Spark
After I survived the near collision with the wolf planet, my final days on Installation 07 and its subsequent arrival to the greater Ark are steeped in shadow. The Librarian and the IsoDidact reunited there for a time, and the Ark became my place to mourn and heal and come to terms with my newly acquired machine nature.
How does one heal a mind without a body?
Still retaining my human memories, I became Monitor Chakas, rewarded with the task of looking after the Librarian’s population of humans on the Ark while the IsoDidact eventually returned to the Council and the Librarian continued her conservation work across the galaxy. Of course, our tale was not over, and the tide of war would carry us into one another again.
Just as the tides have curiously returned me here to the old heart of Mendicant Bias.
I follow behind the cheerful Submonitor Veridity and Rion, intentionally hanging back, absorbing the past but also attempting to remember the shadow time I am missing.
I call ahead, “Tell us about the Librarian’s time here.”
“Of course! Much of her time was spent creating the Cartographer and setting the parameters for the Monument; giving us purpose after so much of our purpose was lost.”
“What was your purpose before?” Rion inquires.
“Most tended the living populations. Many species were spread across the ring, some very small groups… but others rose to great civilizations and built equally great cities. We had a very long history together, often caretaking our charges through numerous generations of families. Other monitors were station attendants, rail attendants, or held administrative and custodial functions. When the ring was brought to the Ark, the IsoDidact dictated that this installation would no longer continue human conservation measures. No humans meant no purpose.
“But the Librarian, ever the great preserver and debater, said the dead and dying should not be forgotten or unattended; they would be gathered and stored here as a reminder and a record.” Veridity spins around. “There’s no reason for them to run amuck!” she says happily, then, “He called it a tomb. But she called it a Monument.”
All around us I begin to see the towers of black crystal differently.
They are alive with memories and essences like ghosts in a fishbowl of black glass. Only this glass rises as tall as skyscrapers, creating alleys and streets, intersections and wide avenues. We weave a mazelike path through this strange city, the tullioc and their glowing wings and cocoons casting the streets in the darkest violet light.
Rion’s head tips back repeatedly as she walks, trying to take it all in. Occasionally her hand reaches out and skims along the black surface where shadowy images respond—a bizarre mix of diaphanous code and picture, appearing and disappearing with a languid pace.
I want this place to feel wrong, so the anger and desire to raze it all to the ground is justified, but this so-called Monument is not what I expected. It is surprisingly reverent and considerate—another worthy and sympathetic program distinctly emblematic of the Supreme Lifeshaper.
We, too, saved lives, she and I. For a time.
But the number saved will never measure up to those we took, I’m afraid.
In a way, the essences stored here had reached their own version of the Sangheili Hall of Eternity, their names and history preserved in crystal while the monitors safeguard the site, tend the memories, and pay homage to the dead.
A somber shrine below while life flourishes above.
Ram was right. It is a true underworld.
I cannot help but view these archived remnants from my own strange mortality and wonder if this is what I have become as well. A relic. Memory survived. Not dead, not alive, but trapped somewhere in the middle. Is my place here in the past with them, or is it to walk among the living to only bear witness as they perish, while I endure? Is that my penance? Or my reward?
“Hey…”
Rion is gazing up at me, concern written in the buckled lines across her forehead. It is clear she has come back to question why I have stopped. I did not realize I had. The monitor is several meters down the violet-lit street, waiting.
“You all right?”
“Yes. No.” I shake my head. “I do not know. This place…” I reach out and place the tip of my alloy finger on the crystal, increasing the intensity of my hard light. It illuminates outward, sending light through the surface, and revealing within floating code arranged in whimsical lines and images—moments in time—that appear and disappear. “It makes me question my existence, my purpose.”
I pull back from the wall as Rion steps closer and lays a hand on my arm. My heart aches, and I wish just this once that I could feel it. “She left the key to you. Across all this time and opportunity, it was you she chose.” Her lips purse with thought. “Aren’t you the Finger of the First Man, the keeper and protector of the record of humanity?”
“That does have a nice ring to it.”
“The ring of purpose,” she wisely replies. “This place is full of ghosts. It could bring anyone down. Come on—let’s get to this Cartographer and see what she left you.”
“Your memory is impressive, Captain,” I say, following. She has remembered the tale of Gamelpar I once told her and the crew. It was he, the elder I met on this very ring, who spoke of the First Human, he who carried the souls of all his descendants to come in a finger as tall as a tree.
She turns, grins, and taps her temple. “Memory like an elephant.”
“Mm.” Welcome to my world.
We reach the center of the cluster, where the alley spills us into a large circular area. Several hexagonal crystals seventeen meters high, spaced four meters apart, have been erected around the perimeter. In the center stands the familiar Forerunner architecture that serves as the Cartographer and a few structures that are new to me.
“This place was her idea too,” the monitor tells us. “There is another functional site closer to the surface, half a ring away. This serves as a silent cartographer.” Veridity spins so that her lens faces me. “An ideal place for such a name. Or is it an ideal name for such a place?”
I ignore her and approach the terminal. Access is immediate.
Instantly a map appears suspended in the air above us, showing a navigable blueprint of the entire Halo ring. The complete history of the installation resides here. Linked, as I am, the information flows like an unending feast, a long injection of nutrients to my hungry core.
I enjoy it immensely.
Odd.
I am pulled out of my reverie.
There is a gap in the time line. This is… unheard of. It simply should not exist. An entire event has been erased. “A record is missing,” I tell the monitor.
“Yes. A singular event, I assure you,” she says, affronted, though not by my statement, but by the act itself.
“Who erased it?”
“Unknown. It is a deep record, very old, and a black smudge on our perfect log.”
Perplexing, indeed. Certainly not an accident, which makes it even more intriguing, as does the necessary level of knowledge and clearance needed to commit an act of erasure. What would require such a drastic measure? What could be so important, dangerous, or secret that the Forerunners needed to erase it from Zeta Halo’s history?
This intrigue, however captivating, must be put aside for later analysis. For now, I must move on. I gesture for the Librarian’s key. Rion retrieves it from the safety of her utility vest and hands it over. As I bring it close to the terminal, a key port automatically extends itself from the terminal’s console. I slide the key inside, and the port reshapes itself around the key’s perimeter.
I am uncertain what to expect, but a bio pad rising from the terminal is not one of them.
This is meant for a Forerunner—or, as their inheritors, a human.
Rion gives me a quick look. We have done this before.
She places her hand on the pad.
The Halo map rearranges itself. The galaxy bursts into life, filling the chamber. I hear the monitor gasp in awe. It is beautiful to witness, and I am momentarily stunned as well.
To my surprise, a golden point appears in a far-off sector. The sector enlarges, revealing systems, nebulae, asteroid fields, and finally a particular star system, and its planets.
“It’s another coordinate,” Rion says, somewhat disappointed.
As several data packs download directly into my core for later study, the map fades and the key is ejected. Rion removes it as another port extends with a smaller key. Curious, she takes the second key and then inspects them both. “I think they fit together.”
“The smaller inside the impression on the original, it appears.”
With a shrug, she quips, “Here goes.” And places them together.
Hard light fuses around the two pieces, making their connection permanent, transforming two keys into one.
There is a sudden charge in the air.
A prick begins in my core, a sense of unease as Rion smiles and lifts the new key. My sensors are firing, collecting, calculating.
Dread grips hold of me.
A portal splits the air behind Rion. And I know immediately what I must do.
When her slower human senses realize what has happened, her eyes widen with horror. She reaches out to me for help as the portal begins to swallow her. I extend my hand and pluck the key from her fist.
Just the barest, briefest glimpse of shock dawns in her eyes.
And then she is gone.
And I have the key.