Point of Light

by Kelly Gay

  “In the meantime, let’s slow by one-third, LB.”

  “Done, Captain.”

  “We are eighty light-years inside the edge of the Orion Complex,” Spark announced.

  “That can’t be right. Are you sure?”

  The way Spark turned and stared over his shoulder meant he was dead sure. Goose bumps skated up her arms. The Orion Complex was over a thousand light-years from Earth. And while she styled herself an explorer at heart, this kind of distance, to be so far removed from humanity, from any living thing she knew, held a strong and definite note of dread.

  “And you’re certain about the portal?” she was almost afraid to ask; if they were stranded out here, they’d never make it back, even by slipstream, no matter how advanced her ship—Rion would die of old age, many times over, long before that.

  “It remains open. Dedicated on both sides,” LB assured her.

  “We are on track to a mildly irradiated star system with four orbiting planets,” Spark said. “Two in close orbit. A larger midrange planet. And a fourth in far orbit. None are hospitable.”

  “How far?”

  “Three million kilometers.”

  “Increase full, then,” she said, sliding into her chair.

  At the halfway point, they slowed speed by one-half and checked long-range sensors.

  “I am receiving anomalous radiation readings,” Little Bit announced.

  Rion scanned her screen. “I see them.” The readings weren’t a total surprise; the complex was a vast nebular cloud, clouds within clouds, stellar nurseries, ionized gases, and hot spots of radiation light-years in size. “It’s helter-skelter out there, that’s for sure,” she muttered.

  “There was a time it wasn’t,” Spark told her.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Orion Complex was the home of the Forerunners. Several million years ago, a stellar engineering accident set off a chain of star collapses, supernovas that nearly destroyed all life in the complex. Ancient Forerunners of the time were nearly wiped out. Their natal world, Ghibalb, as well as several other planets across a network of twelve star systems, had either been completely obliterated or rendered inhospitable. Some areas of the complex are still highly irradiated, while others, after millions of years, have recovered.”

  The star system they’d been directed to could have been such a victim, the accident likely resulting in the star’s formation into that of neutron star, which would account for the irradiation readings.

  From what she could see so far, this particular region of the nebular complex held no value for any spacefaring race. Orbiting planetary fragments or newly formed planets from the supernova debris were barren and uninhabitable and, from a mining standpoint, undesirable—mostly silicate rather than organic compounds, with a few containing metals. There were plenty of other sectors and planets easier to get to and far safer to plunder than this far-flung irradiated region.

  As far as places to hide, this was an excellent choice.

  After the usual cursory study of the star system, Rion zeroed in on their target. Spark was unusually quiet, and she was pretty certain he’d already finished his inspection of the area and their target planet. “So let’s talk fourth planet,” she said. If this had truly been the Bastion of legend, it had seen better days.

  “Four billion kilometers from its sun,” Little Bit piped up. “A glacial planet with a thin silicate crust.”

  “How thick is the ice?”

  “About six hundred meters.” A picture built on the holoscreen above the tactical table. The ice was relatively flat and smooth, but lined with straight crisscrossing cracks.

  “And we’re clear on coordinates?”

  “We are. Though the planet is dead. No active core… Those cracks across the surface are most likely from impacts. No traces of technology or aberrant structures.”

  “Well, there has to be something there. We’ll stay in high geostationary orbit once we arrive.”

  Six hundred and seventy kilometers from the planet, the holoscreen flickered and distorted along with every screen on the bridge.

  Rion rose to her feet.

  Spark’s avatar shimmered and then appeared to warp. Before she could even speak, everything righted itself. It was quiet on the bridge.

  “Talk to me, you two. What the hell just happened?”

  The distortions came again, but this time more severe.

  “Capt—” Spark’s avatar began unraveling like a ball of yarn.

  A punch of horror hit Rion square in the chest as every screen on the bridge went dark, a brief lull before a blue-green glow swept over the bow of the ship.

  “LB?”

  No reply.

  “Little Bit, respond.” Dammit. Spark’s avatar was nearly gone. “Get out of systems and into your armiger.” God, she hoped he could hear her. “Hurry.”

  Consoles and stations across Ace’s bridge were shutting down in the glow’s wake. As the light traveled closer, Rion made a play for the closest access panel to switch the ship to manual control, but the pad didn’t respond and the glow was upon her, flowing through the pad and then her fingertip. She braced, holding her breath, as it flowed through her hand, arm, and then straight through her body, electrifying and making every fine hair on her body stand.

  Before it made it out the other side of her, Rion turned and bolted from the bridge, raced down the corridor, and across the catwalk over the hold as Spark’s armiger powered up. “We need to regain control!” she shouted. “The whole ship is shutting down!”

  The light caught up, passing through her again, and giving her a bird’s-eye view of its travel as it continued through the hold and out toward the stern before disappearing completely. In its absence, Ace took a sudden, deck-shuddering nosedive.

  All power was lost, including the gravity generators.

  Eerie silence descended through the Ace of Spades. Her ship was dead in the water, and the instant loss of gravity had her floating upward. She reached for the railing, but the nosedive sent her farther and faster away from it than expected.

  Rion steeled herself as she tumbled out over the cargo hold. As her peripheral vision circled around and around, she caught a flash of silver and blue crawling on the side of the bulkhead before she had to squeeze her eyes closed to stave off approaching vertigo.

  A cool metal hand snatched her forearm. She swung around in an arc and came face-to-face with Spark’s angled features. He was crouched on the wall like a giant spider, pulling her in slowly, anchoring his feet and one hand to the ship. Lucky for her, he had his own power source and therefore his own ability to generate gravity. He kept a tight hold as he walked sideways on the bulkhead, heading for the catwalk.

  Rion glanced over her shoulder, eyes growing wide. Oh, no. “It’s coming back.” The turquoise glow was making another pass through the ship.

  Spark picked up the pace, towing her by the arm as she floated behind him like some ridiculous human balloon. At the catwalk, he pulled her in enough to allow her to grab the railing and right herself, and from there, they worked their way together back to the bridge just as the wall of light entered the area after them.

  Spark pressed her into the captain’s chair.

  “Thanks,” she said, manually belting herself in. “We need to restore engines, thrusters at the very least.” Anything to push them off their current trajectory—a collision course with the icy planet.

  “One moment.” Spark stalked to the main access panel on the wall, but as the glow moved through the bridge, the Ace of Spades came back to life and her nose lifted slightly. While the glow might have left the interior, it seemed to remain outside. A quick check of feeds told her it enveloped the entire exterior of the ship, and worse, they were still on a rapid descent toward the planet.

  Gravity suddenly returned and a few systems began checking in. And while the main viewscreen was clear, every display screen around the bridge shifted from black to that same blue/green turquoise, and in the ce
nter a circular symbol around a smaller octagon.

  Spark swung around and stared at the main screen with such intensity, it gave her the chills. “What? What is it?”

  It took him several seconds to answer. “It’s the Librarian’s sigil.” He stepped toward Ace’s large viewscreen and stopped, staring out with an awe that was palpable. “This is Bastion.”

  “Whatever it is, we’re still on a collision course.” She tried to regain control of her access panel. Nothing. “LB? Are you there?”

  “Whew!” came his staticky reply. “That was… unusual.”

  “Tell me about it,” she mumbled. “Can you access any engine controls?”

  “No, Captain.”

  Dammit! Ace was fast approaching the surface—without readouts she guessed they had another two thousand kilometers before impact. Desperate, Rion unbuckled and went to the manual override again. If they could just take control of the thrusters for a few seconds, they could push themselves off course.… “Spark—hey, snap out of it!”

  “I do not believe we are on a collision course, Captain,” he said calmly. “Look.”

  Two parallel cracks in the ice suddenly dropped inward, then split apart, sliding beneath the ice sheet and revealing a doorway filled with translucent turquoise light, the same as the field that surrounded the ship.

  Bastion was pulling them in.

  CHAPTER 39

  Bastion

  If I had a heart, it would be pounding against my chest like ancient wartime drums, heavy and thunderous and quick. The memory of adrenaline soars through me with the strength of a hammer striking an anvil, a nebulous force, disorganized, determined, ringing my core and calling the dormant to action. Those things that have been lurking beyond my reach make themselves known.

  A multitude of voices stir.

  Finally, after all this time, they show themselves. No more slumbering or skulking in the dark.

  However, I cannot give them their due.

  As much as it flusters me, I ignore them and instead focus on our path as the Ace of Spades is guided through hundreds of kilometers of smooth ice followed by a latticed, cantilevered substructure of which I am overly familiar.

  It is a slow passage. Rion stands beside me, arms crossed over her chest, a finger anxiously tapping on her biceps.

  We have lost all control of the ship and have become simply passengers.

  “Was Etran Harborage like this?” she asks quietly.

  She is thinking of her father, perhaps wondering if he had witnessed what she is seeing now as his ship entered the doomed shield world. Odd that fate has taken them on a kindred journey.

  “The substructure would be quite similar, yes.”

  She does not respond.

  “What do you think is down there? Forerunners?” she asks suddenly, as though someone might hear. She is too apprehensive to await my answer. “Why do I feel like an ant about to be stepped on by giants?”

  “We are not intruders, remember. We have been invited.”

  She casts a doubtful look my way. “A pirate can invite you in; that doesn’t mean he won’t steal your ship and throw you out the airlock.”

  “True. But these are no pirates.” She starts to disagree, but I interrupt, “I will not allow anything to happen to you or your ship. That is a promise.”

  The darkness of the planet’s outer shell and immense support system slowly gives way to natural light.

  “Same here,” she replies. “You have my word.”

  She is limited by her human fragility and knows it, but her oath carries weight. I believe she will keep her word even if it means her end. “The Librarian hasn’t led us all this way only to hurt us.” I utter this in an attempt to comfort Rion, but her reply never comes.

  We have fully emerged into Bastion’s atmosphere.

  Aya. I am dumbstruck.

  I know what I behold even though it seems impossible.

  Of all the designs and models and world inspirations the Librarian could have selected… and she chose Earth as her template.

  “Jesus,” Rion whispers.

  Stunned, weakened, pained, elated, amazed—these emotions cycle so swiftly through my core that it is difficult to settle on just one. The result leaves me numb. Rion’s hand has found my forearm. She needs this bit of solidarity, an anchor, as much as I do.

  As we descend toward a continent shaped like Africa, I begin to notice differences, slight revisions on landmasses. An esthetically correcting hand has created a world that is more vivid and lush and brilliant, the rough gem of Earth cut into a polished jewel.

  But to what end?

  The Kilimanjaro range is the obvious template for the peaks we are approaching, but these formations are sharper and far more dramatic. Soaring silver towers jut high into the atmosphere, as though grown from the tips of the mountaintop itself. They gleam in the gossamer light. Elegant sky bridges connect those soaring spires, creating the most stunning and mystical image I have ever seen—as though the mountain range has donned its regal crown and claimed dominion over all.

  Never before have I felt the godlike nature of Forerunners as keenly as I do now.

  I am humbled. And ashamed.

  I have blamed her and endlessly raged—justifiably so, but perhaps I have not given her enough credit where it is due. In my pain, I have often possessed a singular perspective—my own—and perhaps diminished the vast arc of Living Time from which the Librarian operated. Her love of humanity and devotion to my people, and their place in the world-line, is undeniable.

  The Ace of Spades approaches a section of sky bridge. Her landing gear engages, a sound that echoes in the silence, and in short order she settles gently on its wide expanse. The silence returns.

  “I’m not sure I’m ready for this. Are you?” Rion’s voice trembles as we pull our attention away from the view and face each other.

  “Most definitely not.” I chose humor in my tone when what I want most is to offer an encouraging smile, an understanding gaze, but am limited in my construct’s parameters. Instead I give what I hope is a meaningful nod.

  It is the best I can do.

  We begin our short journey to the cargo hold.

  The ramp’s descent takes an eternity. But it is worth it. The view from the mountain across the plains to the sea is astoundingly clear.

  The gleaming towers shoot hundreds of kilometers into the clouds, and the sky bridges linking them together wrap around the mountain as far as my eyes can see. Though I’m certain no giant will crush us here, I too feel immensely small.

  Motion catches my eye.

  Three small orbs zoom toward us from the direction of the closest tower. Ah. They are monitors, identical in customary carapaces—most like my own as 343 Guilty Spark—however, they are powered with the same pleasing turquoise light that guided us here.

  “Friendlies?” Rion asks.

  While I am familiar with the trappings of Forerunner convention, the captain has little cumulative experience. I know what it is to see such wonders for the first time, to absorb their overwhelming impact and the inevitable fear they bring.

  “All is well,” I tell her as the monitors come to a hovering stop some meters in front of us.

  Two of them engage their optical lenses to scan us more thoroughly, while the center monitor engages its lens, to project a hologram of a Forerunner.

  The lifelike rendering is unexpected and sudden.

  Rion gasps and steps back.

  A third-form female Lifeworker, clad in a modest headdress and slender white armor with its customary grooves and channels designed to contain the tools of the rate, gazes down at us with warmth in her honey-colored eyes. She is slim and petite, a head shorter than my armiger form.

  I have seen such exquisite three-dimensional renderings before on Installation 07, when I was human, from a Lifeworker named Genemender, who had chosen to archive himself during the ring’s civil war to avoid Flood infection so that he might continue to serve the Librarian
.

  “Welcome to Bastion,” she says, speaking the human language. “I am Birth-to-Light. This is Dawn-over-Fields.” Her gesture to the male holographic form—now appearing from the monitor to her right—is graceful and reminiscent of the Librarian.

  Dawn-over-Fields is taller than my armiger; a mature Builder with a dignified face, wide shoulders, dark gray skin, and white tufts of hair. His image carries the old noble eminence of the Builder rate.

  The third monitor projects its form to the left of Birth-to-Light, that of a stocky miner with a broad, flat face. His arms and legs are thick, and his hands old but big and strong. “And this,” Birth-to-Light says, “is Clearance-of-Old-Forests. Our fourth companion, Keeper-of-Tools, has finally been released from Genesis and will join us shortly.”

  “You’re part of the Librarian’s crew… during her trip to Path Kethona,” I say in astonishment.

  The Lifeworker gives a serene nod. “In a manner. We are not direct imprints of our namesakes, therefore we are limited in our capacity and do not share their complete memories or deep personality traits and essences. However, our namesakes did provide the framework for our individual functions here on Bastion. Dawn oversees all facility maintenance and security operations on Bastion. I administer Lifeworker duties. And Clearance tends the topography and landscape functions of this world.”

  This is highly unusual. “There is no central ancilla?”

  “That is by design. A precaution, if you will.”

  “And the other Forerunner you mentioned?” Rion has found her voice.

  “Keeper-of-Tools,” Dawn responds, his voice resonant and instantly reminiscent of my time with the Didact. “He will be arriving soon.”

  “Chakas, 343 Guilty Spark… Spark,” Birth says warmly. “The Lifeshaper would be most pleased that fate has brought you to our sanctuary, as she would be to know you are here as well, Captain Forge. Humans have always been rather special, especially those who carry her mark.”

  “I’ve been told of this mark and what it might mean,” Rion says.

  The tilt of Birth’s head suggests mild surprise. “Yes. All of humanity carries the remnants of her work from times past—passed along from generation to generation, becoming dormant but never gone. It is what propels our technology to recognize your status and allow interaction.”