Primordium, p.13
Primordium, page 13
“All armor and ancillas on this installation have been corrupted. Not even the monitors are completely trustworthy, but those that remain are essential to maintaining the reserve.”
“What corrupted them? The machine with the green eye? Or—the Captive?”
There—I had blurted it out.
Genemender made a strange face—half-stiff, half-concealing. My flesh crawled. He did not have a smell and he did not know how to react to certain questions.
Incapable of telling a lie, but unwilling to reveal all? This is no Forerunner!
I still reserved judgment—but I was definitely unhappy in Genemender’s presence, however much he seemed to want to keep me calm.
“In good time,” he said. “Let us begin at the beginning. Halos were the primary weapons in the Master Builder’s proposed defense against the Flood, which was already ravaging parts of the Forerunner realm. These Halo installations, constructed on great Arks outside the margins of our galaxy, were designed to destroy life in millions or even billions of star systems, should the Flood spread out of control.
“The Didact opposed their construction and planned instead a very different campaign of containment and isolation by building and positioning Shield Worlds—even more massive and in some respects more powerful than Halos, but capable of carrying out more selective campaigns of destruction.”
Star-hopping, the Lord of Admirals said within me, and I was distracted by a sudden vivid burst of charts and maps showing the rippling membranes and expanding spheres of an interstellar war. It was his way to isolate, besiege, and lay low, at the most opportune moments, only those points of greatest strategic importance, and ignore the rest.
“The Master Builder convinced the Council that the emergency was already too extreme,” Genemender continued, “and that the Didact’s Shield Worlds were not the answer. The Didact’s plan was denied. In protest, and to avoid serving the Master Builder, he went into exile, entering his Cryptum, where you and Bornstellar found him a thousand years later. The Halos were built, to the great profit of the Master Builder and his kind.
“But after concealing her husband’s location, the Librarian went to the Council and invoked the Mantle—the fundamental duty of Forerunners to nurture and protect life. The Council forced a bargain with the Master Builder and decreed that Halos would also serve as sanctuaries for species from across the galaxy, to preserve them against almost universal destruction, should the installations be forced to carry out their mission.
“The Librarian has always favored humans, much to the dismay of the Didact. As part of the Council’s agreement, the Librarian was given space on several of the Master Builder’s installations. Humans were brought to this one—over one hundred and twenty varieties, many hundreds of thousands of individuals. Others were placed on the great Arks where Halos are built and restored. All were designated as reserve populations, not to be tampered with. But the population of imprinted humans on Erde-Tyrene were not made part of that plan. No humans from your planet were brought here—until recently.”
Not even the Librarian would risk my presence on such a weapon!
I objected, “But Gamelpar, the old one—and me—”
“The Master Builder altered the Librarian’s plans.”
How like gods and devils everywhere—Forerunners scheming, lying, denying their firmly held principles. My head reeled.
Very human, actually. Makes you wonder, no?
“Why?”
“Back then, the Flood was known to some Forerunners, but kept secret until its nature and extent could no longer be concealed. Almost immediately after the Forerunner victory over the humans, many of their captured records were translated, and Forerunners learned that humans had already encountered this strange life-form, and that with the arrival of the so-called Shaping Sickness from outside the galaxy, humans had essentially fought on two fronts. That may have hastened their defeat.
“But before that defeat, humans apparently discovered ways to both prevent and treat the disease. They had orchestrated a program of research that depended in part upon massive sacrifice—including deliberate infection. Humans, it seems, had their own Palaces of Pain. Methods of containment and even prevention were discovered and implemented. Their battle commanders were trained in these methods. Fully a third of all human colonies were destroyed during this purge.”
Some among us had hoped to carry the Shaping Sickness to the Forerunners and infect them. But those who believed in this strategy were denied. It seemed some would face defeat rather than perpetuate such an atrocity, even on our worst enemies.
Now I became very uncomfortable, wondering just who or what was within me: human, monster—or human monster?
It makes no difference in war.
“Upon learning of this, the Librarian’s imprinted humans suddenly acquired immense value. The latent memories of those ancient warriors likely carried the secrets that could save us all. But not all humans carry the necessary imprints—the proper old spirits, as you say. And so a search was begun by both the Master Builder and the Librarian, while Forerunner research on the Flood continued.”
So much the Lord of Admirals had already conveyed. I still had difficulty sorting out the complexities.
“But then, the Master Builder reneged on his agreements with the Librarian. Over the last few hundred years, reckoning by the years you know, the Master Builder’s forces took command of the installation’s human specimens. Lifeworkers lost control of most of the reserves. In contradiction to specific instructions from both the Librarian and the Council, beginning just over a century ago, humans from the Librarian’s special population were transported here from Erde-Tyrene. New and isolated communities were created. That was when the Master Builder began his own experiments. Many humans were subjected to excruciating tests to see if they were truly immune to the Flood. Some were. Others were not.”
“The Palace of Pain.”
“Yes. But the essential differences still could not be discovered. Some Lifeworkers acquiesced to the hierarchy and carried out the Master Builder’s plan. Still others—selected for their courage and discipline—did their best to keep the Librarian’s preserves intact. They made what you might call ‘a devil’s bargain.’ Warrior-Servants, at the bottom of the hierarchy, were forcibly recruited to serve and defend the installation.
“Then—the installation was moved to Charum Hakkor for its first major test. The Master Builder did not foresee the results.”
“The Captive,” I said.
“Yes. The Captive, as you call it, was accidentally released from its timelock. Builder Security then transported it to the Halo. The Master Builder ordered Lifeworkers, under pain of disgrace and death, to study and, if possible, interrogate the Captive. Some believed the Captive and the Flood were somehow connected. Others did not. The Halo was moved again, to prepare for what the Master Builder believed would be his crowning triumph—when he would reveal his solution to the Flood.
“In extremis, the Didact planned to put all Forerunner defenses under the command of a metarch-level ancilla. That ancilla kept a primary extension on this installation, as on all Halos. But it was not allowed to assume command except in dire emergency. The Master Builder, however, found another use for it—unauthorized, as usual.
“The Master Builder did not trust Lifeworkers. He ordered this ancilla, the supreme intellect on the installation, to take over the Captive’s interrogation. That questioning took forty-three years.
“At the end of that time, the Master Builder sent this Halo to a quarantined system, which held the last of the San’Shyuum. Against all Council instructions, he then used this most hideous weapon to suppress a mere rebellion.”
And then he had ordered the destruction of the Didact’s star boat, the capture of the Didact and Bornstellar, and of Riser and myself.
“The San’Shyuum system was stripped of all life. The Master Builder, in command of a weapon capable of destroying all life, had violated the deepest precepts of the Mantle. Many Lifeworkers and Warrior-Servants on this installation went into open rebellion against the Builder and his loyal forces. They were suppressed.
“Then—a political crisis occurred in the capital system. The Master Builder was indicted for his breaches by the Council. There is strong evidence that the Master Builder’s ancilla was subverted by its long discourse with the Captive. Yet this was unknown to the Council. With the arrest of the Master Builder, and with the class of Warrior-Servants in disarray, this ancilla, subverting all of its corresponding parts, took charge of all the installations gathering in the capital system. This Halo, and the others, then attempted to carry out the greatest betrayal of all—destruction of the Council and the capital.
“I do not know the extent of the damage they caused. But in defense, all of the installations were fiercely attacked, some were destroyed, and this Halo barely escaped through a portal—to be brought here and placed in hiding.
“The battle between the subverted ancilla, Builder Security, and Lifeworkers continued—continues, some say, to this day. But I am not kept informed. Mistakes were made, no doubt. Hideous mistakes.”
“So what is this wheel, now?”
“A ruin. But still—a laboratory.”
“Whose laboratory?”
We had reached a gap in the rows of cylinders, within which had been arranged a circle of smaller, more intricate machines.
“In good time. First, I need to retrieve your awakened imprint, to better understand what the Librarian intended for you.” He walked around me, activating the monitors, some of which rose from the floor and approached, eager to begin the procedure. I did not relish the prospect, but I certainly did not want to show fear.
So I continued to talk. “We owe our lives to the Lifeshaper, all of us, whatever has happened since.”
“That is so.”
“But now we are caught in a fight between Forerunners—and some sort of mad machine.”
“That is so,” Genemender said.
I put aside these confirming facts—and decided to move on to other matters, testing how far this Forerunner was willing to be truthful, or how much he knew after all.
“What happened to the Captive? Is it still here?”
Genemender’s whole demeanor altered. He squared his shoulders. “We will not speak of that one,” he said. “We should begin scanning now.”
Time to flee!
I backed away from Genemender and the hovering monitors. “Not yet. I need to know about the Captive.”
Hesitation—then, “It claims to be the last Precursor.”
“What are Precursors?”
“Creators of all life in our galaxy. The originals. They made Forerunners. They made humans. They made thousands of other species—and erased them when they felt the need. Long ago, when it became apparent that the Precursors were about to erase Forerunners, there was a war, and Forerunners erased them.”
Genemender moved his arm again, and I was surrounded by machines. No way between them!
“The ones who met us in the jungle, who filled the hall—why don’t they have any smell?” I asked.
The Lifeworker again gave me that familiar, stiff look.
“They’re not flesh, are they?” I asked. “What are they?”
“Spirit, you might say. They are all kept here,” Genemender said, pointing to the cylinders.
“Frozen inside?”
“No. Scanned, protected—neutralized. They will not be abused by the Master Builder, or anything else.”
“They’re not here physically?”
He agreed, and my heart sank further. “Then the ones outside…”
“Periodically, I rotate the records and refresh their experiences with projected walks around the compound, where they can interact.”
“You let them out?”
“I give them that impression,” Genemender said. “The only actual physical presence here is the female ape. She, too, enjoys company.”
“Where are their bodies?”
“Not essential. Scans are sufficient, and easier to control.”
“You killed them.”
“They are no longer active, and no longer a danger.”
“They were all from Erde-Tyrene?” Suddenly all became clear.
The machines tightened their circle.
“Yes.”
They do not look strong, those machines. They were made for science, not fighting.
“It was the last command of the Librarian, conveyed to this installation when it returned to the capital,” Genemender said. “There was a good reason humans from Erde-Tyrene were not brought to the Halo installations. They contain the memories and life experiences of ancient warriors. That makes them dangerous, and on such a weapon as this—”
Move.
The old spirit rose up with furious strength and took charge of my arms and legs. I kicked and flailed at the machines. They backed away, and I launched myself at the Forerunner, screaming with a rage so old it might have been kindled on Charum Hakkor itself, in those last days.
Then—a startling thing happened. For a moment, the Forerunner was not standing before me. My blows did not land. I flew into empty air, to strike the floor beyond and roll to my feet.
The machines now kept their distance.
Then, the Forerunner reappeared, off to one side—but while his body took a shimmering shape, I saw something else through the shimmer: a monitor with a single dull blue eye.
Then, Genemender was back, as solid as ever, regarding me with what might have been perplexity, or sadness.
“You’re dead, too, aren’t you?” I said.
No answer.
“Did you die to defend the preserve?”
No answer.
“You’ve explained everything to me. Why?”
Still no answer. I jumped toward the image again, but it swiftly shifted away, flickering uncertainly.
“You can’t lie,” I said. “You’re just a machine—an ancilla.”
The same steady, sad gaze. “Once, I was a Lifeworker. I chose this fate rather than serve the Master Builder.”
“But you can’t actually do anything to me without my permission, can you?”
“I offer peace. I offer an end to questions that cannot be answered. And I am bound to carry out the Librarian’s final instructions.”
But the machines still did not move in.
“How do you know the instructions came from the Librarian?”
Again the shimmer.
“There’s not much power left, is there? All the power stations have been sabotaged. The beacons have been corrupted. That girl out there—was it the Librarian’s signal that sent her toward the Captive? Who commands you, really?”
“I am sure of my instructions.” But the stiff expression remained.
“There are dead machines, dead Forerunners, everywhere,” I said. “This Halo is dead.”
“Would that it were. You refuse the honor of being archived?”
“I refuse.”
“You wish to leave?”
That did not seem to require an answer.
“Do you know what awaits you out there?”
“No.”
“It is beyond my comprehension, and so it is likely beyond yours. Evil so vast … an awful misuse of all that Forerunners know and have created. Misuse of the Composer, designed once to save us all.… Destruction of the Mantle, and such knowledge of history that it rots a Forerunner’s soul. Yet we must serve the Librarian’s will. Even you. You owe her your very existence.”
“Not anymore,” I said, in sudden equal partnership with the Lord of Admirals. “I’m going to leave now. Can you stop me?”
No answer, but the shimmer increased. Then there was no Genemender—only that rather small monitor, its single blue eye dimming as I watched.
It moved back among the other machines.
I was alone, and the space with its rows of twisty cylinders filled with a silence and gloom more profound than I could bear. I spun about—and heard, from far outside, a woman screaming. It was Vinnevra, I was sure of it—accompanied by a throaty, deep roar that I immediately knew was the ape.
I had to get out of this place! I ran back along the corridor and again found a thicket of branches barring my way—branches that poked and creaked as I grabbed and pushed and pulled, but would not yield.
Again, Vinnevra screamed.
I felt someone behind me—swiveled about, hands raised in defense—and saw Genemender lost in apparent melancholy. “I am unable to resolve these contradictions,” he said. “Time is short. The old human is very ill. He needs immediate scanning or his imprint will be lost.”
He walked through the barricade.
The thicket let me pass as well.
We left the atrium of cylinders. I had no intention of allowing the monitor to do anything to Gamelpar.
Vinnevra had fallen to her knees in front of the hut. Gamelpar squatted on the porch, leaning against a post. The shadow-ape was moving in circles around Vinnevra, looking left and right, swinging one arm—protecting both of them.
Vinnevra shouted, “I woke up and saw the little one—I could smell him! I touched him! But the others—I know why they don’t smell—they’re ghosts! They just vanished!”
Genemender regarded me sorrowfully. “It is difficult maintaining appearances,” he said. “Our beautiful ape will be sad without the others. It is our duty to keep her contented, and to welcome visitors—especially those traveling under the Librarian’s imprint.”
This machine is both mad—and weak.
“You’re not real!” I said.
“I am equal to my responsibilities.”
More madness! Yet it obeys!
I ran over the last few meters of grass, pulled up short when the ape rushed me—but stood my ground. She broke her charge, fell back on her haunches, gave another mournful, howling growl, then shook her giant fist at the sky.
Gamelpar did not appear at all well. Leaning against a bamboo post and clutching one forearm, he looked down from the porch through rheumy, discouraged eyes.
