Halo: Primordium

STRATEGY TEAM LEADER: “That’s our working hypothesis. Should raise some eyebrows at High Command, and we need that sort of boost right now.”

SCIENCE TEAM SENIOR TECH LIEUTANANT: “Sir, am I being ordered to confirm that this is—”

ONI COMMANDER: “How many of these devious bastards are out there, anyway?”

STRATEGY TEAM LEADER: “One per Halo, so far. As for this particular monitor—I certainly hope it’s the last. Yes! So designate. But bury it somewhere in the political report. Give us all some cover in case it blows up in our faces.”

ONI COMMANDER: “Say the damned thing infiltrated our secretarial pool.”

SCIENCE TEAM SENIOR TECH LIEUTENANT: “Sir, shall I actually say that?”

STRATEGY TEAM LEADER: “Christ almighty. No!”

AI TRANSLATOR: Monitor language stream resuming. It is incomplete but recoverable.

Chapter Forty-Two

THE DIDACT’S SHIP lifted away from the fog-shrouded wheel as it rotated above the greater Ark, that vast, life-bearing, regenerative flower floating in the dimness above the galaxy’s margins.

No more Halos issued from its Forge.

My flesh had been shriven. My humanity had come to an end, and yet I had become the Finger of the First Man, as Gamelpar had told the story—built to last thousands of years . . . built to serve Forerunners.

But also made as a gift for the Librarian.

And given the opportunity, finaly, to testify to you, the true Reclaimers.

In time, my numbness developed into something richer, something that could survive thousands of centuries with only a minimum of madness creeping in. To contain multitudes is a definition of madness, is it not? I have rarely been able to remember which of my fragmented selves has performed any particular action.

I see in your records that one of me caused you considerable difficulty—and then, assisted you! How like us. But never did that monitor reveal its origins, or the motives behind its perverse behaviors.

Perhaps now you can guess.

As Reclaimer, it is your privilege to shrive me again—not of the flesh, long since turned to dust, but of my rich confusion of sins.

The Forerunners had, for a time, the Domain. I have never been able to access the Domain. Perhaps it no longer touches any part of our universe. If that is the case, then nobody wil ever understand the history or the motivations of the Didact or any other Forerunner.

. . .

That means, however long I continue to exist, I wil never understand why any of this had to happen.

I last observed the Didact in company with the Librarian on the Ark. They were walking on a high ribbon over the greatest biological preserve I had yet seen—dwarfing any such on the wheel. Thousands of kilometers of varied habitats, containing the accumulated life stores of wel over a thousand worlds—and stil, in the time remaining, she was planning to gather more.

That was also the last time I saw Vinnevra. She had become part of the Librarian’s core population of humans, minus, of course, the representatives from Earth—from Erde-Tyrene, I mean.

I was no longer responsible for her; she could not even recognize me. Yet ever since I have missed her.

Riser had survived the removal of his imprint—a very tough cha manush indeed—and had been returned to our home. Or so I was told. I vowed at the first opportunity, I would look for him.

I would do everything I could to find him.

But the location of Erde-Tyrene was concealed from me for many years. And when I was finaly given the freedom to search, it was already too late.

I miss him to this day.

I miss Vinnevra, and Gamelpar, and my mother.

I miss them al to this very instant.

At the command of the Didact, who rarely commanded his wife about anything, those processed by the Composer, those who remained on the fog-shrouded wheel, along with the remains of al the other Flood victims and the deactivated Graveminds—of which ten had already formed—and the last of the functioning monitors keeping perpetual watch—al on the wheel and the wheel itself were sent through a portal for one last time, never to be used in that same way again.

It was known as Instalation 07.

It has become a sacred tomb for milions, though some may stil live.

I do not know.

The Librarian was very interested in my report on the conditions of Erde-Tyrene, which she had not visited for many years. To my

Erde-Tyrene, which she had not visited for many years. To my dismay, I had to acknowledge that it was likely not her touch I had felt at birth—not her personal touch—but that of an automated imprinting system. Now that I was no longer flesh, that revelation did not disturb me. Much.

I stil kept a firm record of how the original Chakas had felt about the Librarian.

The Didact returned to the graces of the newly constituted Council —for a time. The Librarian’s power, of course, rose along with that of her husband.

Know one knew of the actual fate of the Master Builder. It was assumed he had died somewhere on Instalation 07.

The debate about strategies against the Flood was renewed. As I said, neither of the Arks were manufacturing Halos, though they were certainly capable of such. This fact, which seemed inconsequential at the time, would eventualy be hidden from me in the name of “compartmentalization.”

I see very clearly how much the Librarian has shaped humanity since the end of the first human-Forerunner war.

Whenever you look inward and see an ideal female . . . whether it be goddess, anima, mother, sister, or lover . . .

For a brief, barely sensible instant, you wil see the face and feel the spirit of the Librarian.

My systems are shutting down. The humans I carry within me are dying . . . I can feel them fading by the milions. Old friends in my solitude. So many discourses and debates on human nature and history!

Gone.

They were brave spirits and deserved more than ever I could give them.

END STREAM

TENTATIVE CONFIRMATION: PARTIAL MEMORY STORE of Forerunner AI “Monitor” 343 GUILTY SPARK

DEVICE STATUS INACTIVE—NONRECOVERABLE.

DEVICE ORDERED JETTISONED BY ONI COMMANDER.

REQUEST FOR STANDARD BURIAL CEREMONY DENIED BY SAME.

END DATA LOG.

RESUME DATA LOG (ibid ref.)

SCIENCE TEAM LEADER: “What’s up with the tech team?”

ONI COMMANDER: “They’re running around on C deck like a bunch of scared marmots, carrying AI cores. Won’t let anybody in.”

SCIENCE TEAM LEADER: “Cores? They need to flush and replace ship’s AI?”

ONI COMMANDER: “Don’t know!”

STRATEGY TEAM LEADER: “Look at this. . . . Ship’s veering from main task force. We’re moving away from all the action! Who in hell ordered that?”

SCIENCE TEAM SECOND OFFICER: “Environment is cooling.

Oxygen is dropping.”

ONI COMMANDER: “We can’t get to the bridge or to any other deck. Hatches are in battle damage lockdown.”

SCIENCE TEAM LEADER: “But we’re not in battle!”

ONI COMMANDER: “I’m not at all sure of that. The damned 343 dupe—”

STRATEGY TEAM LEADER: “It’s out in space with the other garbage.”

ONI COMMANDER: “But its data stream is still with us!”

STRATEGY TEAM EXEC OFFICER: “Three of us climbed down through the maintenance shell. Other decks appear to be conking out one by one. We can’t raise anyone on E and F, and the engine room is a madhouse. Whole ship is—”

TECH CHIEF: “Listen to what just came through bridge comm! The skipper’s talking to something in the AI root system.

STRATEGY TEAM LEADER: “Something that’s not the ship’s AI?”

TECH CHIEF: “Just listen!”

(playback)

(Voice ID’d as 343 Guilty Spark): “Your ship’s AI is defective.”

CAPTAIN: “In what way?”

(Voice): “Compound Information Corruption. Ship will experience complete systems collapse and drive implosion within five minutes. But there is a cure for that ailment.”

CAPTAIN: “What kind of cure?”

(Voice): “Much worse than the disease, you might think. I shall have to replace all original AI functions with my own. I’ve long wanted a chance to resume my quest. Your ship is an excellent vehicle for that purpose. Apologies, Captain.”

(end playback)

ONI COMMANDER: “We invited that thing right into our living room, plumped up the cushions, brought it a pipe and slippers! We should have known better! We should have—”

SHIP’S AI: All ship functions are now under control of 343 Guilty Spark. Root and System AI signing off.

STRATEGY TEAM LEADER: “Damn thing hacked the entire ship!

We are so screwed.”

ONI COMMANDER: “Four or five minutes of oxygen . . .”

GUILTY SPARK: “You will not die. You will sleep for a time. I have need of all of you.”

STRATEGY TEAM LEADER: “What need?”

GUILTY SPARK: “Know that all that lingered in me, the memories and emotions of old humanity, when I was still flesh, is also hidden deep within you. It slumbers, but it shapes, and it haunts your dreams and your hopes.

“You and I are brothers in many ways . . . not least in that we faced the Didact before, and face him now, and perhaps ever after. This is combat eternal, enmity unslaked, unified by only one thing: our love for the elusive Lifeshaper. Without her, humans would have been extinguished many times over. Both I and the Didact love her to this day.

“Some say she is dead, that she died on Earth. But that is demonstrably untrue.

“One of you almost certainly carries Vinnevra and Riser’s old spirits within. Only the Lifeshaper can find them and coax my friends back to life. And after a hundred thousand years of exploration and study . . .

“I know where to find her.”