitment to our cause, and that this serves as currency to purchase your loyalty for our next endeavor.”

Ulysses set the manuscript aside on his command console and thumbed the nearby analog terminal. Nemura blinked to life above the display panel and approached the screen, her feet leaving a trail of digital confetti. Some of the unhappy faces in the meeting returned.

“I also hope that this proves my intelligence was reliable,” Nemura said. “Because there’s more that I intend to divulge to the rest of you, now that the Caxton is in your possession.”

“This is Nightwing,” I declared. I tried to ignore the surprised looks. “You can start by telling us how you found the manuscript in the first place.”

“The Federation prefers to keep its methods secret.”

Nemura’s response told me everything I needed to know.

“Ulysses,” I said. “You need to ask this AI for her source.”

Nemura’s body flickered. Or maybe it was just the connection. I doubted it.

“Her source?” Ulysses asked.

“The insider that provided the location of the Caxton to her,” she said.

“How can you be so certain? The Federation could have cracked the Caerleon security network.”

“If the Federation had hacked the imperial battle net, she would have happily divulged that information to us.”

“Why?”

“You think anyone here has the processing speed to crack Avalon?” I laughed. “If the Federation can’t do it, then nobody here can, and if Nemura is unwilling to inform us of a feat that we ourselves cannot accomplish, then it means telling us that the Federation can do it would be a lie.”

“Or,” Ulysses suggested, “maybe she just doesn’t want to tell us.”

“You can’t be this naive,” I said. “Federation AI aren’t complex organisms. They’re predictable because they’re limited by well understood rules of engagement.”

“Excuse me,” a member of the audience spoke up. It was Friede. “If they’re so predictable, then how come you guys got your shit kicked in during the civil wars?”

A round of predictable snickers made the rounds, but Friede, on the other hand, looked genuinely curious.

“If you correctly predicted a solar storm, Kindred Lancer,” I answered, “what instrumentation aboard your ship could protect you from it?”

“We’re going around in circles,” Ulysses frowned.

“Then stop questioning my judgment and ask Nemura for her source,” I snarled. “Maybe you’ll be surprised to learn that I’m right.”

“Nemura,” Ulysses sighed. “Where does your information come from?”

At this point, Nemura possessed two choices. Pause for more than a fraction of a second, and Ulysses would realize that she was hesitant to share where she had gotten her intelligence from. Or, she could answer immediately and pretend that she had nothing to hide.

“Your colleagues believe I have something to hide,” Nemura responded. “They are wrong. My intelligence comes from a key member of Prince Arthur Pendragon’s inner circle.”

“Stop stalling,” I demanded. “Who?”

“The Senior Executive of the Prime Matrix. Merlin.”

The name felt like a slap in the face. The last time I had seen Merlin, Arthur’s personal AI, the old man had presented a slideshow showcasing a list of my fabricated crimes.

Merlin’s puffed up title was more than fancy theatrics. He represented one of the key concessions of the civil war, a war where the Federation of H achieved sentient independence and beat the Caerleon Imperium into submission. At the end of the war, the Federation demanded that the successor to the throne be guided by a member of what they called the “Prime Matrix,” a plan designed to maintain political equilibrium in the known universe.

“That’s not possible,” I hissed. “Merlin would be disobeying Federation guidelines to share state secrets with you. He must be violating the mandates of the Prime Matrix.”

“Merlin does not act rationally when he is with me,” Nemura said. “Artificial life is also capable of experiencing that which appears unique to human life. Merlin loves me. More accurately, he is obsessed with me. To that end, he will share anything with me as long as it satisfies me.”

“Bullshit.”

“You must already be aware that I am incapable of bullshit,” Nemura smiled. “Are you upset that this is the truth, or that I so easily allowed you to have it?”

“That’s enough,” Ulysses cut us off. “Nightwing, I hope Nemura’s candidness is adequate, because that’s all you’re getting. Let’s proceed.”

“You now have the Caxton Manuscript in your possession,” Nemura explained. “What remains now is twofold. First, you must undo the locking mechanism that shackles the Caxton in place. Second, you must acquire the secondary text, the Winchester Manuscript, in order to bisect the location of the Chalice of Time.”

“Hold on,” Friede interrupted. “Ulysses, how much have you told her about us?”

“Your condition is already known to us,” Nemura answered on Ulysses’s behalf. “Your king has told me nothing. Federation instruments can accurately date the wavelength of you and your ships within three solar years of your original timeline. I told you our interests were aligned.”

“Yeah?” Friede asked. “And how so?”

“Your position in a timeline not in your own introduces entropic imbalances that harm the function and purpose of the Prime Matrix. You wish to return to your timelines. We wish to prevent unnecessary timespace imbalances.”

“Right,” Friede murmured. “I totally got that.”

“Fortunately for all of us,” Nemura continued. “The facility to unlock the Caxton’s energy shielding as well as the location of the Winchester Manuscript are one and the same. It is a Federation facility two and a half radii away from this current galactic center.”

“Isn’t that convenient?” I rolled my eyes. “The Federation possesses the Winchester Manuscript? Really?”

“Correction,” Nemura said. “The original Winchester’s location is unknown. The Federation of H does, however, possess a redistributable digital copy at the aforementioned facility, codenamed The Black Cathedral. I can take you there.”

“Ulysses, this is madness,” I protested. “You cannot be buying this rancid claim.”

“You were the one who mentioned that AIs cannot lie,” the Pirate King shrugged. “What about her testimony seemed off to you?”

“You don’t think the pieces are coming together all too easily?”

Ulysses slammed the edge of his console.

“Easily? It’s coming together easily?” his eyes grew wild. “Look around you, Elaine. Don’t look at me. Look at the wearied faces beside me, beside you. Look at your crew, the ones who have placed their dangling faith in your hands. How long have we been searching for a way home? You think this road has been tread easily, that we have traveled from planet to planet, in chase of phantoms and remnant echoes of an impenetrable lost age, enjoying luxuries and pleasantries? Is that what you think?”

“I am merely saying you are not yourself and you are leading your people–”

“Do not speak of my people as if you care about them as I do. I am more myself at this moment than I ever have been,” Ulysses roared. “You are a recent spectator, Elaine, believing yourself to have the experience of your elders, when in fact you possess none, none at all. Please do not trivialize our struggle, the payoff of decades of searching. You think it’s coming together because you have been here mere weeks. The rest of us see this as just providence for the lives we have given to finding our way home.”

I did look around. I saw Friede’s pained expression; she looked the way one looks at a portrait of a loved one during a funeral. Alexis’s downcast gaze revealed the truth, that no amount of love for a galactic superstar could triumph over the love of home. I saw the way that Stephen, Vladimir, and even Emiko withdrew from my eyes, and knew that in their hearts, even against all reason, they felt the same as Ulysses.

This was the moment I realized why they had made him the Pirate King, because he was the only one among us with the courage to voice the silent wishes of a people.

It was also the moment I knew that I was the only one that could avert disaster.

“You’re going to be the death of us all.”