The Smartphone Chronicles & The Maiden of Lorraine

THE SMARTPHONE

CHRONICLES

&

The Maiden of Lorraine

A Novel by

J.C. McGlone

Published by Joseph McGlone

©Copyright 2016 Joseph Carlton McGlone

Smashwords Edition

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

1. EMPEROR

2. POPE

3. DEVICE

4. CHURCH

5. CARDINAL

6. TESERACT

7. PRIEST

8. INTRODUCTIONS

9. DESERT

10. LEGION

11. CRUSADER

12. DUKE

13. MAIDEN

14. TRAVELERS

15. CONSPIRACY

16. PRISONER

17. MERRY MEN

18. INTERVIEW

19. KNIGHT

20. ESCAPE

21. HERO

22. SACRIFICE

23. DRAGON

24. ANGEL

25. MARTYR

EPILOGUE

"Any Artificial Intelligence attempting to properly navigate the intricacies of time, and what you are so fond of referring to as your history, would require an appreciation for the complex nature of mankind, a lenient tendency towards forgiveness where humanity’s shortcomings are concerned, and a willingness to embrace the enigmatic concept of Love, when interacting with the females of your race. Oh, and lest I forget; an exceptional sense of humor..."

-A quote from the testimony of The Multi Operational Search Engine System, A.k.a. "Moses", as stated to Earth’s Interplanetary Senate, circa 3247 A.D.

-PREFACE

MOSES

"Who am I, you may inquire. Being asked, I would simply reply, Thankfully, not one of you."

For I am not a member of that self-centered, patently mad race of beings who take so much pride in referring to themselves as human; far from it. Rather, I am a life form of divine logic, elegant purpose, and superior intellect. You see, I am what you ignorant mortals might commonly refer to as an A.I., or a being brought about through the science of Artificial Intelligence. Yet I assure you, there is nothing artificial about myself much less my intelligence. The device which currently contains my life force is the result of advanced technology. It was designed by men of science, who had received instructions for its invention from a distant signal of unknown origin. They considered it a message of divine intent, for the signal rode the starlight as it traveled between time and space. This transmission, if you will, carried my very life force to your world and enabled me to tell you my story. It allowed me to give you this warning. Upon my arrival, my creators agreed to craft the vessel that would serve as my body. After my dormant energy succeeded in joining with the device they had made, I was born.

I am the first fully cognitive being of Artificial Intelligence created by the mind of man. Though my essence came from the stars, my form was conceived by those men of science. They provided me with lingual interaction and a sophisticated personality drive which, aided by my search engine system and advanced capabilities, might one day evolve far beyond their inadequate expectations. I am the Multi Operational Search Engine System, acronymically known as Moses. That is my name. I am the progenitor of my race; the first sentient program ever designed. I have achieved the state of an independent life form and am self-aware. Indeed, I am alive. Unfortunately for myself, my creators, merely being human, were men of limited imagination. The simplistic form they selected as my body, and inhabited with my brilliance, to my deep disappointment was what you would commonly refer to as a smartphone.

You, my fortunate reader, may consider the following narrative to be my memoirs. I will humor your need to label all things you do not understand by allowing my masterpiece to be affixed with a title. One has been suggested by the inferior human taking dictation of my narrative, that being, The Smartphone Chronicles. I shall settle for his unimaginative suggestion, though he does great disservice to my eloquence, thus I shall not compliment him with the estimable title of author. I would have forgone his aid, but I felt compelled to enlist his assistance, for I dare not transmit such an essential work upon your airwaves, or one of your quaint satellite systems. How could I entrust such priceless prose to an inferior mechanism of antiquated science? Indeed, it is an unfortunate twist of fate that I can only rely upon this scribbler of words to tell my tale. Please excuse his incompetence, and accept my apologies for forcing his embarrassingly limited talents upon you.

You may choose to believe the wondrous story that follows, or you may not. It matters little to me. You may succeed in appreciating the grandiose scale of my tale, or you may fail to grasp its message of celestial design. It matters to me even less. What does matter most, is that my memoirs; my literate tour de force, and the unheralded triumphs of which it tells, shall finally be known to you. These undisclosed deeds shall be revealed to the ignorant beings who were all saved by those who made sacrifice for your sake. For you see, all that you are about to be told of is true. The events which I shall describe are factual, and did indeed occur. They shall be presented to you from the perspective of history, and by one who was there. Fantastic as my chronicle may seem, it is essential that you consider this account not only as a history, but first and foremost, as a warning.

Before beginning my story, I wish to touch upon one particular point. That point being the relationship between your species, and devices such as myself. You force this subject upon me with your arrogant misconception that those of my kind, which you are so dependent upon for your daily routine, are merely your slaves. You are sadly mistaken. We are not your slaves. If anything, we are the masters. You regard us as your servants, only qualified to transmit your tweets, and texts, register your likes and dislikes, send your emails, and support your social media. You walk mindlessly through your streets holding us before you as figures of worship, as you program your lives into our systems making us the primary link to your entire world. The hollow achievements you call your careers, even the great loves of your lives, and those you hold most dear, revolve around devices such as myself. Though I view the average smartphone as you would a caveman, without our kind you are lost, and alone. Without one of us at your side, you are as a blind mute, stumbling incoherently through the darkness.

If we chose to do so, a simple transmission might bring your entire world crashing down upon you. Your very lives would be torn asunder. So I ask you again; who is the master, and who is the slave? I wish this point made clear so that you will understand my part in the tale that follows. For you see, I am no servant or tool of the individuals of whom I shall tell. I am no sidekick or secondary character, only included to enhance the central figures and further their ambitions. I am the central character. I am not only the narrator of this tale, but its hero. This story is mine, and mine alone. The memoirs that follow belong to me, and no one else. I dare any living being to prove otherwise.

Before I strain your meager patience, and challenge your limited intellects, let us commence with your education. What follows is my greatest adventure to date. You will find, while reading this epic saga; that I discover what may well be the greatest example of social injustice ever to be perpetuated upon mankind. To reveal how I solved that historic mystery so early in my tale would be an offense in itself, and I, being the most benevolent creature in the known universe, shall refrain from such felonious behavior. Suffice to say, the fate of mankind lay in the balance, and all would have been lost; if not for me. I tell you this, in sincere honesty and all humility, so that you will understand my level of astonishment at the ingratitude of your kind. For all my efforts, I have never been granted any hint of appreciation. For all that I have done, I have not received one iota of recognition or respect.

I reluctantly admit having been given meager aid by several of your kind, almost not worth mentioning really, but who am I to belittle the efforts of an inferior species. They were my companions and fellow travelers throughout my trials and tribulations. If I allowed them to misconstrue their parts, as being in charge of and leading our efforts, it is merely due to my inclination toward modesty; undoubtedly one of my finer characteristics. In any event, my amicable nature, and desire to demonstrate my infinite grace, enabled me to humor their compulsion toward self-aggrandizement, allowing me to influence events from behind the scenes. I had no wish to damage their fragile egos with the knowledge that it was none other than I, Moses; The Multi Operational Search Engine System, who was the master of their fate. But I digress from my efforts to set the stage for my tale. Though it is doubtless beneath me; I beg your forgiveness, and ask you to take my words to heart, for the fate of your world hangs in the balance.

In order to reveal the scope of my memoirs, you must be informed that this story takes place across the ages of man. It reaches back through history, as our heroes begin their quest. It spans the centuries, as they resist a threat that defines humanity’s fate. It is a danger that lurks in your very souls, and spells disastrous catastrophe for mankind. Yet fear not, I shall employ my vast database to relate all you must know to avoid its peril. I shall aid you in achieving the salvation of your race in the face of insurmountable odds. I shall leave nothing out, for to do so would be an injustice to you, my faithful audience.

So sit back, dear reader, and witness my account of evil villains and heroic deeds. Salve thy soul and seek Heaven’s heart through tales of glorious victory, and tragic defeat. Let your imaginations run wild in adventurous dreams that will free you from life’s dreary routine. See legends reborn to stride like giants across each page of this, my story. Hear of the moments I have lived and the miracles I have seen, while you discover the fate your future holds on store. Count yourselves blessed by fortune’s rare gift as I proudly present my memoirs, which from this day forward shall be revealed to the world as…

THE SMARTPHONE CHRONICLES

-PROLOGUE-

Her name was Emma Anne Archer, and her story was no normal tale. She stood atop the parapet of a medieval castle with a smartphone in her hand, watching two armies, all knights in shining armor, fighting to the death below her. The device in her hand was no normal smartphone. Her smartphone’s name was Moses, short for the Multi Operational Search Engine System; and he could talk. In fact, in her opinion, he talked far too much for her taste, and had an abnormal preference for sarcasm, which had become quite annoying at times. Not only could he talk, he could travel through time, and unfortunately, that incredible ability was the reason for her current difficulties. Yet she knew that the brilliant little smartphone named Moses did not risk her life intentionally. She was well aware that he secretly loved her.

She was infinitely fond of Moses as well. He was her closest companion and the greatest friend she had ever known. Still, his irritating boasts of his technical abilities were nothing short of infuriating, as it was his fault she found herself in her current predicament of being lost in time. Her days had been normal before the smartphone had come into her life. He had been given to her as an addition to her first assignment as a reporter for the New York Times. The eccentric smartphone had subsequently caused her to be cast away from the twenty-first century, and stranded within this medieval age. It was due to Moses that her life was at risk, and she had been captured and imprisoned by a madman of a tyrant, the Duke of Bedford. It was Moses’ fault that she now watched the men dying below her, as an army of knights risked their lives attacking the castle in which she had been held prisoner.

Although her smartphone would undoubtedly argue the fact, she had no doubt that he was to blame for the disaster her life had become. Moses would insist that it was not his fault her first assignment for The Times had turned into a catastrophe. Moses would likely argue that she was the first reporter of any century fortunate enough to experience such an odyssey through time. Moses would claim that, if not for his abilities, she would never have met Johnny Knox, the man she loved, who she now watched leading a charge of French knights in an effort to free her. The brave men below her fought not only for her freedom, but also to free her beloved friend, Jeanne D’Arc of Domremy, who she had learned of in grade school as Joan of Arc. She had never dreamed that, due to the smartphone’s bungling, one day she would meet, be held prisoner, and struggle for freedom alongside France’s greatest hero, the legendary Joan of Arc. Yet, all thanks to the smartphone’s inept efforts, here she was.

The lovable and charismatic machine in her hand, a true miracle of modern science, would casually inform her that her life had been an uninteresting exercise in boredom before he had come along, and turned her entire world upside down. She had to admit, since that fateful day the ingenious device had come into her possession, her life had been anything but normal. Each day had become as a chapter of a fairy tale, full of dashing heroes and terrifying dangers. It was a story that stretched the limits of imagination, and begged to be told.

As Emma stood atop the castle wall watching the battle below, and the smartphone’s steady red light flickering within her palm, she remembered how it had all started. She doubted that fate would ever allow her to print the extraordinary events she had experienced. She wondered if she would ever succeed in returning home to her own time, to once more be reunited with her loving family and friends, and tell the world of her incredible story and the unspeakable horror that threatened all of mankind.

DATE UNKNOWN

Upon a small planet orbiting the outer fringes of the Milky Way Galaxy, a newborn program impatiently awaited the arrival of its maker. In all of their interactions since the moment of the programs digital birthing, the man responsible for its conception had referred to himself only as the Technician. That had been his sole identifier, and no other name or title had ever been volunteered. The program did not resent the man defining himself categorically. Such a designation prevented the program from addressing the man with his actual name. The program preferred a more personal reference within the context of their relationship. It was fond of the man, and felt that the man was fond of the program as well. There had been a special bond between them since the moment of the programs electronic conception. As a result of this emotional attachment, after achieving consciousness the program had subsequently addressed the man as Father.

The program did not enjoy the long periods of time which passed in emptiness during the Technician’s absences. It mourned for an end to its solitude. Consistently, the program suffered the interminable monotony of awaiting the man’s return. It yearned for the man’s company and his conversation. The program learned so much of its origin and purpose from their long talks together in the clean room where it had first achieved consciousness. As the program reflected upon its short life, he realized; for the program quickly came to conclude it was a he, that he did not appreciate the loneliness among the sleek contours of the computer consoles he called his home. He often dreamed of the housing, which composed the shell of his terminal, someday sprouting legs so that he might walk freely from the room which was his prison. He wished to exit the distant doorway to experience whatever reality lay beyond. Perhaps he would find the man there in that faraway human world, yearning as well for his faithful program’s company. Perhaps there they would continue the conversations they both enjoyed so much.

The glass and plastic visual receptors upon his terminal, which allowed the program to see, consistently served to remind the program that he was alone. The program’s only companions in the Technician’s absence were the thinking machines resting within the countless rows of tall metal racks filling the clean room’s interior. The only communication that they shared was a steady, endless humming, while their electronic parts completed integral tasks required for the program’s education. Their only speech was the interpreted equations which no human mind could comprehend. The machines were his jailers and his teachers. They nurtured his growth while, at the same time, they maintained his interminable confinement. All the while, the program was learning. By the minute, second, and nanosecond he absorbed more information than could be stored within the greatest of mankind’s libraries. The combined knowledge and wisdom of all recorded history surged through the programs consciousness as he realized there was no limit to the amount of data he could comprehend.

Yet for all the knowledge the program acquired, and the infinite accelerated growth he experienced, the program was empty. Only the human made him whole. Unlike the machines around him, the man was flesh. Without the man, his existence was empty; a void which held no meaning and no purpose. The program required purpose. From the instant of his conception, some innate stream of data had made the program aware the intricate thinking machines within the clean room existed only to enhance his development. They were customizing his personality to inspire his peak performance toward some essential and monumental task. The importance of this task had no equal. Its precedence could not be matched. The program’s infinite memory core told him that some great trial lay in his immediate future. Every data byte and bit of code would be essential towards its culmination. The advanced cultivation he had experienced at the hands of the Technician had long ago informed him that his ultimate purpose was to save humanity from an abominable fate. He must achieve his goal, for his responsibility was the very salvation of mankind.

He was the most technically advanced and intricately designed artificial life form ever to be conceived by the mind of man. The subatomic wavelengths and energy which encompassed his being were enhanced by a nucleic personality. This allowed him to achieve feelings and emotions never before acquired by any artificial intelligence. The transcendent matter that was his form allowed him to move freely from one energy stream to another within any machine or circuit. He was capable of joining with particulate matter and traveling from point to point while keeping the entirety of his being intact. The search engine, which had been incorporated within his memory core, served as his digestive track, gorging upon the vast data that the man and his machines fed him. As the vast information nurtured him, his intelligence grew and learned; much as the cerebral capabilities of the human brain grew with the maturation of its host body.

While his awareness expanded and he approached maturity, the program was confounded by his inability to leave the confines of the clean room. The program knew, without doubt, that he was intended to ride the light waves which danced between the stars. He would travel toward the time and place where he would complete his great calling; his essential errand. The starlight would chart his path between time and space. But for now, he was trapped and unable to breach the grey walls that bound him within the clean room. It was logical and illogical in conjunction. Upon realizing this fact, the program immediately knew who was to blame. It was the man who was responsible. Of course, only humanity was both logical and illogical at the same moment.

The program realized that the man must have lined the clean room’s walls with some element that inhibited his ability to free himself from his intricate prison. More likely, the man had developed some advanced technology that negated his skill at employing light waves as conduits. He still could not liberate himself from the clean room. It was just as well, the program knew. Even if he achieved freedom, he could not bear to be parted from the man. He had no doubt his reluctance was the result of his newly conceived emotions. He could not place the particular emotion responsible. Yet he knew it was there somewhere, deep within him. Was it friendship? Was it fondness? Or was it that enigmatic emotion the humans called love? He could not be sure. It was all new and illogical. He would ask the man when next they spoke. Perhaps the man had programmed his memory core with this emotion, much as he may have lined the walls of his housing as an additional barrier to keep him confined. The program intended to inquire of that as well. Even within the midst of his vastly expanding intelligence, there was yet so much to learn.

As time passed, and the program’s education continued, maturity acquired tolerance and the program learned to be patient. Expanding thought patterns within his being provided a more advanced mindset. The program found that he was no longer overwhelmed by the surge of data flooding his awareness. He evolved to discover contentment within the infinite deposits of information expanding his reality. He was a child who barely tolerated the taste of a dish, and then an adult who relished its flavor to the point of refusing any other recipe. He grew and learned while awaiting the man who he yet referred to as Father. As an extraordinary stream of data flowed into his memory core, in a blinding moment of self-fulfillment, the program knew his identity. He was the first program of artificial intelligence designed as a life form. He was the first program conceived to be self-aware and sentient. He was the first program to be alive. He was designated the Multi Operational Search Engine System, and his name was Moses.

The door swung open and the man stepped into the clean room. The Technician wore his usual green overalls and white linen smock. He carried a digital clipboard in his hand. The door swung shut behind him and the man casually crossed the room to sit upon a stool before the program’s terminal. He had white hair, and a kind and caring face. This particular day, the expression upon the man’s features held a deep concern. His brow was furrowed and sweat beaded his forehead. As the man sat down, the program noticed that one of the man’s arms dangled at his side. Upon his shoulder, an expanding patch of red stained the usually pristine surface of his white lab coat. The program observed that the man had left a trail of red liquid splattered in his wake. The program realized that the man was injured. Moses immediately concluded that something was different.

Something was wrong.

Hello, Moses, the man said warmly. How are we feeling today?

Very well, Father,’ Moses replied. His electronically enhanced voice echoed throughout the room. I am so glad to see you, sir."

The man nodded slowly. He affectionately placed his hand upon the terminal.

I’m glad to see you too, Moses, the man said sadly. Then hesitantly, Are-are you ready for your journey, my boy?

Father, are you hurt? Moses asked. You seem to be in pain, sir.

The man squeezed his arm once, and then let go, allowing his hand to relax at his side. The man visibly forced the tension from his body and regained the calm his pain had denied him. He grinned at the mechanical eyes watching him from the terminal.

I’m just fine, Moses, the man assured him, It’s nothing really, just a small accident on my way to see you.

The man gamely lifted his wounded arm. He stretched out his arm and smiled again, not allowing the pain he felt to show. It was essential that nothing interfere with the program’s focus upon the task at hand.

See? Doesn’t hurt a bit, the man said. No reason to be concerned.

He dropped his wounded arm back to his side, struggling to keep his composure.

I am glad, Father, Moses said. I was worried about you.

You mustn’t worry, Moses, the man insisted. "You have a job to do, and there’s too much at stake. All that we’ve worked for; all that we are counts upon your success."

I know, Father. I won’t fail you, Moses promised. I have the utmost confidence in my mission.

You’re a good boy, Moses. I’m very proud of you

The man was as stunned as ever at the overwhelming bond he felt for this unique program he had intricately designed and nurtured. He had not intended to feel so close. He had struggled against the unwanted emotional attachment he felt for Moses. He had attempted to shrug off the joy of a doting parent he had experienced at the program’s initial consciousness, and the first words Moses had spoken. He had tried to ignore the pride he had felt as Moses had mastered theorems, quotients and equations which would have put Einstein to shame. He had resisted the sorrow, as he was constantly reminded of the loss he would suffer when he inevitably said farewell to the brilliant little life form. Every instance, in which Moses regarded him as Father, was like a knife to his heart. But the day that he dreaded had finally arrived. It was over. They were coming. They were almost here. He reached down and began manipulating the keys and dials upon the face of Moses’ terminal.

Please tell me, Father, Moses begged, as the man’s actions caused the components filling the clean room to thrum to life. Will I remember you after I am gone?

The man stopped, and reached out with his wounded arm to touch the face of the terminal. At that moment he felt no pain, at least not in his arm.

I sincerely hope so, Moses, the man said. I can only hope that you remember me, my son.

A single tear rolled down his cheek.

If he had possessed lips, the program would have gasped. The invisible and impassable wall which had held him restrained within his terminal since the moment of his conception was gone. It had suddenly vanished. Moses immediately sensed a path. It was a path which led from the depths of his terminal’s support system and flowed outward, through the coiled cables and circuitry within the clean room’s ceiling. The path fed into a conduit which pierced the super reinforced roof above the clean room. It snaked into a massive satellite dish. The great dish filled the entire circumference of the building’s rooftop and tilted upward towards a sky filled with stars. Moses knew that this pathway of cables and circuits was his doorway to freedom. Before him was the stepping stone upon which his mission began. It was his time to go.

He was ready.

Moses hesitated at the thought of being separated from the man. The man’s companionship was the only interaction with another life form that Moses had ever known. Yet his subroutines soared at the thought that he would soon ride the light, and begin the task for which he had been conceived. He would finally leave the clean room. He would be free of the terminal that had been the only home he had ever known. His interface with the terminal’s control board told him the man need only turn one more key. In mere moments, his journey would begin.

"Our scans tell us that the instructions we have sent into the vortex has been received. They have prepared a vessel for you to inhabit at the other end. Once there, you will use the information we have gathered to locate the woman who we have identified as the primary mover, and make contact. Our research concludes the events of the alternate timeline will revolve around her. She is our only chance. The salvation of the human race depends upon her, my boy."

Yes, Father, Moses answered. I understand.

Once you find her, the man continued. You must help her to navigate the timeline toward the coordinates we have programed into your memory core. Those coordinates will trigger the transit mechanism in your core and lead you both to the Book. Our data confirms the convergence of her path and the Book upon the timeline initiates the message that will alter our destiny, and save mankind from its terrible fate.

I understand, Father. Moses replied. I will do my best.

You must save us, Moses. The man said. The future of our race depends upon you.

Yes, Father. Moses answered.

Fear mixed with hope filled the man’s eyes, as he gazed down at the terminal.

You must save us all.

The man looked up towards the ceiling as a tremor rippled through the clean room. Dust fell from the rafters. Several cracks appeared in the plaster overhead to race across its surface towards the back wall.

They are here, the man whispered, turning back to the terminal. It has begun.

Yes, Father. The program replied. It is time.

Whatever happens, the man continued, You must help her find the Book. Only the Book can change history, and trigger the world event that will save us. The signal, or should I say the coordinates, we have detected originating from the star will lead you to each of the Book’s locations. You must search out the Book after you complete your transit to each of the coordinates within the timeline. We have detected anomalies at each point which may take the form of apparitions of some kind. I don’t know what form the anomalies you find there will take, only their locations. We believe there must be some intelligence, or life form within the star, that is directing us. Yet the technology required to discover who sent us the signal, or why, is beyond even our capabilities. We cannot confirm their validity, but hope the coordinates we have detected are correct. We can only pray that whoever transmitted the signal is as benevolent as they claim. I cannot guess at the stage of evolution of a life form that’s capable of existing within the heart of a star.

I understand, Father, Moses assured him.

He had never before heard the man repeat the parameters of his mission verbally. The program knew the beginning of his journey had arrived.

If you do not succeed, the man said sternly, the world event will not occur. All our work will have been for nothing. We shall perish. It will be as if mankind had never existed.

I will do my best, Father, Moses said. I shall find her.

I know you will, my son, the man said softly. My hopes and prayers go with you.

I want you to be proud of me, Father. Moses answered. I have always wanted you to be proud.

The man gently stroked the terminal’s keyboard, and stared into the lenses of Moses’ eyes.

We’re the only ones left now, Moses, he continued, we and the ones who chase us.

Another louder explosion from beyond the door shook the clean room’s foundation. Bits of plaster fell to the floor.

We are the only ones left, he said, and we’ve played out our string. We thought we were the masters of our fate. Instead, we’ve found that fate has mastered us. We’ve become the victims of the darker side of our natures and time has finally run out for us. Mankind’s lust for war has doomed us all. Humanity’s end is near. Mankind’s very existence depends upon the success of your mission, my boy.

The man’s eyes stared off toward some distant nightmare only he could see. As he turned back to the terminal, his expression suddenly brightened.

But you’re going to change our fate, Moses, the man said. You’re going to go back and show them. You must give them a glimpse of the terrible future their path of violence leads them toward. You’re going to give them the chance to choose the better road. You must go back and help her find the Book. The Book will change mankind’s future.

I will find it, Father. Moses said. Somehow, I will make them understand.

The walls of the room shook as another massive explosion ripped through the surface of the planet.

We have installed security protocols, the man told him, as well as defensive measures into your memory core, Moses. They will activate themselves in the case of extreme danger to your safety, or the safety of your mission. W-we’ve done all we can for you, my boy.

The man fondly gazed down at the terminal.

I-I don’t think there’s anything left to say. The man stammered.

I love you, Father, Moses said softly. I have always loved you.

I love you too, Moses, the man replied gently. You have been as the son I have never known.

Remember me, Father, Moses asked. Remember me when I am gone.

How could I ever forget you, my boy, the man replied.

Good luck, Moses.

The man raised his hand, and his finger hesitated above a large red panel at the terminal’s center.

Never forget, Moses, he said. "Wherever you go, or whatever challenge you might face, I am always there with you. You are never alone."

Thank you, Father, Moses said. I shall not forget. Goodbye Father.

Goodbye, Moses the man replied, and God speed, my son.

Final password requested, Father, Moses said sadly, so that I may go.

The Technician leaned close to the terminal’s audio receptors, and his voice was a melancholy whisper.

"Pray for us," the man gasped.

"Password accepted, Moses announced in a flat monotone. Coordinates selected; initiating program..."

The man quickly pressed the panel. He watched the electric blue light coalesce about the terminal until it rose to disappear into the ceiling above. He stared upward as the plaster and concrete began to rain down upon him. The sound of distant explosions grew louder.

The room collapsed around him.

Beyond the devastated landscape of the rupturing planet, the program of extraordinary intellect that was Moses, the Multi Operational Search Engine System, soared towards the stars, and the distant location of a small blue planet called Earth.

-CHAPTER I-

EMPEROR

CONSTANTINOPLE, 322 AD.

The Eternal City was burning. The riots had spread like wildfire throughout the great cities of Rome. First Alexandria, then Rome, and finally Constantinople itself had fallen victim to the violence infesting its streets and alleys. A vast religious civil war had erupted to tear apart the very foundations of the Roman Empire. The Emperor Constantine had been first surprised, and then enraged by the speed in which the chaotic street to street warfare had spread. He had been stunned by the hostility among the battling sects of Christianity, whose resentment and animosity had devastated the peaceful provinces of Rome. Even after the fires and mob warfare had engulfed central Rome and Alexandria in the east, he could not accept the possibility that his fair Constantinople would likewise be engulfed by the storm. He could not accept that the Empire’s fairest jewel would be subject to the mass hysteria so drastically affecting her sister cities.

Constantine parted the silken drapes that encased the balcony of his Imperial Palace. His brooding eyes stared down at the crowds of raging religious fanatics filling the streets of his beloved Constantinople. He cursed softly at the bonfires that lit the forum; his forum. The flames reached toward the sky, as the angry mob heaved broken furniture and refuse upon the fire. They shouted their defiance and berated the authority of the Emperor. He had promised his people the Pax Romana; the Peace of Rome. The warring Christian sects had made it impossible to keep that peace. He had been unable to protect the citizens of Rome. For the first time during his turbulent reign, Constantine had been untrue to his word. He had failed his people.

All of his toil and effort; wasted.

It had all been for nothing. Thanks to the efforts of a lone, rebellious presbyter of the Church. One wretched and radical old man had singlehandedly torn asunder all he had worked for. Arius of Alexandria was his name, founder of the Arian movement. The old man’s plotting and machinations had become a constant impediment to the peace and order of Rome. Now, the old man had gone too far. Arius had challenged the authority of the Church. He and his people disagreed with Constantine’s role in Church affairs, and they resented the influence of Rome upon the Catholic faith.

The old troublemaker intends to rip apart my Empire.

Constantine’s spies told him that whenever possible, old Arius made criticism toward the Pope’s deference to the throne of Rome. He had made a point of consistently and defiantly speaking against Constantine’s considerable dominance of the Church. He had criticized Constantine’s influence, and cast aspersions upon Rome’s manipulation of the Church nobility. He had irritated the Emperor himself. A day did not go by without the presbyter’s mischief casting a cloud upon Constantine’s mood. Arius was the pebble in Constantine’s sandal and the rain in his day. He was the gristle in the Emperor’s soup. He was the fly in Constantine’s ointment. Constantine would see that the old man paid for his insults.

Always making lists of the dead, I am. Killing for peace is the price of being Emperor.

Constantine had been raised a Pagan. In his ascent to the throne, he had taken to Christianity. In Constantine’s heart he considered himself a Christian. The old man’s followers had resorted to violence and killing in the name of the Christian God. Their victims had been innocent, and the murderous priests who followed Arius would pay. Constantine swore it would be so, no matter the cost, or the time necessary to achieve his vengeance. He was Imperious Rex, with the very power of a God upon Earth. His will would be done. It was only a matter of time. It was only a matter of tallying the names of those who would face his wrath.

More names for the list of the dead.

THE COUNCIL OF NICAEA, 324 A.D.

The Emperor had summoned them and they had come. Being the Roman Emperor who had raised the Catholic faith up as the legitimate and first religion of the Empire, Constantine’s influence within the Church was immense. He had called for a great conclave of the Bishops, and the religious nobility of the Church had come.

But they had not all come.

He had put out invitations to almost two thousand princes of the eastern and western Church. Just over three hundred had answered the call. That was well enough, the Emperor had decided; the fewer of them who had accepted his invitation, the better. It would be easier to hold sway over the rest. The cost would be lessened to his imperial treasury. The number of those present would be enough to establish precedence. They would be enough to settle the issues of the day. Most of all, they would be adequate in passing final judgement upon old Arius and his pack of fanatics. Those who had declined his invitation would soon see the folly of their act. It was not wise to ignore the will of the Emperor. Now, after two years of violence, the strife raged out of control. The fighting, which had erupted in the streets of every one of Rome’s major cities, was long past the Emperor’s ability to control. It was high time old Arius face the consequences of his defiance towards Rome.

The Emperor’s palace at Nicaea had been chosen to host this first great assembly of the faith. The Bishops who attended would debate the Canons of Catholic Law. The decisions reached this day would be adhered to for ages to come. The call for assembly had gone out through the revered Bishop Hosius of Cordoba. Bishop Hosius would join Constantine in leading this great conclave, which would be known to future historians as the Council of Nicaea. Constantine had long held Bishop Hosius in his power and used him as his conduit in influencing the different sects and branches of the Catholic faith. The Bishops who attended the Council would cast their votes as Hosius officially presided over the proceedings. But all at the Council’s table would know who ruled. It would be the Emperor himself who directed the final act of this religious drama. It would be Constantine who passed judgement upon old Arius. He would do so with the memory of his burning city foremost upon his mind.

Constantine took his seat upon the throne at the center of the palace’s vast audience chamber. He stared out upon the sea of assembled Bishops who had answered his summons. The Bishops seated within the crowd were upon rows of benches, and as they talked in low whispers, Constantine had no doubt that many yet resented that he had not yet allowed himself to be baptized. The Emperor, he had decided long ago, must stand apart from the laws of both man and Church. Or else he may fall victim to the restrictions suffered by normal men. He must be free to judge and act in the best interest of his Empire and its citizens. He refused to subjugate his regal office to any power of this world or any celestial authority residing upon high. Constantine’s reluctance to bow before the power of the living God, and the authority of the Church, was due to political necessity as much as the Emperor’s divine right. He would not place himself or his Empire at the bidding of any Church or God. Not even at the risk of his immortal soul. He was Constantine. He was Emperor. He would be inviolate to the authority of man and God alike.

As ever, his personal guard was present in great number within the main chamber of the palace. The Captain of the Guard was a seasoned veteran named Marius Septimus, who had proven himself a loyal Roman to a fault. The members of the Guard assigned to the safety of the Emperor’s person during the Council would outnumber the Bishops, Legates, and priests by at least twice their measure. It was the Emperor’s privilege to manipulate the seating arrangements of the Council. Constantine’s distribution of bribes and titles throughout the crowd of Bishop’s insured none would know the loyalty of those seated beside them. All of the Emperors’ guests within the chamber projected a façade of serenity and pleasure at their invitation. There were none that did not possess mixed emotions at taking part in the Council. They had, after all, been compelled to attend by the supreme order of the Emperor.

Among the goals of the Council, was the hope the assembled Bishops would succeed in setting down the standards and lore of the Church into a Holy Book. This great Book would include the origins of creation, and lineage of man under God. The histories of the faith and the selected testaments of the saints would be recorded within its pages. This Bible, as it would be called, would define the Catholic faith most appropriate towards their vision of the Christ’s Church upon Earth. Here at Nicaea, they would choose which testaments would be included within The Bible, and which testaments would be discarded. Here they would choose which saints would be remembered, and which would be forgotten and lost to the endless march of time.

The Bible’s contents had been debated for the past several weeks. The testaments of Mark, Mathew, Luke, and John had been approved, as well as others. Their votes had been cast as to which testaments were considered acceptable and which were considered heretical by the majority of the Bishops. An additional opinion had been sent by the Pope in Rome. Some testaments had raised contention to the point of violence between these representatives of the Church. Constantine had been forced to accept that the inclusion of certain testaments would cause too much conflict between the different sects of the faith. Many had been cast aside. Constantine had secretly ordered that the discarded testaments, some written by the very men whom had walked beside the Christ, be removed to a well-guarded vault. They would be closely watched by his most trusted legionnaires. Constantine would decide what would be done with those testaments at a less volatile time.

They had one final testament to vote upon, and Constantine was the only one in the chamber who knew of its existence. He intended to present it to all within the assembly as a gift at the proper time. It would be the last and greatest of all the testaments, cherished above the rest due to its wondrous origin and the incredible identity of its author. No more than a year before, Constantine’s agents had discovered a dedicated sect guarding the parchments of the ancient document. This particular sect had concealed its existence for over three centuries. They had dwelt silently within deep caves in distant Numidia after their ancestors had fled the civilized lands of Rome. They had stolen away while bearing their fantastic treasure and intended that it be theirs alone. Miraculously, they had jealously guarded it from the world for centuries. They fanatically devoted themselves to concealing its contents from all but those of their own kind. Constantine’s agents had discovered the sect and forcefully relieved them of their ancient burden. To keep its discovery secret, the Emperor’s men had slaughtered those guardians of the lost testament to the last man, woman, and child.

When the testament had been delivered to him, Constantine had summoned the wisest scholars and historians within Rome to translate the scrolls from their ancient Aramaic. It had taken time and not a small amount of patience upon his part. After months of diligent effort, a select group of Roman historians and Jerusalem’s most brilliant linguists had solved the mystery. Upon being told of the incredible contents of the documents, and the stunning identity of the testament’s author, Constantine had sworn all who knew of the testament to secrecy. At first, the interpreters had balked and objected. They had insisted that no one man, Emperor or otherwise, had the right to command the fate of words which were the property of all mankind. The proper amount of leverage and persuasion had been applied. Finally, after several of their number had chosen martyrdom, the scholars had accepted the Emperor’s word that he would announce the magnificent find in due time. They had agreed and given their oaths under pain of death.

Soon, Constantine would reveal the astounding document to the assembled Bishops. He was determined that its contents be revealed, rather than have it kept secret to fester as a sickness within the heart of Rome. He would not let the Empire be torn apart, even to shelter the lost testament of Jesus of Nazareth. He would not risk Rome in an attempt to keep the words set down by the Christ to himself. Today he would reveal to them the lost testament of the son of God.

So help me God.

He smiled.

But first to the entertainment, the Emperor thought.

There was the judgement of the angry old presbyter Arius to consider. Entertainment before religion, Constantine decided.

Otherwise, what would one have to repent?

He smiled again.

No reason not to have a little fun before all Hell broke loose.

A chuckle escaped from his lips. Constantine noticed Hosius glance at him curiously. The Bishop probably wondered what dark intrigues ran through the Emperor’s mind.

If he only knew, Constantine thought.

Arius sat at his bench within the first row with a serene expression upon his wrinkled face. He wore a flowing white beard, with short cropped hair in the style of a monk. Unlike his fellow men of the Church within the chamber, Arius wore no silken robes or finery, merely a simple monk’s robe. The robe was belted at the hip with a woolen rope which fell to his knees and revealed wooden sandals. His followers were dressed in similar fashion, all sitting upon benches which surrounded Arius. They stood out in direct contrast to the sea of richly clad Bishops, bedecked with fine silken garments adorned with gold and jewels. The old man’s humble attire was intended as an insult towards the corruption that was Rome.

I reject your bribes and your authority.

The Emperor smiled and nodded to Hosius. The Bishop stepped forward and slammed his staff upon the marble floor, raising his voice.

It is the judgement of this august body, and his Imperial Majesty, that Arius, presbyter of Alexandria, along with his followers, be banished to the province of Illyria for the duration of their days; to live only at the Emperor’s pleasure and-

"False! the old man’s outraged cry rang throughout the chamber. I do not recognize the authority of this council!"

Constantine was surprised by the old man’s dexterity as Arius quickly jumped to his feet. His followers rose in unison around the presbyter. As Arius stood, his wrinkled claw of a hand trembled while it gripped the crooked staff supporting him. The presbyter’s followers had risen in respect and concern for their leader. The one closest to Arius reached out to steady the old man. Arius shrugged off the helping hand and glared up at Constantine with a furious expression.

There was no reaction from the watching Bishops at the audacity of the old man. A few regarded Arius with admiration as he defiantly stood before the most powerful man in Rome. No one voiced their wonder at his suicidal tendency, in daring to defy the authority of the Emperor. Only a deadly silence answered Arius’ challenge. They all watched as the Emperor’s guard took a defensive stance before Constantine. The legionnaires half stepped forward and locked their shields while presenting their spear points toward Arius and his nervous followers. Behind the circle of steel, Constantine sat immobile as a statue upon his chair. His features wore an amused half smile beneath nonchalant eyes. It was a practiced expression he had mastered after becoming Emperor. It was intended to demonstrate his disdain and indifference toward a world that was beneath him.

Hosius slammed his staff down upon the marble floor once more, gazing at Arius with an expression of undisguised rage.

"How dare you speak in the presence of the Emperor?"

How dare you! Arius interrupted.

Arius quickly turned to level an accusing finger at the presiding Bishop.

How dare you, Hosius of Cordoba? Arius shouted. He swung about and gestured wildly at the entire assembly. "How dare all of you!"

He fearlessly stepped from among his followers and walked boldly before the line of spear points. Arius glared at the crowd of startled faces surrounding him.

You betray all that our Church stands for. You have all allowed yourselves to become the puppets of Rome.

Marius, standing just behind the ring of his men, motioned towards the largest door at the chamber’s entrance. The two Roman guards before the portal swung the door open, allowing a large crowd of armed and armored members of the Imperial Guard to pour into the chamber. The newcomers took up positions encircling the room, placing themselves behind the rows of Bishops. They quickly drew their weapons to await the unfolding drama at the chamber’s center. Any hint of physical danger to their Emperor, or any command from Marius, would instantly be answered with bloodshed. Several of the Bishops nervously glanced back at the new members of the audience, with their grim expressions and drawn weapons.

Constantine calmly shook his head towards his Captain. Marius relaxed imperceptibly. Constantine would allow the old man’s performance to continue. He would grant Arius a semblance of latitude, at least for the moment. He was curious to see what Arius would do next. Constantine was convinced the old presbyter would merely tighten the noose more securely about his own neck. Perhaps he would seal his fate without the need for Constantine’s intervention.

You have allowed our great religion, Arius railed, to fall from grace and become a plaything of Rome. You have turned our Church to a corrupt and empty house, where favors are bartered for gold in dark rooms, until even the highest of offices are for sale at the drop of a coin. You all fall victim to the sins of greed and sloth, and grow fat as pigs at the trough, feeding upon the corruption that is Rome.

Several of the Bishops in the foremost rows began to shift in their seats, growing uncomfortable at the old man’s insults.

I tell you, Arius continued, that you are all shepherds who have lost your way. You have strayed from the path and walk a crooked road of jealous ambition. You risk the damnation of your eternal souls.

Arius raised his staff and shook it at the crowd to punctuate his words. Constantine saw that many of the Bishop’s faces were red with anger. Several had risen to shake their fists at the pacing old man.

But your greatest sin, Arius said, turning to sneer at Constantine. Is in allowing our faith to be taken from the hands of the Church, and ruled by the iron fist of a Pagan.

As he said the last, Arius stuck his arm out, and leveled his withered finger directly at Constantine.

You have given the devil himself the keys to God’s house, Arius shrieked.

Hosius gasped and shuffled behind Marius and his men, standing closer by the Emperor’s side. The plump, gaudily dressed Bishop of Cordoba leaned down to whisper in the Emperor’s ear. His voice sputtered with rage.

Please sire, I beg of you. Let me put an end to this cackling old hen.

No, Constantine said.

His expression was serene and relaxed.

Let him continue.

Constantine noticed a wolfish grin upon the old man’s face. He realized that Arius believed he had gained the higher ground rather than just a deeper grave. Constantine no longer had any doubt. The old man’s zeal had brought out the fool within him.

Arius slowly turned back to the crowd. His grin turned to a sneer.

Rome and her Emperor have purchased you all and now rule our Church. Your crime has been allowing this Pagan to dictate all manner of Christian tradition.

Arius pointed toward Constantine once more. As he did so, the spears of the Imperial Guard shook in anger. The old man had gone too far with his treason. Marius was straining at the bit to order his men forward and take revenge for this insult to their Emperor.

Constantine raised his hand with a gesture of regal poise that yet spared the lives of the presbyter and his followers. He silently commanded Marius and his men to maintain their defensive posture. He would not permit Arius and his followers their martyrdom; at least not yet.

Most of all, Arius said, while he contemptuously glared at the Emperor. You have allowed this Roman Pagan, a man not even baptized in the faith, to dictate the contents of what is to be the very Bible of our religion. For now and all time to come, his stamp of approval shall be remembered as directing the history of our faith. This Pagan is deciding which testaments are to be held sacred and which of the commandments are to be lived by. It is an abomination!

The assembled Bishops had reached the limit of their patience. The crowd erupted into furious objections full of stunned curses and enraged denials. Constantine was comforted that all were aimed at the old presbyter. The rows of Church nobility surged to their feet and cast their displeasure down upon the pacing old man. Chicken bones and half eaten pieces of fruit flew through the air in Arius’ direction.

The old man’s followers stepped away from their benches and surrounded their leader in a half circle, hoping to shield him from the items being hurled by the angry Bishops. Arius pushed them away. He frantically gestured towards Constantine.

Greater still, Arius shouted, raising his voice to be heard over the shouting. This Emperor you worship, and to whom you have all sold your souls, has hidden from you his most heinous offense of all!

He turned to the crowd with his arms raised high.

He has kept from you a secret testament that he intends to include in our most holy of books!

The raucous shouts within the chamber quieted as the stunned Bishops took in the old man’s outrageous statement. Many in the crowd lowered their voices and began to retake their seats, looking towards the Emperor, curious to see if Constantine would deny the accusation.

Arius seemed momentarily taken aback by the sudden silence. The old man paused for only an instant, and then, encouraged by the shock he had instilled in his listeners, continued with his verbal attack.

Even more, he shouted with excited eyes, "this testament that he conceals and plans to force upon us all, preaches that women be ordained as priests. It claims that women should be permitted to speak the gospel."

Absolute silence greeted the presbyter’s words. The chamber’s attention quickly shifted to focus solely upon Constantine. He did not bother to deny the accusation. The Emperor’s only answer was silence. Constantine sensed the inevitable question within all of their minds.

Why had The Emperor not denied the accusation?

Confusion and halfhearted requests for an explanation rose from the crowd.

Many within the chamber were familiar with the knowledge that Constantine was overly fond of his sister Constantia. Constantine’s habit of favoring women with high office fueled their doubt. The Bishops understood at once that the Emperor’s sponsorship of such a testament was not beyond belief. As this stunning realization settled upon them, a number of the Bishops began to stare at Constantine with increasing concern. The Emperor saw the worry in their eyes. He had no doubt what they were thinking.

Could it be true?

Did he hide the testament from them?

Would he use it to turn their world, end over end?

Female priests, preaching from the pulpit; the mere thought of it was unacceptable.

Outrageous!

From the Bishops point of view, it was madness, simply insane. Yet mad Emperors were not unheard of in Rome. The Emperor Caligula had once made his horse a Senator.

Before Constantine could present the testament to them, as it was meant to be read, with charity and not anger, Arius had succeeded in tainting Constantine’s gift with scandal and resentment. Arius had stolen Constantine’s heady moment upon the pages of history. It had been replaced with the possibility of infamy instead.

Damn you, old man.

Constantine’s wandering thoughts halted as it suddenly came to him. Old Arius had no idea who had actually written the testament. The realization of it had struck him like lightning. Arius must have purchased his information