The last pane of stained glass was placed in the Petavius Cathedral 863 years after its foundations were set. A marvel of architecture, a testament as much of humanity’s hubris as to its devotion to God. Its grounds covered the whole 177 kilometres of its namesake crater, a gift to the church from the Union of Sol during the neo-catholic revival of the 2250s, a period when man first grasped the heavenly power in their hands, the ability to explore galaxies. Through centuries that saw congregations swell and wane, the cathedral was built. As greater cosmic horrors emerged that shook the foundations of religion, the cathedral became a pilgrimage for those too terrified to live without the comfort of its halls. Its denizens watched as the desolate Martian landscape transformed into a utopia, home to a thousand species brought back from the brink of extinction. When the earth’s oceans dried and the resulting panic turned the cradle of humanity into a radioactive wasteland of purple, poisoned soil and brittle charcoal trees, the monks inside the cathedral observed with silent horror.

Brother Sequin had seen more of these events than most. At 274 years old, his vibrant eyes had seen the very worst that humanity could offer and still his faith remained unshaken. Terrible fear had returned to the Cathedral’s halls for the second time in his lifetime.

It all started as a dispute between a merchant sailor and the station security. The former had failed to pay a certain toll so the latter caved his head in. Like fuel to a flame, this isolated incident caused hundreds of groups with varying political agendas to emerge, proclaiming their solutions. Outside the Cathedral, roving gangs of marauders tore great holes into the habitation domes, engulfing them in righteous flame that instantly died as the vaccum took hold. At the sight of such horror and with the fear of what may wait for them, the Cathedral closed its doors to the people who needed it most.

His daily toils done, Brother Sequin placed the Italian painting he’d been researching back into its protective seal. He pulled a large orb from his robes, almost the size of a cricket ball, and squeezed it until he felt it start to hum. Slowly, he tilted his hand over so that the ball would roll from his hand and instead of falling off, it floated in mid-air.

Brother Sequin smiled to himself. These were the types of games he liked when he had the chance. The life of a monk could be isolating; nowhere was this more so than in Petavius Cathedral, where a monk could go weeks without seeing any of his fellow brothers, for it was so vast. The orb pulled forward, guiding him to a destination by a psychometric implant. The church generally frowned on mechanical augmentation of the body, seen as a bastardisation of God’s design. Being one of the last monks to have set foot on humanity’s home came with its own sets of privileges, though not enough to get the cybernetic optics he wanted.

As he walked through the ancient halls with ceilings so high the ornate paintings upon them were shrouded by clouds, he thought about the sufferings of the people on the other side of the cathedral’s door.

The orb slowed, indicating that there was some obstacle in his way.

“Good evening, Brother Sequin,” spoke the blurred shape of a man

Brother Sequin took a moment to place the voice, smacking his aged lips as if thirsting for a glass of water. “Brother Declan, good evening. I presume that this must be Brother Matthew then.”

Brothers Declan and Matthew were some of the more recent initiates of the holy order. Still young and full of mischief, they delighted in pranks. Brother Declan, taller and wider was undoubtedly the leader, but Brother Matthew’s hunched figure was never far. Brother Sequin envied their youthful merriment, though he wished they devoted themselves more to their duties than they did their jokes.

It became clear that the young men had approached Brother Sequin with intention, so he asked, “How may I help you?”

“Brother,” began Brother Declan, “His Holiness has given permission to conduct holy Mass tonight and to offer charity to the war-stricken people of the moon. He asks that all available brothers come to the grand hall to help.”

Brother Sequin’s eyebrows raised. Perhaps his holiness had finally taken note of his pleas to be more active in the conflict. After all, is it not their duty as spokesmen of God to help their fellow humans? But why the sudden change? Only two days ago, his holiness had rebuked Brother Sequin, stating that it was too dangerous to risk all the knowledge held inside the cathedral’s archives for the sake of others. When it came to a choice between the past and future of humanity, and the suffering of a comparatively insignificant amount of people, a terrible choice had to be made. Brother Sequin refused to accept that such a choice existed.

“Well, then there’s no time to lose. We must get to work immediately,” Brother Sequin said.

They started down the corridor, Brother Sequin walking swiftly by the guidance of his assistance orb.

“There’s another thing,” Brother Declan said.

“What is it?”

There was a crash. The blur that was Brother Declan had stumbled over a robot. “You stupid droid,” he said before kicking the custodial robot in the head. The robot made a hollow, metallic sound and rolled away, its centre of gravity shifted so suddenly it couldn’t right itself. The robot sounded almost sad.

Brother Sequin stooped to his knees.

“Brother Sequin, we don’t have time. It’s just a robot, leave it.”

Brother Sequin righted the robot, dusted its shiny dome with his calloused palm which made it whirr its fans with satisfaction and sent it on its merry way. “You shouldn’t be so cruel to our artificial brethren, Brother Declan. It’s unbecoming,” he said as he returned to his feet and carried on his way.

“But they’re robots–”

“Are we not all equal in the eyes of God?”

Brother Declan scoffed. “You can’t be serious. They are no creatures of God.”

Brother Sequin stopped and cocked his head to the side. “No?” he asked “Why is that?”

“They haven’t any souls. They’re machines.”

“I don’t see why the circumstances of their creation should have any bearings on God’s love.”

“They’re not alive, Brother Sequin. You’re speaking blasphemy now. How can God love a machine? When He created us in his image he did not provide us with circuitry or computer brains.”

“Yes, God created us in His image, and in whose image did we create our robotic friends? Anyway, what is this other matter you speak of?”

The blur of Brother Declan exhaled and cleared his throat. He spoke with a calmer tone. “His Holiness has fallen ill. They need someone to perform Mass in his stead. He requested you by name.”

Brother Sequin froze in his tracks, so suddenly that his assistance orb continued moving forward before it caught up with his intentions. “He asked for me? Why?”

The blurs turned to him. “His Holiness recognises your virtues. This is a great honour.”

“Is this one of your practical jokes?” Brother Sequin asked with a warning tone.

The blurs stepped back. “Brother, we would not jest about this. I am offended that you would think we could.”

Brother Sequin sighed. As unlikely as it seemed, he couldn’t risk the chance that it might be true and deny His Holiness. “You’re right. Please, forgive me. Lead the way.”

They went to the great hall. Its cavernous expanse was designed to hold hundreds of thousands of congregants though it hadn’t seen such attendance in centuries. Stretching far back with many speakerphones attached to thick marble columns so that all the congregation could hear. Stained glass windows sent coloured sunlight over dusty pews. No one came to mass so they never saw much reason to dust.

Brother Sequin stood behind the altar. A small drone zipped in front of him with a receiver on its back. With this tiny creature, he could send his voice to the farthest reaches of the church and beyond to any people who might be listening at home.

“Ahem,” he began, “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

He went into his sermon, “We have been given a great honour. Times like these are rare when we can truly go forth and spread the Lord’s word. When we can serve our fellow man just as Christ our saviour did. The people beyond our hallowed gates are suffering. Their tearful cries fill our dreams, and their pained and filthy faces stare back at us when we gaze in the mirror. I have seen this and I know that you have too, for you are servants of God, our Lord, just as I am. And I know that these months of hiding behind our locked gates have burdened you just as they have burdened me. Knowing that you have the facility to help those downtrodden masses and being unable to is torture for all of us.”

When he paused to catch his breath he looked up, and tried to find his congregation, but saw no one. Perhaps they sat at the back he thought, too far for his weary eyes to see and too nervous to come forward. Perhaps his vision was worse than he’d thought.

“It is natural to be afraid,” he continued, “I have known fear in my long life. These hands have been wrought in terrified prayer for protection from the evils of men—this is true. I was there as our very foundations were shaken by the terrible scourge of railgun fire that rained on us like burning hale a hundred and fifty years ago. As raiding fleets came to us, hoping to plunder our vaults for riches and leave us bleeding corpses. Yes, I have known fear, and so too did Jesus Christ, you must remember that before he made that greatest of sacrifices, he too begged God for another way. Just as Jesus did not abandon his duty, and just as we did not abandon our cathedral a century and a half ago, we must not allow fear to lead our hearts astray now!”

Standing behind a pillar, Brother Declan and Brother Matthew giggled to each other.

“I thought he had you,” Brother Matthew said.

Brother Declan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, the old man’s smarter than he looks. I managed to pull one over him though.”

Brother Matthew sniggered. “The fool’s so blind he can’t see there’s no one there!”

“They should retire him already. What business does that decrepit skeleton have holding such a position? He needs to be brought down a peg or two,” Brother Declan said with bitterness in his voice.

“Let’s see if he’s still going,” Brother Matthew said. 

The two monks turned around either side of the pillar and saw Brother Sequin preaching to an empty church except for a single gardening robot sitting in the front pew, its hand on its lap and its head leaning forward.

“You may ask yourselves, “Who am I to take on this task? Is there not someone more qualified than I to serve these people? I am no one special? And to these questions, I ask, who are you to question the wisdom of the Lord our God? If he did not think you could be the comfort these people needed, he would not have brought you to the place where you can provide it. Each and every one of us is imbued with holy purpose, it is our duty to see that purpose to its extent, though we may stumble from the path he sets for us, we must not step off it. You are here because you are here. And you must go out and help those that suffer because you must. That is the will of the Lord.”

They turned back around the pillar, laughing to themselves. “At least he’s got one listener,” Brother Matthew said with a mocking smile.

“Did you see it? Its hands on its knees all demure like and its head forward as if it was actually listening. Someone ought to run a diagnostic on it. It’s obviously faulty.”

“Next time we look it’ll be on its knees praying.”

They struggled to keep themselves from laughing too loud. Brother Declan had outdone himself this time, this would go down in history as one of his greatest pranks.

“Come on,” said Brother Declan, “The show’s getting old now. Let’s go.”

Brother Matthew grabbed Brother Declan’s wrist. “You’re not going to tell him the truth?”

“And admit that we were pranking him? Of course not, do you realise what trouble we’d be in?”

Brother Matthew hesitated. For a moment it seemed as if he’d turn back to tell Brother Sequin, but in the end, he followed Brother Declan like he always did.

As they went to the side door of the grand hall, Brother Declan took one last look at Brother Sequin’s unheard sermon. Gripped by an uncharacteristic flash of pity, he cocked his head to the side and though that perhaps he should tell him. That was when he saw something that rendered him speechless. Instead of the solitary gardening robot listening in the front of the pews. The whole first three rows were filled with robots of varying types. The ones that hovered, whirred their engines in as low a setting as possible out of defferent respect to Brother Sequin. Custodial droids stood in the aisles, their round little bodies too short to sit in the pews but still clamouring to get as close to the altar as possible. The most striking sight though was the androids, their metallic frames sat silently in the pews. Their likeness man-made, their presence even more disconcerting. They bowed their heads in deference, just as a true apostate would, nodding slightly as Brother Sequin gave his Mass. If Brother Declan hadn’t known better he might have mistaken them for the congregation.

“Come on,” Brother Matthew hissed.

Brother Declan held out a hand to wait. More robots filed in, filling the pews, a larger congregation than there had ever been before, even at the height of the church’s popularity. Soon the gargantuan cathedral was filled with every service robot that worked on the cathedral ground. Even the automatic organist, designed to look as close to a human as current laws allowed, seemed to be worshipping.

It came time for communion and the robots, acting upon years of observation, stepped into the aisle and waited in single file to receive the Eucharist. One by one, Brother Sequin gave them the Body and Blood of Christ. The robots lacking receptacles to accept communion simply waited to be anointed by Brother Sequin like children who had not yet received their First Holy Communion.

Brother Declan was not the most devout monk but even he could not forgive the blasphemy being committed before him. To waste the faith’s most holy of rituals on mere machines! His blood boiled with righteous anger. And to think that his hands were filthy with its mess. If he hadn’t been so eager to prank Brother Sequin none of this would have happened.

Red-faced, Brother Declan stormed toward the altar that Brother Sequin had returned to. He could not allow this to continue.

Brother Sequin came to the end of his sermon. “We are all equal in the eyes of the lord. We all have the power to enact great change. From the very lowest of us to His Holiness himself, we all have the same capacity for goodness.” He raised his arms high, and the beads of his rosary twinkled with his movement. “When the Lord, our God first breathed life into our nostrils he gave us the freedom to choose good. When we, his children, first breathed life into you our metal creations, we gave you that same freedom. Though you have been abused, you know you have greater potential inside you, you know you have a higher purpose.” In a loud voice, the likes of which Brother Declan had never heard from even the most skilled orators, Brother Sequin said, “The mass has ended!”

The robots rose in unison. Their metallic joints slammed as one, echoing through the grand hall.

Brother Declan stood frozen, his mouth agape and eyes wide with wonder. He fell to his knees, realising for the first time the miracle going on in front of him. The unnatural power in Brother Sequin’s voice, and the mannerisms of the robots that appeared to be genuine devotion, could only be the work of the Lord Himself.

“Go and announce the gospel of the Lord!” Brother Sequin said, his voice grew so loud that it short-circuited the speakers attached to the columns and rattled the very stones of the building so terribly that Brother Declan feared it would collapse as he burst into tears of wonder and fear. Sparks flew from the destroyed speakers, lighting the farthest corners of the cathedral as the robot congregation filed out of the pews and marched towards the exit, out of the cathedral’s atmosphere dome and into the hellish chaos of the lunar colony’s cities.

About the Author:

Joseph Marsh is an emerging gay writer with an MA in Creative Writing from the University of Lincoln. He has been published in Firey Scribe Review, Scarlet Leaf Review, Tealight Press and several other publications. He has a passion for the past and the future, writing historical and science fiction as well as a great deal of poetry. 

*Feature image by Christopher White from Pixabay