by Kelly Gay
“Well, that’s the old him. He was Chakas, yes. And he was a monitor. But now he’s both. He’s more. He needs a new persona—right, Spark?”
“Spark?” Rion blurted, nearly choking on a mouthful of rice.
“Why can’t you have an open mind?” Niko said, highly exasperated.
“I have an open mind.”
Ram snorted.
Rion shot him a look. She didn’t have to wonder whose idea it was to start this little venture, because it sure as hell had Niko written all over it. But as she ate and considered—with an open mind—the idea did have its appeal.
Dealing with an avatar was far more comfortable than with the alien creature in front of them. It wasn’t the size or hard light or alloy that unsettled her; it was the absence of facial expression. There were times when she could read emotion, noting that his light tended to get brighter if he found interest or annoyance in something. His tone and body language were easy to read, but he often clammed up, and then Rion didn’t have a clue what he was doing or thinking or what his emotional state might be.
And for a creature she didn’t trust, that was a hard thing to accept.
“No, you don’t,” Niko said, after a long moment.
Rion frowned again as wariness crept through her thoughts. It was a mistake, Niko welcoming the armiger with open arms, not knowing his true agenda. His time on the ship was temporary. They had a deal, and once that was done, the crew and the armiger would part ways—if his word was any good.
Despite her reservations, she couldn’t bring herself to rain on Niko’s good mood. In the days since the armiger had been brought on board, the old Niko had begun to resurface from his grief. He was seeing the good in everything, the possibility in everything. He had purpose. Drive.
Both he and Less had been struggling since Cade’s death, understandably. And part of Rion had worried that Cade’s passing would change them so completely that they’d lose everything that made them who they were. Now she could see a glimmer of hope.
“Fine,” she said, trying to be open-minded, but she drew the line at Spark. She had to wonder what the armiger thought about that. She turned her attention on him. “So—Spark, huh?”
The armiger dipped its alloy head, which caught the light. The alloy seemed in better shape than when they had pulled him from the wreck, less weathered, the color more dark gray than black now, though that could just be the illumination in the lounge.
“That name will do for now,” he said.
“No. No. No.” Ram banged his forehead against the dispenser, cajoling the brewer to stop sputtering the coffee and actually pour it.
Before Rion could wrap her head around the shifting appearance of the armiger, Lessa walked in with a load of laundry and set the basket down beside the counter that held the built-in steamer. She opened the flat panel, tossed the clothes inside, shut it, selected her preferences, and then looked at the gathering with curiosity. She’d yet to tame her tight blond curls, and they seemed to hover around her head like a weightless cloud.
“What’s going on?” she asked, approaching the table.
“Does he look different to you?” Rion asked.
“Who, Spark?”
Rion rolled her eyes. “Yes, the armiger.”
Less stared at him. She and Niko had spent way more time with the thing than Rion had. Perhaps they hadn’t noticed at all.
“Are you repairing yourself?” Rion asked him suddenly.
“He is not repairing himself,” Niko said excitedly, eyes growing round. “He’s transfiguring. He’s been doing it since we brought him on board, little by little.”
“Transfiguring into what?” Rion asked, standing straighter.
“This form is a soldier,” the armiger answered.
“And he prefers not to look like one,” Niko said, “that’s all.”
“The ability for armigers to transfigure was quite common,” the armiger explained. “My alloy is made up of metals and machine cells, which interface with my artificial neural framework. However, the interface is severely damaged. Once we get to Triniel, I will have the tools to repair the damage.”
Less slid into a chair. “I can help with an avatar,” she said. “I’m pretty good with stuff like this.” She cracked her knuckles and critically eyed the avatar.
Niko narrowed his eyes. “He doesn’t want to appear human, Less.”
“You don’t?” she asked the armiger.
Rion watched the exchange with curiosity and conflicting emotions. Smart AIs were a common enough occurrance these days that most everyone knew they exhibited emotions and preferences, developed their own unique personalities, and often chose to represent as human. Rion had come across dozens in her lifetime. The armiger, in many ways, was no exception. He had his own sense of humor, preferences, and no doubt a wealth of other emotions.
But he was also quite singular. Complicated. Untrustworthy. Alien.
Maybe Niko was on to something and an avatar was a step in the right direction, or at least a more comfortable one for the crew.
“For now, we need to settle on an avatar,” Niko said.
Rion finished eating and cleared her bowl. When she turned around again, a new holograph was hovering above the table. It was a nearly identical version of the armiger—though maybe a bit softer around the edges and hard angles.
“What do you think, Captain?” the avatar asked, the voice sounding more human than ever.
“I think we created a monster.”
His manner seemed to deflate.
“No, it’s not a bad thing,” Lessa assured him quickly while shooting Rion a glare, as did Niko. At least the two were finally agreeing on something. “It’s just an expression. Please search the phrase. I promise it’s not bad.”
“I see,” the armiger’s avatar said at last. “Nevertheless . . .” He manifested a silvery orb in his hand with an eye of blue. It was a scaled down version of 343 Guilty Spark. “I have been a monster,” he said, staring at the image for a long moment before pressing the orb into his chest, where it disappeared, leaving only a vague dark gray impression behind. “To remind myself what I am capable of, and of the horror that I can, and have, inflicted.”
Lessa leaned in and gave him a warmhearted, encouraging smile, her chin resting in her hands. “Well, I think it’s perfect. Nice to meet you, Spark.”
“Thank you, Lessa.”
Ram passed with barely a glance, sipped his coffee, and said, “Avatar is fine. Name is fine. It’s not that hard, people.” And then he walked out.
CHAPTER 27
* * *
After the avatar rendering, I continue my work in the cargo hold upgrading what I can in the Ace of Spades’s system, pending our arrival at Triniel. I direct Ram Chalva, using my armiger body to aid him in implementing repairs and manual upgrades. While I do this, several versions of my avatar linger with the rest of the crew. One is at Niko’s desk as we work on upgrading his drones, Michelle and Diane. Another converses with Lessa. We talk about star charts, navigation, and which color would look best painted on the lounge walls. Another avatar appears on the tactical table on the bridge while the captain sits in her chair, absorbed in checking systems and stores.
I study her features. I have noted that she usually braids her dark hair and wears it twisted at the nape of her neck. Today it is braided in a loose rope and hangs over her shoulder. She attempts to be severe and commanding, erring often on the side of quiet and aloof—sometimes harsh even—but this is just a mask she wears. She smiles when she does not mean to, laughs out of turn, and looks upon her crew with caring.
She also grieves deeply for her lost comrade, Cade.
I hear her some nights in the small gymnasium, hitting the equipment in anger and grief. And I sympathize.
“Your father, John Forge . . .” I say, and she looks up from her work.
“What about him?”
“You believe he is still alive.”
She thinks for a long mo
ment. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m chasing ghosts. All I know is that if I were lost, he would go to the ends of the galaxy to find me. He’d never stop.”
“Forgive me for saying this, but you barely knew him.”
“That’s true. We missed twenty-six years together. I know it’s a long shot, finding him after all this time, but if there’s a chance, I have to try.”
In that, we are in the same predicament. She with her father. Me with the Librarian.
“And what if he is dead?” I ask.
“Then at least I’ll know the truth.”
“What will you do then?”
“I don’t know. Move on. Continue working, I guess.”
“Your friends, the crew, they mean a lot to you.”
“Yes. They do.” She tilts her head and studies me, trying to see if I’m leading to some point. “As your friends meant a lot to you, I’m sure.”
“The truth is, Riser and Vinnevra, Bornstellar, they are long gone. Stardust now. It is strange to have lost them so long ago, but only recently to have remembered them at all. Their loss . . . it still feels fresh.”
“You really think the Librarian can bring them back?”
“Of course.”
Rion bites her lip in hesitation, then says, “Sometimes when people have been gone for a long time . . . we have to consider letting them go, letting them rest in peace.” Then she smiles. “Which I know is an empty sentiment coming from me, the girl who’s been looking for her father for two decades.”
“You have not yet said if we have an accord. Will you help me and accompany me to Earth?”
I have allowed her ample time to decide. But now I must know.
“Help me get our things back, and yes, I’ll help you in return,” she says.
“We have an agreement, then.”
She nods. “It’s a deal.”
I say nothing, and she returns to her work. I continue watching her, however, wondering why I feel no guilt at my deception.
Her father is dead.
Yet I do not tell her the truth.
Sometimes we must be willing to do wrong in order to do right.
CHAPTER 28
* * *
Triniel, July 2557
After dropping out of slipspace three hours earlier and making a course correction to Triniel at subluminal speed, Rion was eager to get a look at the arc of blue and green now filling the viewscreen as Ace entered high orbit.
The planet was one and a half times the size of Venezia, with azure oceans and three emerald continents. According to the armiger, in the early days of the planet’s life, the long, narrow continents had once been a connected ring of volcanic mountain ranges that had wrapped like a spiral around the planet. In time, the range had broken into three pieces. The pieces eventually cooled and the volcanic activity slowed, allowing a temperate, lush world to evolve, and creating a perfect future environment for the Forerunners to colonize.
Triniel had remained untouched since the Forerunner-Flood War.
As they descended, entire cities were revealed, poking through the canopy of green, sitting empty for a hundred thousand years. . . .
Rion had always envisioned hitting the salvage jackpot—what salvager didn’t?—but this was unlike anything she could have imagined. And while it was a breathtaking sight from their lofty position, she had to remind herself to hold her interest in check. Jackpot or not, they had no idea what they’d find on the surface, nor could they be 100 percent sure of the armiger’s true intent.
While Niko and Lessa had begun calling him by his newly chosen name, Rion found she couldn’t just yet. To her, he’d be the armiger right up until he proved he could be trusted. He’d been right when he said trust was earned. And so far he hadn’t done anything to earn theirs. Their time on Triniel, however, might just reveal the truth.
As Rion guided Ace into low orbit, she glanced at the tactical table where the armiger’s new avatar stood with his back to her, watching the planet along with Niko, Less, and Ram.
“We are the first humans to lay eyes on this world,” he said.
Ram caught her eye at the comment, but said nothing. That the armiger chose to think of himself as human was strange, seeing as how he’d decided on an avatar that was anything but.
Rion supposed that was the point. He was both, and he wasn’t shying away from it.
He manifested a holograph of the planet on the tactical table, complete with transparent mountain ranges giving way to cityscapes of soaring spires and vast complexes. “This is our destination.” He moved the planet with a flick of his hand and zoomed in on a facility built into the side of a mountain at the very tip of the central continent. “This is a Builder facility. It will have everything we require.”
“But you haven’t been here before, right?” Niko asked, fascinated with the view.
“That is right. I learned of Triniel through data acquired during my time as monitor of Installation Zero Four, though at the time this data was compartmentalized, as much of my acquired knowledge was then. There was a great deal I learned through many sources.”
“What kind of sources?” Niko asked, turning away from the view.
“My fellow monitors. The Array’s data stores. Through visitors to my installation, my explorations, communications, and alliances. . . . Every interaction is full of data, more than most can fathom,” he said.
Ram turned away from the viewscreen and stared at the holo-image with unreserved disbelief. “Never thought I’d see something like this. . . . We could spend a lifetime in just one building. Imagine all the day-to-day machines, power sources, armor . . . the list is endless.”
“Guys, this is way better than a debris field,” Niko said, joining him at the table.
Rion couldn’t argue with that, but she wasn’t sold just yet. When things looked too good to be true, they usually were. “All right, let’s head in.” She exchanged a look with the armiger and gave him a nod to take control.
Ace descended through the atmosphere, and soon they were picking up signs of life. “Marine, mammalian, avian . . .” the armiger said as he monitored the sensors. “How encouraging! Triniel has flourished.”
They broke through clouds and the central mountain range came into view, enormous and jagged and trimmed in a carpet of green that went all the way down from its slopes to the oceans on either side. Ahead of them, a large winged creature glided on outstretched wings toward a misty valley below. The thing was nearly as big as Ace.
As they continued their descent, flying closer to the mountains, massive roots appeared, as thick as old sequoia, clinging to the rock. From the roots, large spikes grew at random angles, the sharp ends pierced with limp shapes and bleached bones—land and sea animals in different stages of decomposition.
The macabre mixing with the surrounding beauty was a strange and unexpected sight. Rion straightened in her chair. In the spaces between the spikes were hundreds of translucent egg sacs, holding what appeared to be embryos of whatever life form had put its rotting food on display.
“Impressive,” the armiger said. “These were once small birds. Similar to the butcher-birds of Earth, they impale their food on thorns, saving it to feed the young and to display for a potential mate. The more carcasses, the better the chances of mating.”
“Well, they’re not small anymore,” Less said, pointing to another huge winged creature perched at the base of one of the spikes, pecking at the guts of one of its pierced meals.
“Are they territorial?” Rion asked.
“Oh, most certainly,” the armiger answered, admiring the great winged creature.
“Then let’s keep our distance.”
The peaks gave way to a sloping valley and a high plateau that supported a large city with soaring towers of steep geometric angles, their silvery-gray metal still gleaming in places. There were bridges that spanned impossible heights, and other buildings of smooth polished stone, trapezoidal in shape, with flecks of some luminous mineral catchi
ng the light. Everything was straight lines and angles, though not entirely in pristine condition. Massive evolved roots had snaked their way around the skyscrapers, creating thorny ribbons around many buildings, and creating natural bridges from one tower to the next.
The alien birds ruled this area, that much was clear, but even the overgrowth couldn’t diminish the size and scale and beauty of Triniel’s ancient structures.
Ram’s whistle filled the bridge. “Have to hand it to them,” he said in appreciation. “The Forerunners sure knew how to build a city.”
Despite the grisly sight of avian meals pierced on spikes, there was astonishing beauty everywhere they looked. Trees with draping limbs were covered in small pink blossoms, millions of them, all over the city, creating a wash of green and pink and metal and root.
For a moment Rion forgot her trepidation, and let awe and the rarity of what they were seeing wash over her. The blossoms rose en masse into the air, carried on breezes coming in from the coast, creating a dance of pink clouds that gently rose and fell all over the area.
“Incredible,” the armiger murmured thoughtfully. “I believe the toxin created a divergent evolutionary path for not only the birds, but for all the flora and fauna as well.”
Rion’s good feelings faded. “What do you mean, toxin?”
The armiger shifted to face her. “In the final days of the war, the inhabitants of Triniel were in the direct path of the Flood. There was no escaping their fate, no help forthcoming, nowhere to run. . . . In an act of defiance, and some would say immense courage, they released a planet-wide toxin, depriving the Flood of its food source, and thus its potential for enormous growth.” He paused. “This was a dead world before the Flood arrived.”
The mood on the bridge fell somber.
“They all died?” Lessa asked, eyes going wide. “Mass suicide?”
“Yes. They all died. It was an end preferable to what awaited them. They weren’t the only planet to do so.”
All those towers and buildings and homes—they weren’t abandoned or empty; they were filled with the dust of millions. The beauty below them, the untouched growth, the flowers and roots, were a memorial of a world gone collectively silent.