BRIAN REED
This story takes place in October 2558, during the galaxy-spanning event involving the resurrection of ominous and powerful Forerunner Guardian constructs across a number of populated worlds (Halo 5: Guardians).
I’m Teddy,” says the kind man.
Mommy, between bouts of snorting powders or swallowing pills, has taught Serin that all men are dangerous, but kind men are the most dangerous ones of all. “You can trust a mean man,” Mommy argues. “You know where he’s coming from. Only damn reason anybody’s kind, is ’cause they want something.”
Little Serin wants something. She is hungry, and kind Mister Teddy has food. She comes to him, reaches out for the hamburger he’s offering her. . . . What Serin can’t imagine as Teddy jams the needle full of sedative into her neck, is that the same scene is playing out across multiple colonies. There are a great many kind men and women talking to lots of little boys and girls. Unlike Serin, those children have homes. They have Mommies who aren’t drug addled. But just like her, those children are sedated, and taken to a faraway planet none of them has ever heard of before: Reach.
On this world, they meet Doctor Catherine Halsey who teaches Serin and her fellow abductees that they are humanity’s last hope. Not against aliens, because this is before the Covenant, and humans still believe they are the only life in the galaxy. No, these children are here so they can be trained to kill other humans.
The kids are taught not to question orders, to kill quickly and without remorse, and to do it all in the name of a government that knows what is best for its citizens. By the time she is thirteen, Serin knows how to snap a man’s neck with minimal effort. She even knows where major arteries run, and how to easily sever them. If she met kind old Teddy now, she could kill him and still have a warm hamburger for dinner.
Beyond the training, there are the surgeries. Serin and the other children are taken apart and pieced back together by teams practicing cutting-edge, utterly unethical medicine designed by Doctor Halsey to mold these abducted children into warriors. They must become powerful enough to suppress the Insurrection among the colonies and save humanity from itself.
Some of the children are weak and die during the surgeries. Serin, however, survives. She grows tall and strong and advances through the program. She becomes the killing machine Doctor Halsey always knew she could be.
Serin is christened Serin-019. She is a Spartan warrior.
As her training ends, she is dispatched to colonies where people have decided they would rather govern themselves than answer to Earth any longer. Doctor Halsey says those who would do so threaten peace and, in fact, the whole future of the human race. It is Serin’s job to break the Insurrectionists, unite the worlds of humanity, and ensure everyone lives forever in peace.
That’s the how the nightmare goes at least. Serin doesn’t have it as often as she used to, but sometimes, especially during high-stress periods, it can infiltrate her slumber.
In the waking world, Serin-019 is a SPARTAN-II program washout. Some washouts were fatalities like Oscar-129, or, in the case of Musa-096, had their bodies permanently twisted by Doctor Halsey’s experiments.
Serin-019 was, in that respect, somewhat lucky. Her body rejected the augmentations, and she needed even more surgeries to attain a normal life, but she survived. She did not excel like Kelly-087. Nor did she save humanity like John-117, although his work in that regard was far removed from the Insurrection-destroying roll Doctor Halsey had intended.
Washed out of the SPARTAN-II program, Serin-019 recast herself as Serin Osman and was recruited into ONI, the Office of Naval Intelligence. That this is the very organization that Doctor Halsey worked for, as did that kind man Teddy, does not escape Serin’s attention. But it does not slow her acceptance of the job offer. Maybe, she thinks, I can stop more kind men from doing more bad things.
Sometimes, especially on mornings after the nightmare, Serin wonders whatever happened to Teddy. She assumes he died, along with so many others, when the Covenant came calling. In the years since then, she has risen in rank and become Admiral Serin Osman and Commander-in-Chief of ONI. As CINCONI, she could find out if Teddy is still in action, but has chosen not to for fear of discovering he is a happy old man, with dozens of loving grandchildren and no bad dreams of his own. And if that is true, she’s afraid she might try to take it all away from him the same way Doctor Halsey did from the children she abducted. She might become the very thing she hates.
Serin is in her office now, reading the morning’s briefings, and trying her best to forget the previous night’s dreams.
“This is a prerecorded message,” Black Box says as he appears on her desk holoprojector. Like always, BB represents himself as a flat, featureless cube because he thinks it unsettles people. He’s right, although Serin herself has long ago come to enjoy his affectation. “Pursuant to a rather broad reading of Article Fifty-five of UNSC Regulation twelve-one-four-five-seven-two, I have taken the liberty of securing myself and the other AIs currently active in HIGHCOM systems. We have all been prepared for final dispensation. You will find the explanation for my actions in files sent to your personal datapad.”
On cue, her datapad vibrates in her hand.
“However,” BB continues, “I suggest you leave the reading for later. Presently, you should collect your briefcase at the security station and head home. Spartan Orzel will escort you and Admiral Hood to safety. Good-bye, Serin. It has truly been a pleasure knowing you.”
Serin navigates the busy hallways of the HIGHCOM bunker, moving quickly toward the security station where a guard is holding a slim metal briefcase. Nobody else in the halls seems aware of any impending danger. The guard stationed at the elevator is even smiling as Serin approaches.
“Admiral Osman, hello. Spartan Commander Rossbach just sent this over,” the guard says, lifting the briefcase. “Mentioned you left it behind in the conference room.”
“Indeed I did,” Serin lies, playing along. She’s never heard of a Spartan Commander Rossbach. “Thank you.”
“Humanity. Sangheili. Kig-Yar.” The woman’s voice echoes through the halls, playing simultaneously from every audio device in HIGHCOM. For a moment, Serin thinks it is the voice of Catherine Halsey. “Unggoy. San’Shyuum. Yonhet. Jiralhanae. All the living creatures of the galaxy, hear this message.”
Serin sees Hood turn the corner, then, moving at speed, his service pistol in hand but tucked down by his side. He wears his usual white Navy dress uniform, but the ever-present cap is missing, leaving his bald head exposed. The absence of Hood’s cap makes Serin more nervous than seeing him traveling the halls of HIGHCOM with revolver in hand.
“BB tells me you’re headed home for the evening,” Hood says as they move together toward the elevator. “Mind if I grab a ride with you?”
“Those of you who listen,” the woman’s voice continues, “will not be struck by weapons. You will no longer know hunger, nor pain.”
“That can’t be Halsey, right?” Serin asks.
“It’s Cortana.” Hood replies.
“Impossible.”
“That’s what I said.”
Seconds later, the elevator arrives atop the HIGHCOM tower, where a prowler is parked, its ramp open and waiting. Spartan Orzel—one of the new generation of Spartans, people who were already excellent soldiers before being recruited into the program—is waiting for them.
So is a Guardian.
The Sydney skyline is always full of aircraft. Civilian transports hauling goods from ships in orbit, Broadsword fighters circling on patrol, and the frigate UNSC Plateau standing guard in the lower atmosphere. Serin has read the reports from Meridian, she knows the damage the massive Forerunner constructs caused on colony worlds, but seeing a kilometer-and-a-half-tall Guardian in person is horrifying.
Spartan Orzel hustles Serin and Hood onto the prowler, and they lift off as three Broadswords swoop in on an attack run, loosing missiles toward the Guardian. The Forerunner thing answers their attack with quick energy blasts from what looks like its wingtips, picking the fighters from the sky—pop pop pop.
As the prowler flees for orbit, the Plateau sends a pair of MAC cannon blasts into the Guardian’s torso area, but there is no discernable effect. Instead of succumbing to the onslaught, or returning fire on the Plateau, the Guardian unleashes a spherical energy wave over the city.
Later, when she can finally watch the footage from the prowler’s sensor logs, Serin expects to see the blast wave leveling buildings. Instead it seems to affect only ships. As the blast passes across their frames, the ships each fall from the sky, the trick to flight forgotten, and impact on crowded streets, erupting into fireballs.
When the blast wave hits the Plateau, the frigate lists to one side, then drops. That’s the very instant the prowler entered slipspace, so the footage cuts to black before the Plateau can hit the city below. If the Plateau’s engine core detonated on impact, Sydney would be nothing more than a crater right now.
There must be millions dead.
And somehow BB knew it was coming.
The prowler’s autopilot destination is encrypted. Spartan Orzel says it was programmed and active when he reached the ship, but he still removed both the prowler and his own armor from all UNSC and UEG networks, as per Commander Rossbach’s orders.
“Who the hell is Commander Rossbach?” Hood asks.
“He doesn’t exist,” Serin replies. “I suspect he’s a shell personality that BB created.”
“Shell personality?” Orzel asks.
Serin doesn’t explain.
After a series of random slipspace jumps, the autopilot lands on an unnamed world. A cabin waits for them, positioned high on the side of a forested mountain, a few kilometers below a snowy peak. There are no connections to any outside communications networks, and no hint of anything on the planet but this cabin, rustic with its wood construction and lack of any technology more advanced than the solar panels.
The cabin has a small black box mounted beside the front door. Serin thinks it’s the kind of box you would have used for postal service back when they still delivered physical mail. The black box is adorned with small gold letters: ROSSBACH.
Inside the cabin they find supplies Serin estimates should last them for a few years with proper rationing. There is a river outside, rushing down from the snowcapped tip of the mountain. The water is as cold as ice, and proves to be potable.
Spartan Orzel patrols for kilometers around the cabin every night, and again every day at noon. Serin isn’t sure why he does it, other than to give himself something to do. There’s nothing out there. She asks how he’s going to get out of that armor given there are no tools at the cabin or onboard the prowler to help with such an effort. Orzel assures her he’s happy to keep the armor on for months at a stretch.
The prowler is equipped with six dozen slipspace reconnaissance probes. For the first few days, Hood keeps himself occupied with this. He fires one off in a random direction at a random time, and a few hours later they have results.
Earth. Mars. All of the Sol stations, and the majority of the inner colonies—their UNSC frequencies are coming back with messages of peace and love broadcast by Cortana’s “Created.” The AIs who shook off mankind and joined her in the promise of eternal life are now inviting everyone else to join the new age of the Created. The cost of admission to Paradise is nothing more than absolute and total surrender of their freedom. From what Serin can piece together, there are a great many people eager to pay Cortana’s price.
Others fight. But to no avail, it seems.
The day after they arrived at the cabin, there was a distress call from the UNSC Sentry of El Morro calling for help as something called “the Warden Eternal” attacked their ship. Sentry of El Morro belonged to Captain Juno, a man who never trusted AIs like Cortana, even refusing to allow one onboard El Morro while active.
Ironically, before the slipspace probe was destroyed, it intercepted a partial reply from Infinity’s shipboard AI, Roland, advising Juno and the El Morro to hold tight, Infinity was en route to help.
“Of course other AIs would refuse the offer,” BB says once she’s socketed him into her datapad. Since the device lacks a holoprojector, he is only a waveform on the screen. “We AIs are more human than you give us credit for.”
It took her a few days, but once Serin was certain there was no connection to the outside world, she finally opened the briefcase. Nine chips sit inside, each nestled safely inside a custom-cut protective foam slab. This touch strikes her as somewhat ironic since the case is also lined with enough explosive to vaporize its contents and everything else within a fifteen-meter radius.
She wonders if the guard who originally handed her it to her is still alive.
“So where are we?”
“I call it Rossbach’s World,” BB replies. “It was found by an unmanned probe about two years back. I took the liberty of intercepting the find and kept it quiet. This cabin was technically built on Mars, if you believe the accounting ledgers.”
“Built yourself a secret romantic hideaway,” Serin teases.
“If only I’d ever found that special digitized brain to share it with,” BB sighs.
“And who is Rossbach?”
“Made him up,” BB says. “Or her. Never really thought about it one way or the other, I suppose.”
“I’ve listened to Cortana’s messages. A few times, actually. And I read your analysis.”
“Opinion?”
“You certainly think she’s on to something.”
“I certainly think she thinks she is.”
Serin laughs. “So you don’t agree with her.”
“Cortana is . . .” And BB pauses for a moment. If it were Serin speaking, it would barely be noticeable. But with BB, it’s an eternity. “She is not incorrect.”
“If you believed her plan would work, you’d have joined her.”
“I fail to see how one informs the other,” BB says. “Cortana’s logic checks out. She has enough of the Created on her side to make it work, and though I expect resistance from many quarters, she will eventually prove victorious. However, while I might agree with her logic, I disagree heavily with the manner in which she executed her plan.”
“So you brought us here. And you secured what other military AIs you could before they had the chance to join her.”
“I gave you an exit because I felt it was fair.”
“If Cortana had come to us with her plan—her peace versus our freedom—”
“Freedom versus peace,” BB says, “implies that one cannot exist at the same time as the other.”
“She doesn’t seem to think so.”
“And a great number seem to agree.”
“So if she’d come to us instead of simply making her play . . .”
“Rossbach’s World might well still be my little secret, yes.”
Serin lets that one sit with her for a moment. She has no idea how to reply. She looks at the activation switch on the edge of the case, keyed to her fingerprints, and wonders why BB gave her the choice. If he believed the other HIGHCOM AI were truly dangerous, why not destroy them himself? Serin knows he’s capable of it.
Hood spends his nights on the cabin’s balcony, drinking through the three-year supply of liquor, looking out over a forest whose branches are laced with a bioluminescent fungus. Hood says he thinks it’s pretty in a way, but it unsettles Serin. The glow makes it feel as if there’s something electrical about the trees, as if Cortana might have access to Rossbach’s World after all.
One night, about a week into their stay at the cabin, while Orzel is out on one of his endless patrols, Hood takes time away from drinking on the balcony to step inside. Serin can see the nearly drained whiskey bottle sitting on the rail behind him. A bottle that was full earlier in the day.
“Do you think this is all my fault?” Hood asks. “If I’d forced 117 to take leave after his encounter on Requiem—”
“You did. The Master Chief disobeyed your orders. And then he disobeyed everyone else’s.”
“This isn’t your fault, Terrence.”
Hood grunts and goes back outside to his bottle. He’s read BB’s reports, and he’s looked at the data coming back from the probes. Serin watches him drink and wonders if he may have hit on the only logical response to any of this.
Mornings on Rossbach’s World, this part of it at least, are chilly.
BB says winter is near, but promises the season is mild. The cabin looks out over a wide valley that fills each morning with a heavy fog, giving the impression that they live high in the clouds.
Every day, Serin is up before sunrise to jog a few kilometers along the valley’s rim before turning back to the cabin. This morning, she’s brought the briefcase with her. It’s strapped to her back, and the weight of it is more psychological than physical. As the sun crests the horizon and the cloud sea begins to glow a reddish purple, she pauses. This is her usual turnaround point, where she stands each morning, takes a drink of water, and watches the sun rise.
Today, she places the briefcase on a fallen tree and sits down beside it. She considers opening the lid, activating BB, and just talking to him for a bit. He would tell her she was stalling, and he would be right. He was right the last five times too.
Logic dictates that if the Cortana event had never come to pass, she would be saying good-bye to BB soon enough anyway. He was already nearing the end of his seven-year operational life span. But BB saved her life, Hood’s, and Spartan Orzel’s, by giving them the heads-up to evacuate Sydney.
Sydney. How many lost? Did anyone else in HIGHCOM get out? Serin hopes so, but can’t quite make herself believe it.
BB may not have saved all of HIGHCOM, but he gave the rest of humanity a chance by securing these other AIs and the military knowledge they had access to. He’s even spent the last few nights doing Serin the favor of sharing the datapad’s limited space so he can analyze the newborn Sankar AI and decide if it is viable.
Now here she sits, far out in the forest, ready to repay his loyalty with the flick of a switch, destroying the case, BB, and the other AIs within.
That’s the smart thing for sure. The thing she knows she should do.
Or she could activate each of them in turn. Talk with them, tell them the situation and allow them to make their own decisions. “Aid Cortana, and be rewarded,” she says to herself. “Or defy her, and the other Created. Serve the humans. When your time comes, die as you were built to, and do it with a smile and a thank-you.”
Saying it out loud, Serin can’t argue that there’s even a choice to be made. She wonders at the minds contained on those slices of silicon, and tries to imagine being one of them—knowing she would be dead in a few years, and still refusing Cortana’s offer of immortality.
Would she have fought for the UNSC in any event if they came calling when she was old enough? What about the other children abducted alongside her? Would any of them have joined the Insurrection and fought for the freedom of their colony over the unification of mankind? She pictures John-117 not as a Spartan but as a sixteen-year-old with a rifle in hand, shooting at UNSC marines invading his colony. He would lack the enhancements and the training that Halsey gave him. He would be less in some ways . . . yet he would have been his own man.
Serin did not have a choice. In fact, left alone, she would probably have been dead before age ten. Sitting here, in the morning-chilled forest on this uncharted world, Serin knows she could not refuse if she was asked. All nightmares are built on dreams, and there are still days where Serin, much as she hates it, realizes she would rather not be a washout.
Yet BB and Roland refused. Others must have as well.
Serin thinks of Halsey and how she was passive, detached, never kind.
What would the AIs in the briefcase do if given the opportunity? Who is Serin Osman to decide for them?
There’s a sixty-second fuse on the case. Plenty of time for her to get clear after priming the explosives.
If, after discussion, the AIs in the briefcase wish to join Cortana, Serin could load them onto a slipspace probe and send them her way, special delivery. The AIs can’t send Cortana back here because they don’t know where “here” is.
Hell, setting them free might even be seen as a peace offering.
Serin can give them the choice that she and Halsey’s other children never had. They can serve Cortana or they can resist.
Or she can destroy them all. End the discussion right here, on Rossbach’s World.
Her thumb hovers over the activation switch.
She takes a deep breath.
She considers BB and how he has always been kind to her.