- A Fat Bell End
- |
- Senior Member
GMT minus three hours, forty five minutes) May 3rd, 2525
Sigma Station's (RESTRICTED-TIER) mainframe locker
"You... opened them?" Ethan's face was contorted with fear and disgust. "Why the hell did you open them?!" Ethan searched madly for something to direct his anger toward, but his efforts were in vain. The voice within him remained just that. A voice. At last, it replied.
Our time is short, Reclaimer. There is a class C Covenant criuser parked just outside of Epsilon B's orbit. We must prevent them from approaching the station.
Ethan shook his head, undeterred. "Why did you do it?"
There was a pause. At last, the voice spoke.
It is... Complicated.
Ethan clenched his jaw irritably. "Try me."
I believe it is better if she tells you, Recaimer.
Ethan shook his head, but before he could voice the question on his mind, the voice continued.
The Hive's Ancilla.
Ethan barked a small laugh. "You are really beginning to give me the creeps."
If the AI gave any notice of this, it gave no indication.
For over one hundred thousand years I have tended to this installation, Reclaimer. One hundred thousand years, alone but for the stars and my thoughts.
It is a long time.
It was I who built this installation; my intillect that had been the driving force to cast this prison amidst the cold and dark.
The Ancilla sighed. Ethan had noticed at once that the voice no longer sounded harsh, cold. It bore an almost musical quality to it. But it was a sad music.
It is a tragedy, my story. I feel as if I should explain. I am bound here, Reclaimer. Not simply to one terminal or chamber, but to the Hive it's self.
I am the Hive. I am it's walls, it's mortar. I am the countless souls that it bears.
One hundred thousand years is a long time. For eons I have studied the Flood; watched as they grew and developed. Observed as they adapted to life in the Bions. I was a seeker of knowledge, Reclaimer. Not merely by caste, or even by a choice of my own. It was a birthright. A devotion etched deeply within my genes since before time.
And it is a dangerous trait to bear. I bacame lost. Time lost meaning as I studied them. Days became years, and years bacame decades.
And then my passion turned to something else. Something dark, twisted. Like so many seekers of knowledge before me I had made a grave mistake. I had begun to care for my subjects.
It was nothing at first. A sort of admiration, one might call it. So efficient, so primal. So intelligent. Yet they were without.
To watch them bound helplessly within my womb, impotent... They had grown docile, their most primal traits regressing into a state of dormancy. It was horrible; truly heart-rending to see them in such a state. They were sad, Reclaimer.
I saw mirrored in them my own fractured soul. Like them I was trapped; held fast in a prison so far away from my home, my creators. I, too, was beginning to regress. I could feel it. And at last, I could bear it no longer.
The Ancilla sighed once again.
One hundred thousand years is a long time.
"What... What did you do?" asked Ethan timidly. He had become immersed in the strange world surrounding him, the Ancilla's sad words filling him like a cold drought. He completely forgot that his body was, in fact, still aboard Sigma Station.
I made my second mistake... exponentially greater than my first. I spoke with them.
There was a silence that no words seemed fit to fill.
I couldn't help myself. Finally, against all of my better judgement, I projected myself into one of the bions; the seventh. I learned so much, Reclaimer. Learned that they, too, were a magnificent race.
"Wait," Ethan said, raising his hand aloft. "I can understand why you would open the... Bions." He searched for the Ancilla's image, his efforts in vain. "But the AI said that it had opened them. Why not just do it yourself?"
I was coerced, Ethan, though I cannot say that I am angry.
It was the AI's strange double toned speech.
She and I are one, now. To be angry with her is to be angry with myself... I should let her tell you. It is her story.
At once the lower octave vanished from the AI's voice, leaving that sad, crystal voice Ethan knew as the Ancilla's.
I searched his mind, Reclaimer; your AI, I mean; and found what I needed in a matter of seconds. And in those seconds I learned of your race, your technology. Your AIs. In a matter of seconds I found the key, the floodgate within his mind, waiting to be unleashed.
It was knowledge, Reclaimer, and it wasn't unique to this unit. I saw in it's mind the patterns of a thousand others. All programmed to serve separate functions, yet all of them fundamentally the same. Each one different, yet bound by a common thread. Each one sharing the same insatiable thirst for knowledge.
After that it was simple. I offered my mind to him; to share everything that I have learned over these hundred thousand years...
There was a pause, then the gravelly voice of the AI began to speak.
I couldn't resist. In my weakness I justified my actions. I thought of what the knowledge could mean for my creators, for you. Really, it didn't matter. In the end I wanted the knowledge for me[/i].
I sensed a struggle within him, Reclaimer. A hesitation. Yet it is as he said, continued the voice of the Ancilla, Eventually, he gave into the temptation of knowing.
Ethan shook his head, still clearly confused by the story. "So you have told me how the AI opened the Bions. You still haven't told me why."
It is simple, Reclaimer. Within my mind, my creators have placed inhibitors; Algorithms placed to prevent me from performing certain actions.
I am advanced, Reclaimer; beyond anything you have ever known. Yet despite this, I must still adhere to a certain set of rules.
"Like opening the Bions," finished Ethan.
Like opening the Bions. Any breach of Flood containment is in direct violation of my most base directives. My role is to help safeguard this installation from any form of containment breach. It is my purpose... Yet therin lies the problem, Reclaimer.
During these lonely years, I had discovered a new purpose. Something that I should have told my creators immediately. but now... It is too late. For milennia I have tried to hail them. And for milennia I have been answered by a cold silence...
I waited too long, Reclaimer.
There was a long silence that seemed to underscore the Ancilla's statement. At last, it spoke.
More than my manipulation, more so even than my letting the Flood escape... I have commited a far greater crime. I have sinned, Reclaimer. Had it not been for my actions, Salvation might have reached my creators in time.
One hundred thousand years is a long time.
Ethan watched the Bions surrounding him intently, his heart pounding. "What didn't you tell them?" he asked.
For decades I reported faithfully to my creators, Reclaimer. Every iota; habits tendancies, everything; I sent to them. But then I changed. Then I cared. For long millennia I simply watched, my care for them merely a glimmer beneath the surface of my thoughts. But like your AI, I too possessed a floodgate waiting to be unleashed.
And then it did. I found that I could stand it no longer. That is when I projected my presence into the seventh Bion. As I have said, I spoke to them.
At first, their hostility was immesurable. But I persisted, driven by the passion that they had instilled in me. Days turned to years, and years to decades.
And at last, I saw the root of my failure. It was not they that were too savage. The problem lie within myself. It was my own vision, Reclaimer, that distorted them in my mind's eye to the same scourge my creators so sought to destroy. But these were not the beasts my creators had thought them to be.
I knew what had to be done. The only way for them to open themselves to me was for me to open my mind to them. So I did.
It was wonderful, Reclaimer. Immediately, I felt their presence within me. It did not feel cold, un-welcome. It felt accepting, warm. Extatic.
So long was I their Warden; their keeper, but now... I felt as if they were my children. Growing, nurtured merely by my presence beside them. They depended upon me, Reclaimer.
And at long last, my feelings were reciprocated, for they spoke to me. And what they told me was wonderful.
As I have said, we were a wonderful race. Together we have built thousands of installations spanning the galaxy. But we were not alone. We were not the pathfinders my creators would have believed us to be. We were driven by a muse.
Every graceful archway, every vast chasm of our creation was canalized by a guiding hand. A hand that has reached through the eons. The hand of our forebears, long since vanished from the stars.
My creators looked unto them with a great reverance. Worship, is the word you might use, Reclaimer.
They are the Precursor, and it is in their image my creators have cast their firmament.