Dr. Catherine Halsey. January 17, 2537. World: Reach.
At the ONI base Castle Base, built in the mines under Mount Menachite, it is early morning. It is quiet and peaceful here as always. Regardless of what is happening outside, whether rebels or The Covenant, this multipurpose complex, built over a Forerunner structure, is always safe. Its main defense is secrecy.
A Covenant attack would likely lead to the destruction of Reach as a populated world, but rebels are always present. Detonating a nuclear charge in this complex would be a major victory for them. Some might think the war with The Covenant has relieved Humanity of political tension, but in fact, it hasn't. It hasn't relieved it at all.
The government controls the colonies quite harshly, and they respond as they can. With uprisings, terrorist attacks. The Covenant is far away; the tyrannical government, as they call it, is close. The region where Reach is located is no exception. And all the military infrastructure makes the planet a more tempting target, not the other way around. Twelve years ago, terrorists dropped a passenger liner with tourists into Reach's atmosphere. They all burned alive.
Only six years ago, already during the war with The Covenant, a large insurgent cell operated on the planet, which was destroyed by the Spartans. My Spartans. My joy, my pride, and my great sin. It's a pity, but there was no other choice. The project to create super-soldiers would have been completed anyway, by less competent and more compliant people with greater losses among the candidates. A necessary evil. I'll need to work on that today.
The living area in Castle Base includes all the amenities necessary for personnel. Two rooms, a bath and shower, a dining room, and even a full restaurant. Neither the civilian nor the military intelligence branch employees complain about their salaries; they can afford it. The room is somewhat empty. As a specialist who moves between labs and worlds a lot, you don't want to have too many things to carry around. Of course, there are personal belongings, but the main uniform used consists of nine lab coats and field clothing for all occasions and weather conditions. Cold, jungle, thin atmosphere, and space ships and stations. In any situation, work must be comfortable.
Today I am at the base, which means a lab coat. It's warm enough in the complex. Passing a mirror, I allowed myself to confirm that I looked good enough. A middle-aged brunette in a white coat and glasses. I like to think I'm beautiful, at the best of all ages for a woman. A bit over forty, no longer a girl, but the years haven't taken their toll yet. Like a fine wine. Hair not too long, so it doesn't get in the way. And it's hard to tuck very long hair into a spacesuit quickly. Satisfied that everything was fine, I went to the kitchen.
"Perfect."
My thoughts jumped to the Spartan-II project. Spartans. My creation, my curse. Soldiers, biochemically enhanced and with extensive cybernetics. It's not polite to remember, but they were created specifically to suppress rebels in the human outer colonies, even if they turned out to be extremely good against The Covenant. My children, my creations. Each of them was secretly replaced by a clone that died a few months later. The "deceased" children found themselves outside many jurisdictions and were subjected to very harsh training and experiments. Not everyone made it. Those who handled the procedures well are now dying on the front lines of the war with The Covenant. Entering the kitchen, I asked loudly:
"Deja, what's new?"
The AI advisor, belonging to the "dumb," development-limited AI based on an advanced neural network, replied:
"You have seventeen messages, including two with high priority. One from Dr. Fortenko, the second from ONI Major Debaltsev. Play the second?"
That's unexpected. Problems with one of the projects? Lost a document? The latter is possible. As much as the bedroom is clean, creative chaos reigns in the lab office. Ha. They lead newcomers there to show how not to handle classified documents. If the message were urgent, they would have woken me at any time of day. Debaltsev limited himself to a message, meaning there's a little time. But still, I should find out what he wants.
"Play it."
The slightly raspy voice of the major came from the speaker.
"Dr. Catherine Halsey. You are ordered to arrive at Station Tangent at the south pole as soon as possible. The order for your transport and assignment has been signed. Expecting your arrival on site as quickly as possible. The task is under the control of Director Margaret Parangosky. You know what that means."
I looked at Deja's hologram through my coffee mug. Don't get angry. Endure it, Catherine, they always act this way. Secrecy, as they always say. Stupidity—if they had given general information about the reason for the summons, I could have worked on it during the trip. But all the major could manage were threats to a "civilian specialist." But now I'll have to wait until arrival, wasting time on idleness. Oh, these ONI and their secrecy protocols! However, despite all the irritation, not a single stray emotion appeared on my face. In the end, they are always like this. It would be surprising if they acted otherwise.
"Deja, request transport in an hour."
"Completed."
Good, that's settled. Since the military was too shy to give even minimal information about the incident that required my presence, I can move at my own pace and find out what my daughter is writing. In the end, I am a civilian specialist.
"Deja, any messages from Miranda?"
I wonder how she is doing there on the Moon? Unfortunately, I don't have time to be with her, and I cannot care for the girl and work on ONI projects simultaneously. But my Captain handles it perfectly. Jacob, I need to write to him. I smiled. A hologram of a twelve-year-old girl appeared in the projector, waving with a slightly sad look:
"Hi, Mom. You're busy again, as always. And I..."
Listening to her monologue, I thought about what a terrible mother I am. And my girl has every right to be dissatisfied. Since she moved in with her father six years ago, we rarely meet. He is a naval officer; I have secret projects with intelligence. Not the best combination for raising a child. Always short on time. One day, something will have to be done about this. It would be possible to...
"Dr. Halsey, transport services report that your ship will be waiting in the hangar in twenty minutes."
Oh, already. Well then, it's time to head out. Nodding to the AI and checking my glasses and pass, I went to the transport station. Castle Base is quite crowded. Which is not surprising; Reach has concentrated a huge amount of various military infrastructure. The Navy, training complexes of all kinds, including the Spartans. Naturally, to control all this, a developed intelligence service is needed. And then there are the rebels and criminals. All of this needs to be monitored and dealt with. And the long, bright corridors of Castle Base, a former mining complex, accommodate them all: researchers, spies, soldiers. Moving through the long bright corridors on their business.
Approaching the guard at the transport hub, I handed him my card.
"Dr. Catherine Halsey. Transport is waiting for me."
The Marine in gray armor quickly scanned the card, then fingerprints, and nodded:
"Landing pad three, Doctor. Have a good day."
At least these guys never do anything stupid; they just do their job. If only everyone in ONI were like that. A suborbital shuttle, already standing in one of the hangars, was allocated as transport. Twenty meters long, streamlined shape. And an escort in the form of an ODST special forces squad. The situation is becoming more interesting. These guys are recruited from experienced soldiers undergoing additional training and participate in counter-terrorism operations among others.
I looked at the patches: "Whiplash" squad. Familiar faces. Not our first joint operation. Six massive figures in heavy armor painted black. Even the two women have quite significant dimensions for an ordinary human. On average, twenty to thirty centimeters taller than me, broad and physically developed, though I don't suffer from gigantism. One meter seventy, quite short. I allowed myself a slight smile as a greeting.
"John, Kurt, Molly, Lacey, Tom, and James. It's good to work with you again."
Kurt allowed himself a wave; the others nodded, rising from the crates they were sitting on.
"Dr. Halsey! So you're with us too?"
I nodded.
"That's right. Does anyone know what happened?"
"I do. Let's load up; I'll explain everything in flight."
I turned toward the voice to see a stout man in a Major's uniform. He clearly needs to lose some weight. Debaltsev. A good organizer, but has issues with discipline and has been in the position for quite a while. More of an administrator than an operative. However, without passing the standards, he wouldn't be here. And since he manages that, it's not my problem. The main thing is that he does his job better than many here.
We quickly climbed into the ship. I was traveling light, as was Debaltsev. But the "Whiplash" members were bristling with weapons, clearly going on a combat mission. I need more information; everything is too contradictory so far. Waiting for takeoff and quickly checking the room for listening devices, the major spoke.
"So, Dr. Halsey, 'Whiplash.' What do you know about the 'Lone Pilgrim' incident that occurred nearly two years ago?"
I shrugged.
"Nothing."
The soldiers exchanged looks, then Kurt said:
"We heard an empty Covenant ship came out near Reach. Reactor failure or something like that, everyone on board died. The crew is dead, so basically an empty ship for the eggheads, if you can get around the contamination."
The major nodded.
"Version seven. Note in the report who the source was."
"Yes, sir," — the soldiers replied out of sync.
Making a note, the major continued.
"Your clearance is sufficient, which is good. All these versions contain only part of the truth. Yes, two years ago the patrol frigate UNSC Madrid discovered an unknown high-tech dreadnought. Except it's not a Covenant ship. It is much older and more technologically advanced. That explains a lot. Including all these secrecy hang-ups. A source of technology and a target for The Covenant or rebels. Better if no one knows about it or if there are only rumors. Easier than fending off constant attacks from saboteurs and spies. But this ship..."
"Forerunners?"
It seemed the major was waiting for him to be asked that. He paused and spoke dramatically:
"Ancient humans of the Forerunner period," — and seeing my raised eyebrow, he explained, — "on board the ship were partially decomposed and then frozen mummified bodies of the crew. Plus the material analysis conducted by researchers. The ship is over one hundred and ten thousand years old. A vast amount of materials, armor superior to your Spartans' MJOLNIR Armor, energy weapons and shields, power sources, materials, and technologies. Much has suffered significantly from time, but even in this state, it represents hundreds of years of progress in one ship. Just go and take it."
And no one said anything! They had to wait until they started having problems. I wouldn't be surprised if...
"Is Major James Ackerson overseeing the project?"
Debaltsev smirked. Yes, I have detractors and envious people. Everyone has them! It changes nothing! But I maintained outward calm.
"No, the major has no connection to the project. Simply no one wished to burden you excessively, Doctor. Project ORION-II, work with AI, other projects. You simply have no idea how much we found on that ship to burden you with this as well. I am essentially only dealing with the ship; there isn't enough time for more."
I don't believe it. And in any case, this is too interesting to pass up. I would have found the time. This is a breakthrough, a mass of information! But I must keep a straight face, especially before intelligence.
"Then why were we all needed?" — Kurt chimed in, — "so far it doesn't look bad, sir."
Major Debaltsev winced.
"There was a functional ancient AI on the ship. We accidentally connected it to the station's systems. It took ten seconds to suppress the two dumb AIs working with the equipment and completely take control of the station. Now it is holding the personnel hostage."
Seriously? No, seriously? Precautions, all that? I understand scientific interest, discoveries. But one must observe caution! I'm speechless. The ODST are in helmets covering their faces, but I don't doubt they are thinking the same thing. They are not stupid. Debaltsev, obviously gauging my reaction, exhaled.
"With the help of the ONI AI acting as an observer, we were able to understand what happened. The engineering group found a massive, Pelican-sized, crudely assembled installation. In the nearby engineering bays, they found components," — a hologram of the device appeared, a mixture of cylinders, tanks, pipes, and wires with crystals. Indeed a crude assembly, — "analysis suggested it is a communication system the crew tried to restore after the accident. It was fully functional, unlike other systems. The AI Norman, a dumb analyst AI, tried to connect to the device. Six seconds after the connection began, Norman reported: 'Executing order.' And an avalanche-like takeover of the station began. The second AI, xenotechnologist Duplex, lasted about a second. After which the third AI, the observer on our side, gave the order for the physical destruction of the communication systems. Personnel status unknown. This was twelve hours ago."
Amazing. Just a classic sci-fi plot. An evil AI takes control of the station. Given the age, possibly fallen into Rampancy. Though there are no guarantees; a combat ship AI, finding unknowns around it, would try to gather information and secure itself. Too early to draw conclusions. This could be a defense. John asked:
"What is the 'Whiplash' objective?"
Debaltsev replied:
"Conduct reconnaissance. Escort the doctor to the AI core so she can deactivate it. Even if it isn't functioning as it should, its systems will surely contain valuable data we can extract. This is absolutely necessary."
The soldiers nodded, as did I. It was necessary to ensure no one had the idea of destroying a most valuable source of data. But that's not all.
"If the AI is sane, I want to work with it," — everyone looked at me, — "it is an ancient and valuable source of knowledge. If it is a Smart AI that hasn't fallen into Rampancy but is simply defending itself according to protocols, it will be a valuable interlocutor and a useful ally. And since I was informed of this, I want to participate in the project."
Debaltsev nodded to himself. The soldiers exchanged looks, likely talking over internal comms.
"This was discussed. The Director gave permission, if you can resolve this crisis with minimal damage and in the shortest possible time."
Well, that's good. It wouldn't be bad to study the ancient human infantry armor as well; perhaps we can improve the MJOLNIR Armor, but not all at once. First, we need to stabilize the situation. On approach, we squeezed onto the bridge to look at the station. I wasn't given any data anyway—secrecy. All that's left is to look out the window.
"It's enormous," — I exhaled in admiration, — "it's magnificent!"
The ship is indeed very large. Around the multi-kilometer carcass, numerous construction trusses are visible, blurring the originally rectangular silhouette. Parts of the hull have been detached and docked to other blocks; it's clear the ship is being gradually dismantled. Numerous transports are docked, and at a safe distance hangs a cruiser. 1170 meters, Halcyon-class. Compared to the giant, it looks like a frigate.
"9470 meters long. The station has no weapons, so we will dock with the cruiser, and from there we will conduct operations."
The cruiser is turned nose-to-station, likely ready to use its Magnetic Accelerator Cannon (MAC) or destroy ships leaving the station. And patrol craft around, of course, one of which escorted us to the cruiser. Here we were escorted to a briefing room, a square hall with a table and chairs. Here the duty officer informed the major:
"Since your absence, there have been no attempts to break quarantine. No communication attempts, no ship breakouts."
ODST soldier James asked:
"Is there a map of the complex?"
There was a map. And how huge this ship is! Even accounting for the dismantled and depressurized compartments, it's still kilometers of corridors with a scientific research station attached. The AI compartment is deep in the hull, at the very edge of the explored zone.
"We can enter right here," — Lieutenant Kelly pointed, — "through the warehouses, only six compartments and two labs before we reach the AI room."
Possible. Except you'll have to drop in a spacesuit.
"The shortest path might be dangerous," — John countered, — "if we're talking about a military-grade AI, it should have protected the most vulnerable path."
"If it has anything to do it with," — Debaltsev noted, — "the ship has been abandoned for a long time; there's little functional equipment there, mostly our own scientific equipment. The personnel care about safety. Organizing a defense without personnel help will be difficult."
The station personnel. There is no information on what happened to them. But we need to understand what we're facing. I'm in anticipation.
"Do you have code samples, programs, a language? What will I be dealing with? Better to find out now than on-site."
Only general samples were found. Crew logs, some programs. With which a problem immediately arose.
"A different programming language. Different logic and language."
If there were any doubts before that this was not Forerunner technology, it has now become obvious. All equipment used by the Forerunners is quite well-studied, for one. Intuitively understandable, for two. It has been noted multiple times that you might never have used Forerunner mechanisms, but you easily activate their terminals, understanding where and how to press. Not in this case.
Ancient human technology simply refuses to yield to familiar logic. On the other hand, it's clear how this ancient AI was able to hack the colleagues' defenses. A language barrier and new methods of defense and attack. Likely having subordinated and studied the knowledge of the first of the analyst AIs, it was able to act much more freely when the second still had to learn to work with it. And since dumb AIs are created quite specialized and cannot be equally good at analytics and cybersecurity, they were doomed.
I wonder what the AI did with them, besides extracting their knowledge. In general, trying to hack it right now makes no sense; it will take too much time. We need to disconnect the AI from power. And later, having prepared everything and created an isolated zone, work with it. I can't wait. Which is what I stated.
"There's no point in trying to hack it. Too unfamiliar a system, it will take a lot of time. It will be much more effective to disconnect the mechanism from the power supply, and later, in a quiet and isolated territory, hack it."
The plan was accepted quite easily; they obviously have issues with deadlines. Well, the ODST, like the Spartans, are generally very compliant; you just need to give an order.
"We powered the installation from our own network; their own was too damaged. To disconnect the mechanism, we'll need to cut the cable running along the floor. With a door or just cut it. Another option is to turn off the distribution board here, two compartments away."
In general, listening to the major's stories, one can agree that the security system was made as it should be. Isolation systems in the right places, several levels of protection. No one expected to encounter a working AI on an unfamiliar architecture, that's all. And while the "Whiplash" members handle the clearing, I can focus on studying. Since no on-site hacking is expected, there's no need for me to fly there personally. And if the need arises, I'm still on the cruiser; they'll call. The soldiers flew out half an hour later; I focused on gathering information and studying the new and interesting language.
Unfortunately, there is very little information. There are files, a few of which have been decrypted. These are crew logs, likely pre-death. There are programs that survived in the system remnants. But since they are written in an unknown way on an unknown architecture, there's no way to say what they are. The system has thrown me a challenge that I must solve to communicate with the ancient human AI. If I were a bit stupider, I would take it apart for programs to advance my own work.
But if this is a Smart AI, and a ship or command one at that, such a specialist could be valuable in its own right. Naturally, it still needs to be studied. But as a valuable employee, not a test subject. Every AI is equal to a human genius, even the dumb ones. What could an ancient, multi-thousand-year-old specialist know and be able to do, hmm? I want to get that. I want to know everything it knows. I will find out.
***
Read the story months before public release — early chapters are on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/Granulan