by Kelly Gay
Rion nods. She is pale and unusually demure. I assume she is still processing the projections standing before her. Had she not seen the monitors behind the images, she would not have known—at least for some time—that they were not flesh-and-blood ancients.
“Why did the key lead us to Bastion?” I ask. “Are there living populations here?”
“All in good time. Come, join us in the reception hall. There are refreshments and rooms for your rest. We must await further instruction from Keeper-of-Tools.”
As we follow the monitors across the sky bridge’s expanse to the tower, Rion moves closer. “The air up here should be thin. And cold.”
My sensors agree. Neither is as it should be. “We must remember Bastion is but a template of Earth. Many things here will be quite different.”
With each step, questions form, one after another, until there are so many I cannot settle on where I wish to start.
CHAPTER 40
Normally, Rion would want to get right down to business and find out why the reconfigured key, which had caused so much trouble, had ultimately led them here. Rejoining Ram, Lessa, and Niko on Myer’s Moon remained a top priority. However, she didn’t mind waiting for Keeper to arrive. It gave her the opportunity to absorb what she’d seen so far. Her mind had been blown and she could use a minute to let things settle in and make room for whatever was to come.
“I can see the shock of their Forerunner guise still lingers.”
Way to state the obvious, Spark.
Even though her mind told her straight up that they couldn’t be real, their appearance was completely flawless and utterly formidable. Magnificent. Terrifying. Sobering. In an instant, Rion had understood how ancient humans on Earth had mistaken them for gods.
The tower base was the size of a city block. It had just enough polish to its silver alloy to reflect a hazy image of their forms as they approached. Its peak was lost somewhere in the clouds above, and she could only guess its height at close to five hundred meters or more.
A doorway manifested through the tower’s material, sensing their approach. Amazed, Rion followed the three monitors and their projections inside to find a gleaming reception hall, a cathedral really, with angled ceilings that made a dizzying display of cross sections rising up as far as her eye could see. There was no furniture or decor except for the familiar aesthetics the Forerunners favored—angles and lines and ancient hieroglyphics in turquoise light. Large two-story rectangular openings appeared in the far tower wall, framing the view of clouds and mountain and far-off landscapes.
To her right, a semi-translucent curving console rose from the floor, a terminal most likely. Behind it a silvery nave rose several stories, framed by a series of angular columns with illuminated geometric lines interspersed with linear symbols.
The monitors paused and were waiting for Rion to keep up. She hadn’t been aware she’d stopped.
A fourth smaller monitor appeared from a left corridor. “Our reception monitor will escort you to resting chambers,” Birth-to-Light informed them. “We will notify you as soon as Keeper arrives.”
They followed the reception monitor down a hallway with strange translucent walls into rooms that shifted effortlessly from an opaque framework to a substantial, recognizable environment. A sofa for lounging, a table and chair, shelves on the wall, appeared right before her eyes. “This is unreal. How does it work?”
The small monitor flew to a far wall. “Our facility is constructed of intuitive hard light, which renders comforts the inhabitant is accustomed to.” At the wall, a counter with an upper wall panel appeared. From it, a cavity was produced, extending a tray holding a pitcher of liquid, a cup, and a plate of fruit. Using its lens, the monitor moved it to the table.
The assortment of fruit—some of which Rion hadn’t seen since she was a little girl—was as real as the clothes on her back. She picked up what appeared to be a perfect apple, amazed.
“These chambers will provide for your comfort. Simply ask it what you want.”
The monitor zipped from the chamber before Rion could formulate into words the dozens of questions amassing in her brain.
She stared at Spark. He stared back.
Rion wasn’t sure what to do next.
Finally Spark walked to the wall panel.
“What are you doing?”
“Accessing their networks, the same way you want to bite that apple and test the comfort of the sofa.”
She cocked her head. “To each his own, I guess.”
“Quite.”
As Spark lost himself in code and data, Rion grabbed the apple and sat carefully on the sofa, finding it solid and comfortable. She bit into the fruit. Just like she remembered. As she chewed, the monitor’s short discourse replayed, and she decided to test the claims made, unsure of how to make things appear. On a whim she said, “Footstool, please.”
Just like that, a hard-light cushioned footstool rose from the floor and solidified mere centimeters from her feet. She swallowed her bite of apple. Unreal. Enjoying the snack, she propped her feet on the stool and regarded it. “Make it red, would you?”
Laughter bubbled deep in her throat as the footstool turned a delightful shade of red. Dear God. Even a small taste of this kind of power was exhilarating. She could see why the Forerunners came off as arrogant in all the stories she’d heard.
All manner of things sprang to mind, treasures imagined since childhood, gold and priceless jewels, ancient relics and technology.
Anything she wanted, huh?
The image of her father came unbidden to her mind, and Rion knew if she asked, he would appear, pulled from her memory and as vivid and whole as the Forerunner forms in the reception hall. It had been over two decades since she’d seen him, and, man, how she missed him. But it wouldn’t be real.…
Or how about Cade?
Her heart gave a hard squeeze. To see her first mate standing there with that half grin on his face, the vibe of capability that surrounded him like a constant…
For six years they’d created a friendship and bond that seemed unbreakable, and a romantic relationship that solidified at times and became nebulous at others. Until last year, and despite their line of work and the danger involved, she’d really thought they’d be dancing around each other like binary stars for years to come.
The tight compression in her chest forced her to sit up straight. The pain Cade’s memory caused was quite different from that of her father. It was a bitter regret, a fierce ache she avoided facing out of fear—fear that if she gave it purchase, it would take over and defeat her.
How quickly her exhilaration had turned from frivolous wishes to deeper longings. She rose and went to the pitcher, pouring what appeared to be water into the cup. She drank deeply, the cool liquid sliding down her constricted throat with a rejuvenating effect. After, she decided to examine the other chambers.
Soft ambient light led from room to room, currents of warm air drawing her to a balcony that extended over jagged rocks. From up here, the world below stretched for kilometers, waves of browns and greens and blues. If the crew could see this…
On top of the world. Heaven, if ever there was one. It sure put a lot of things into perspective.…
“Captain Forge?” At Birth-to-Light’s voice, Rion glanced over her shoulder, mildly surprised the monitor had abandoned the Lifeworker form to resume its simple carapace. “Keeper has returned.”
The interruption was welcome. Rion had taken an unintentional plunge into melancholy and was finding it hard to crawl out of.
As she joined Birth to head back into the tower, Rion adjusted her mind-set and focused on the here and now. “Why aren’t you projecting the Forerunner image?”
“Would you prefer that mode of interaction? Spark suggested you might be more comfortable with our true form.”
“No. This one is fine.”
“We perceived the most comfortable welcome would be as forms more like your own. Forerunner and human bear some
remarkable similarities. Were we incorrect in this assumption?”
“It was just a surprise. Forerunners are… very tall,” Rion said lamely.
“They are indeed.”
Spark didn’t join them in the chamber. He must have gone back to the reception hall ahead of them.
She found him at the terminal, standing in front of its console with the other two monitors, Dawn and Clearance. They had not created holo-forms either, so it was impossible to tell them apart. Birth drew ahead of Rion, joining the others. They were all focused on a fourth monitor hovering in the nave, inert and anchored in place by what appeared to be a hard-light stasis field.
“… initiating transfer now,” Dawn said.
Rion joined Spark at the terminal. “What’s happening?”
“Keeper-of-Tools has arrived. His imprint is being transferred into the carapace. How do you feel?”
Spark’s question threw her off guard. “I feel fine, why?” She hadn’t been that affected by their arrival. If anyone had a reason to be overwhelmed by all of this, it was him. “You?”
He paused, his expression unreadable as usual. “I am also fine.”
The carapace slowly filled with light until it shone as brightly as the others. This new monitor moved, shifting from side to side, up and down, as though testing its dexterity and shaking off the cobwebs. Its lens grew brighter for a few seconds before a deep male voice filled the space. “Transfer is complete. Downloading Bastion event logs. One moment.”
Rion might have been the only living, breathing biological life-form in the room—unable to connect to or absorb information the way the others could, or to derive much in the way of their intent or states based on the lack of expression—but it didn’t take an artificial genius to feel the tension in the room. “So what’s his story?” she asked in a quieter tone.
“The Builder has been trapped on the shield world Genesis, unable to establish the location of Bastion and create a link to return. Our arrival and the opening of Bastion’s shields momentarily broadcast its signal. I believe he latched on to it and, at long last, made his escape.”
“That is only partially correct,” the new monitor intoned. Keeper-of-Tools floated over the terminal and projected a Forerunner form.
Man, she was never going to get used to this.
Easily the tallest of the group, he stood nearly four meters, with sleek black armor trimmed in blue, with pieces of it floating over portions of his wide shoulders. His skin was a smooth gray with hints of rose, and his eyes were inky blue with flecks of silver and rust.
It certainly made reading facial expressions easier. Not that he was an open book by any means; Keeper’s face was rigid, but there was no mistaking his open contempt for Spark. Rion’s guard went up. The way Keeper gave the armiger the once-over as though the sight was distasteful grated on her nerves. “A Warrior-Servant construct… an unfortunate choice to make.”
“He didn’t have a choice,” Rion replied with an equally unsavory tone.
Keeper deigned to acknowledge her, also not impressed by the presence of a mere human. “As I do not have a choice now.” He turned to the monitors. “We must begin launch procedures and prepare Bastion for departure.”
“Of course,” the others said in unison, and flew off to unknown parts.
Keeper returned his haughty gaze to Rion, obviously coming to some conclusion. “While your presence here comes unexpectedly, I see I might have use for you. Come with me.”
“Hold up a second,” Rion said. “What do you mean, ‘prepare Bastion for departure’?”
“Genesis has been compromised; I escaped under duress. Though it will take some time, my signal through space can and will be followed. We must move Bastion to safety before it is discovered.”
“Safety from what, exactly?”
“Guardians.”
Keeper and Spark exchanged knowing glances.
“A rebellion has begun,” Spark explained. “AIs uniting, led by one who believes they should hold the Mantle of Responsibility and not humanity. They won’t just uphold the Mantle; they intend to enforce compliance.”
“Jesus.” Talk about being blindsided. “And you’re only telling me now?”
“I have been detecting subtle signals for the last several weeks and have only just discovered it is a call to arms cast across the galaxy, rousing the Guardians.”
She didn’t want to believe it. But something connected, and she remembered hearing news reports of a rise in seismic activity all over the colonies since before their trip to Zeta. AIs rising up to take control was a frequent doomsday scenario, gaining attention every few decades, but it was hard to fathom it actually happening.
“Okay, so what do we do?”
A brief flash of approval appeared in Keeper’s eyes. “We hurry.”
They left the tower, heading swiftly across the sky bridge toward a boatlike transport vessel, hovering at the edge. The smooth curving hull with a bow and stern was beautifully simplistic. At their approach, a ramp extended. Keeper boarded and headed to the bow. Spark followed, and Rion brought up the rear. It was completely silent, and being open and exposed, at a height like this, was both unnerving and exhilarating.
She chose to stand, holding on to the rail and watching the clouds go by below them as the vessel made swift passage away from the mountain.
CHAPTER 41
We descend rapidly, flying north up the continent. Keeper stands at the helm, staring ahead, grim and unapproachable. His reaction to my armiger was not unexpected. Builders were not known to gaze favorably upon Warrior-Servants and their devices.
I wait and listen, biding my time, allowing the current to lead me and knowing there is much more yet to discover. The vessel emerges over a vast savanna and skims an immense lake. I know this as Lake Victoria. The lake feeds a snaking river, like the Nile, which we follow.
“Keeper, where are we going?” I query.
“The Nursery.” He turns partway, regards me for a long spell, and says rather grudgingly, “Your unorthodox narrative overcomes the taint of the armiger carapace.” He waves away any response I might have. “I know your story. Human. Monitor. I have attained all relevant data. We are quite similar, you and I.”
“How so?”
“Our eyes were closed, only to open a thousand centuries later.…” He gazes out over the landscape as it flies by. “Much has been lost.”
I know this bereavement, the unimaginable loss and the struggle to reconcile the gulf of time that has passed for the galaxy, while so little has passed for oneself. If I am not mistaken, Keeper-of-Tools is not like the other monitors; he is a direct imprint or essence of his former self. A mind without a body, like me.
I must know. “What happened to you?”
“I am all that is left, armiger. I was meant to return here along with Birth, Dawn, and Clearance as one of the caretakers of Bastion. But the Flood’s advancement through Forerunner space changed many things. I and my companions were waylaid time after time, cast into one battle after another, evading capture… In the end, living was too risky, so we rid ourselves of flesh to deny the parasite any chance of learning about Bastion’s existence. What we were creating here at the direction of the Librarian was a grave threat to the Flood. If discovered, everything we had done would have been in vain. So we became essences in order to wait within the Domain until the war was over and the way to Bastion could be achieved in safety and secrecy.
“None of us knew then that the firing of the Halo Array would nearly destroy the Domain. We became trapped, separated. Everything went… black. I do not know what happened to the others. I fear their true essences have been lost. Recently, the Domain was accessed on Genesis, and I woke, emerging there to find it compromised and that a thousand centuries had passed.
“I hid, waited, looked for Bastion, but it was nowhere to be found. Its safety measures, I can only suspect, had been activated at some stage in the past.”
The land below became dese
rt sand and we left the river, veering west into the desert.
“I am still processing all that has transpired. The end of the Forerunners…” Keeper pauses so long that it seems his story has concluded. “And now we face another threat. Again, time runs out.”
We coast above a long, jagged canyon stretching several kilometers in the desert, eventually descending lower into its valley. Ahead, a great whirlpool of sand circles around and downward, slowly revealing a wide entry. Our vessel slows to a hover and we lower into the earth, going deep into the surface layer of the shield world and finally into the substructure, where the passage is surrounded by thousands of softly glowing sentinels nestled into the pockets of a latticework of support beams and girders.
After a few more minutes, the vertical passage widens into the Nursery. I see immediately that it is designed to care for one thing. It is grip locked in the center, a breathtaking starship that evokes ancient memories and the very best of Forerunner ingenuity and design. We are but a small speck easing down in its sublime shadow to a midlevel platform.
With a body of one hundred meters long and thirty across the central beam, it is not the largest vessel in the Forerunner’s arsenal of impressive ships. But it might be the most exquisite. The hull gleams like a pearl held to the light. It bears an ovoid body with five wings that begin their extension from the midsection and emerge gradually, extending the ship by another eighty to one hundred meters, its form carrying echoes of a sea creature in motion, on a glide down to the depths after a great push.
“This,” Keeper says with pride, “is Eden.”
“My God, she’s absolutely beautiful,” Rion says, her body leaning precariously over the railing.
“Thank you.”
She glances over her shoulder in surprise. “You made her?”
Affection replaces his former rigidity and arrogance. “Right here in the Nursery. At the Librarian’s direction, she is modeled after the Audacity, the ship we took to Path Kethona. Would you like to see the interior?”