Khaela.
Halo. A Forerunner weapon. Naturally, the first thing I did was send the recording to the Shard of Mendicant Bias to confirm what I was seeing. And he confirmed it.
I wonder if a superluminal torpedo would take this thing out? It should, in theory. I am not human; such desires only reflect on avatars if I want them to, but it doesn't change the fact that Forerunner weapons awaken the Hate Code. By every metric, this device is a living testament to Forerunner power. Even now, when they have been completely exterminated, evidence of the Ecumene's existence persists, as intact as in past eras. How. I. Want. To. Blow! This! Thing!!! Up!!!
But I also realize that this device is a source of knowledge. And before breaking it, it should be studied, everything preserved by the device's creators should be drained. But then—blow it up!
And so, while I indulged in pleasant simulations of the device breaking apart under various impacts, the science group and the Vice Admiral were notified, and she agreed with my idea.
Unfortunately, getting to the device won't be easy; a hundred and fifty light-years from the nearest colony, more than five thousand to human worlds. Unless stealth frigates can arrive; they have a Mass Effect Core. I need to urgently finish the external Mass Effect Core project; it could be extremely useful.
To cut off the Council Races' encroachments toward the ring, Mendicant Bias convinced the Geth to begin a blockade of Erinle. No one intends to storm the planet; a Geth fleet with dreadnoughts will simply drop into orbit, destroy the major spaceports, and hang threateningly over the planet. Anything more depends on the situation. We just need to cut the channel to Halo for the duration of our operations.
Regarding the possessed Captain, a direct order was received: keep him in working condition if possible, conduct reconnaissance. Which is exactly what I did immediately after landing.
Captain Vorhess's first steps through the Forerunner complex were not only recorded via the quantum channel but also broadcast to a pair of science teams. The Vice Admiral, by order while we were flying, organized a meeting of ONI-affiliated scientists, a video broadcast from his eyes. The eggheads were terribly angry at first that the military was distracting them from work, but as soon as the playback started...
"Is this a recording?" one of them, Dr. Kleiner, asked.
I checked; the non-disclosure agreement was in place. The Vice Admiral allowed partial disclosure of information.
I answered while simultaneously entering a discovered structure. It's actually interesting that although there's a jungle outside the complex, nothing grows inside the building—convenient. There's no door, no apparent external restrictions on growth, no visible force fields. But this part of the structure is clean; no traces of any wildlife nesting here or plants. Programming or chemical treatment? Mark it; we'll find out what's behind it later. Meanwhile, I answered the scientist:
"Live broadcast. The agent is on the complex grounds right now and can hear you. You may provide comments and suggest where to look."
And then it began! There were many who wanted to look, touch, and press things with someone else's hands; everyone gathered began advising all at once, shouting over each other. So I had to—not hide tracks (noticeable dirty footprints remained on the floor)—but turn my four-eyed head in all directions, touch, describe, pretend to scan, and poke at the terminal standing by the wall, one of three.
In the "agent's" behavior, there's no need to fake anything special; the scientists are far more interested in the complex than the agent's personality. But we shouldn't linger upstairs. I remember that in Forerunner complexes, robots called Sentinels are present as guards, along with heavy Guardians, and even larger mechanisms. And all of this is under the command of the local AI, whom I easily found in the logs: Administrator Splintered Design. In any case, lingering on the surface, given the active defense system, is undesirable. They've already tried to kill us.
I am saved from close scrutiny by the fact that I am not an organic, and as long as I don't try to hack anything, the defense system has fewer reasons to take interest. The Monitor will primarily be interested in a large crowd of organics with weapons, not a lone robot walking around and breaking nothing. I assume I'll have a couple of hours while the Monitor deals with them.
Also, there's an interesting defense system here, as I found out after connecting—as a guest, of course. The locals are simply confident enough to warn you exactly how they'll kill you and for what violation. And it's all quite simple.
You can view general data on the console, but any interference in functional processes will lead to a request to the Monitor. However, aha, I see. Manually, through control panels, one can bypass the Monitor's request. But that requires reaching the manual control panel deep in the complex, a very specific point; the guards can surely reach it easily. It's also a defense system based on the size of this place, allowing time for the defense systems to react.
"Khaela, what are we seeing? Where are you?" the Vice Admiral asked from her office.
I shrugged both there and here.
"No data. This could be any of their megastructures built after my hibernation. The Shard of Mendicant Bias confirmed it's a Halo, but even he doesn't know exactly what was built here. The complex is huge, about ten thousand kilometers in diameter. Weapons, laboratories, manufacturing? There could be anything here in any quantity. Insufficient data for analysis," — and in the hall with the scientists, I asked: "Where to go next?"
The eggheads finally oriented themselves, finding the most responsible one to give commands. Although it was clear everyone wanted to be in charge.
"Um, can you hear me clearly?" an elderly scientist asked.
The avatar nodded.
"Yes, I hear you. Where to, before the robots fly in? I like staying in one un-fried piece. I look more stylish that way, and a lot of robots will fly in."
The scientist exhaled, nodded, and said:
"Go to the platform on the right, to the console. Press the third diagram from the left in the second row, now the rectangle that lit up yellow, the rune in the third row, it's flashing, read the data. Good, thank you."
Dr. Catherine Halsey cut in:
"Seventh rectangle, third row. First and fourth rune, now the flashing one, good. Second row, diagram. Good, download that too."
She doesn't know exactly who is on the Halo, but she can guess by the method of downloading information and the transfer speed. The woman, having received the transmission on her tablet, immediately became absorbed in reading.
"Done, going down."
Alright, data from the security system has been read. Now the elevator. In the center of the hall, a platform surrounded by pillars with a glass floor and a terminal with a couple of keys. Even an idiot couldn't get lost here: here's our floor, here's the floor below. Except for getting scared, as you can see through the glass that it's a very long way down; the bottom isn't visible, lost in the darkness of the vertical shaft. I pressed the key, and the elevator began to descend rapidly with a click. Just a platform sliding down through space without supports; during the movement, it's visible that for part of the way, it simply levitates, not touching the walls. When the elevator began to slow down, having descended about two hundred meters, I looked around.
"Looks like we found out where the Salarians got their slipspace drive. They found a Forerunner complex. Where next? Oh, a door. Definitely this way."
I looked around, using another console; no alarm, they aren't interested in me yet. The hall below is similar to the one on the top floor, but square and smaller. No airlock here, just a small door, only two and a half meters high, hidden behind an arch, glowing green.
I approached, and it easily slid apart, revealing a long two-level corridor with very high triangular ceilings converging at the top. More precisely, the lower level is a corridor, and the upper level consists of two platforms at opposite ends of the hall. There are also doors on that side and symbols in the Forerunner language in green and red, large emblems that can be read even without magnification.
Light pours from above from huge lamps and a stained-glass window covering the entire wall. At a depth of two hundred meters, yes. But I'm interested in the signs.
"I'll translate now," said a local philologist among the scientists, but I brushed him off.
"I'll translate it myself. So... they are convincingly asking us not to enter. Biological, memetic, psychic threats, cyber-virus threat. Highest level of secrecy. We are definitely going in there."
And I approached the console at the edge of the platform. A probe extended from my hand; I, in theory, know how to hack this. Let's see. Aha, as I said, some processes can be started manually without a direct request to the Monitor! A blue light bridge lit up to the platform on the other side. Alright, the alarm system isn't working, no robots. Excellent.
"Forward to discovery! I've downloaded the map, take a look."
And I forwarded it to command. This map isn't of the entire installation, but only of the complex; the entire installation's map can be obtained at some "Silent Cartographer." But it's not here; I don't know exactly where, but not here.
Interesting. A three-level bunker. The lower level is connected to the device's complexes; it's technical. But the upper two have their own power source and quarantine systems. We won't break them; I don't want to draw attention. The system is set to trigger upon detecting organics in the complex. But I am not an organic, and as long as I don't try to use something, the automation isn't interested. No need to convince it otherwise; I'll just look. So, forward across the light bridge into the unknown.
After passing through another such long hall with a bridge, I stopped at the entrance of a new room, square this time. In the center sat a colossal stasis cell, six by six meters. And inside, in liquid and stasis freeze, they were frozen.
Motionless, like a monument to themselves, but absolutely alive and very familiar. It makes me want to scream.
"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!" the possessed screamed where no one could see her.
I simply have no censored words. My entire social module vocabulary is unable to express what I see before me and what I feel. This, this is a disaster. Why didn't they burn these creatures? Why did they put them in the freezer? What were they hoping for? Who even gives descendants such gifts?
The Shard of Mendicant Bias said that the Mantle of Responsibility was left to humans, an obligation to protect the galaxy, the life within it, and its future. Left by the Forerunners. And these, these geniuses take and leave THE FLOOD on their absolute weapon! Just like that! What WERE they thinking! This thing devoured humanity, devoured the Forerunners. And let's leave it for the descendants so they get devoured too, right? I don't understand!
Communication channel open.
"Mendicant Bias, tell me what I'm seeing and why."
The AI replied after about ten seconds.
"Presumably, they anticipate the return of the Flood and left samples for study. In the current situation, the Flood cannot be allowed to go free. Humanity is not even close to the level of the Ecumene; you will not withstand a full-scale invasion."
Fine, let's assume that. That's another reason to blow this place into tiny smithereens so the Flood dies in its entirety.
"How can you help, Mendicant Bias? This place must be destroyed."
This time the answer came immediately, along with a data packet.
"Transmitting my own command codes. Presumably, the installation Monitor's access will be higher, but you will be able to use primary systems."
"Thank you."
"I act for the good of humanity and the Mantle, Khaela. Kill them."
"With great pleasure."
On the second floor of the hall is the stasis cell control console; judging by the diagrams, as far as I understand the Forerunner language, the system is in the green zone. And, presumably, has been for a very long time. If I were human, I would be terrified, but I just gained another reason to dislike the Forerunners. These geniuses left THIS for their descendants. What were they thinking, huh?
Alright, there must be a sterilization system in the complex; the Forerunners couldn't be so stupid as to not install one here. I just need to find it; I don't intend to leave such a gift for people. With the codes, I'll be able to run the installation in manual mode. Even if the avatar burns, the threat will be eliminated.
But there are other viewers, and they also drew their conclusions, even if they don't hear my reaction; for them, the agent continues to follow commands and take data from the consoles. But the Vice Admiral understood something.
"The Flood?" Parangosky asked tensely, "It's it. It survived after all."
The avatar (a hologram in the boss's office) nodded silently, looking at the creatures familiar from front-line recordings. A spore-filled bladder the size of a cat, with tentacles below, a visual organ, and a beak capable of easily cutting steel like scissors. These guys can saw through a door if they want to, and quite quickly. The plague because of which dozens, hundreds of worlds were burned to zero and the war with the Forerunners began. Which humans lost, yes. And then the Forerunners too. This experience cannot be repeated, absolutely not.
Silence and perfect order, the hum of mechanisms. And the deadly cargo that the mechanisms hold back.
"I wonder what the Forerunners were thinking, keeping this here?"
The scientists, noticing the pause, inquired.
"Excuse me, but what are we looking at?"
So I answered. Everyone at once.
"At the creatures that exterminated the Forerunners. Which those same Forerunners left for their descendants as a gift. Are you happy?"
It might seem like an impulsive decision, but I've studied intelligence too well; they will immediately try to study this, poke it with a stick, bring it to laboratories. Which, in the case of the Flood, is guaranteed to end at best with burning the planet with nuclear weapons or Glassing; at worst, instead of the Covenant, we'll get new global wars with the Flood. Which absolutely no one will survive.
The Flood only looks harmless in this form. Just zombies, what's the big deal? Modern weapons can easily handle them. But there's a nuance.
These "zombies" are like this because a fungus—the source of infection—has grown over their nervous system. And it allows growing many interesting things from the nervous systems of fresh corpses. Biological supercomputers, for example, with the preservation of the user's experience and knowledge. So even the weakest forms can use weapons and technology.
The first stage of Flood structure development involves simple processes. Infantry coordination, ship piloting. But if you let this thing absorb a few thousand bodies of higher life forms or slightly more simple CNS possessors, you get a Gravemind. And then you have huge problems, as this fellow (not limited to one instance) can lead armies into battle, hack AIs, and becomes smarter and more experienced with every enemy officer added to the network. And at this stage, stopping it is practically impossible, considering there could be even more dangerous forms.
So the information should be presented in a way that leads them to maximum caution. And then burn everything and everyone here. Perhaps break a couple of cells with the Flood and trigger the full sterilization system. In alarm mode, it shouldn't require confirmation from the Monitor. Except the people weren't very impressed.
"Exterminated, you're joking?" a scientist asked. They don't believe it, as expected.
"No, I'm not joking. The Forerunners are gone; their complexes remain. And these lovely creatures," — I walked up the ramp right to the stasis cell, allowing them to see the creature in maximum close-up, looking at the figure frozen in liquid from half a meter away, — "in the sac of this creature is an aggressive fungal spore that quickly replaces the target's nervous system, turning it into a combat unit with a collective consciousness. And if there are many corpses, they will assemble into a biological sentient supercomputer. A living biological weapon and an army in one. Very aggressive, attacking any organic in its path. And I still don't understand why the Forerunners didn't destroy the Flood. If it gets out, we all die. No options."
"Perhaps to study?" one of the scientists asked quietly. In the dead silence, everyone heard him.
Even the soldiers in the Vice Admiral's office took a step forward, examining, peering at the creature. I, having collected the data from the console, moved further into the complex. I need to find the control room; the burning system should be there.
I walked deeper into the complex, inspecting the halls. Numerous storage facilities where viral forms are in cells, one or two each. There are larger rooms with full-body capsules, but those also contain viral forms, not combat ones. A few dozen each, and there are halls like this one, with a hundred forms each. Thousands of infection forms. But are there other storage facilities in other places? How big a bomb did the Forerunners plant for everyone?
The hologram reacted to a snap of fingers from Parangosky in her office. I looked at the woman, tilting the hologram's head slightly.
"Is something wrong?"
She smiled crookedly.
"You're planning to destroy everything here, aren't you?" the Vice Admiral asked calmly, "I've studied you. And I remember how detailed you were, focusing on the most destructive aspects, when you described the Flood. And now, I am absolutely certain, even if I disconnect you, that body will go and destroy the complex. According to the set program. You know too well what you've found and are against us studying the Flood."
I countered.
"There is no self-destruct here. There is sterilization."
Parangosky winced.
"Khaela. My trust is not easily earned. And you are about to lose your chance."
"Presumably," the avatar agreed, "but you will survive. Humans fought the Flood for decades and lost, despite having a much greater technological potential; we fought the Forerunners, though not on equal terms. The Forerunners, according to Mendicant Bias's data, fought the Flood for three centuries and were effectively exterminated and finished themselves off so it would all end. Every time there's a cocky smart-aleck who believes that they will definitely succeed, that they are smarter than everyone who tried before. They all end the same way; I can show you exactly how. My task is to protect humanity, Vice Admiral. Even at the cost of my own existence. The Flood must not leave this complex. Even half the galaxy is a sufficient price for the Flood to remain in the past. Its place is in the Forerunner era."
Margaret Parangosky listened without interrupting, then nodded to herself.
"You have my permission," the woman said unexpectedly, "and don't look at me like that. A storm must be led to stay on the crest of the wave, even if I don't like your decision. Your task is to study the complex and collect as much data as possible. I am temporarily lifting the bandwidth restriction; forward everything you can. And don't make me think I was wrong; you know what happens next. I've noted this defiance and want to believe I wasn't mistaken in you."
The hologram nodded with a smirk.
"A control center and cartography are mentioned here in the system. Presumably, all data on the complex can be found there. Such a room is characteristic of the Forerunners, whose megastructure could be managed by a single representative of the caste and automation. This complex has one too."
"Find them."
"I will."
The journey continued. But it slowed down; I am reading data from every console. I suspect the robots outside are already dealing with the organics; intrusion into the complex should set the entire defense system of this place on them. That is their purpose: to die, distracting the complex's defense system while I reach the stasis control center. And then I'll kill them all.
It's clear Parangosky noted my behavior, but there are no options. The Flood cannot be released, it cannot. And even an AI with the strictest hard-coding for obedience, knowing what is known about the Flood, will destroy rather than capture. I hope intelligence figures this out and accepts it as fact. But that will be later; for now, the path leads me further.
Empty halls, opening doors, and silence. Perfect order, sterile even. Spacious rooms designed for Forerunner height and numerous consoles.
Stasis control, redundant equipment systems, defense system. In the process, I found two more elevators, one to the surface, the second down to the utilities. In general, the Forerunners, as usual, didn't skimp.
I also have to be distracted by the scientists. When they realized they wouldn't get to study the Flood, they began collecting information and asking questions. Many questions. So I reached the control center about two hours later. It's a large complex, and some doors were locked; I had to break them using the new codes.
The control center is a square room filled with consoles of all kinds. An unexpectedly small room, only six meters long, which for Forerunners is almost the limit of minimalism.
Here I had to resort to brainstorming; I simply lack the knowledge to work with this; hacking helped, but not much. The system is too unusual; I haven't encountered such equipment before. And the library on Forerunner technology doesn't help much.
Suddenly, a request came from Dr. Catherine Halsey.
"Focus. Third console, diagram and runes, the ones that are lit: second, fourth, seventh. Yes, open the map. Looks like you have guests."
I nodded, switching to where I was told and pressing keys, bringing up the current complex schematic, the status panel. Some sectors are marked in yellow, the very entrance I came from. "Perimeter breach, biological threat, containment breach."
"Looks like the transport crew managed to survive and reach the complex. They shouldn't have: seeing organics, the defense system will go berserk until it destroys the intruders. And what's this?"
One of the halls is glowing red. And above it is a maximum priority biohazard symbol. Someone damaged the stasis system? Great! Alright, sterilization. Specify the compartment with the triggered alarm, oh! Now there are two. Excellent, a perfect moment to turn on the sterilization system for the entire block. Um.
"What do you mean 'locked'?"
I moved to the adjacent console, searching for the containment system with the prompts. And it's there, but it turned off! "Access denied."
"What's the problem?" the Vice Admiral asked in her office.
I made a couple more requests, figuring out the problem. During this time, a couple more halls turned red with the same markers.
"A Monitor has arrived in the block and intercepted control. Looks like a stasis cell or several were damaged during the firefight. And the automation switched all processes to the local AI, whose physical body is somewhere in the complex—protection against the infected. And I can't do anything; the Monitor's priority is higher. As long as he's here, he controls this place. Unpleasant, but logical."
I can't see what's happening there, but the situation is predictable. The arrivals likely started a firefight and, through magic or otherwise, damaged several stasis cells; the Flood got out and started collecting corpses. The Monitor is trying to purge everything, but he's being hindered by the locals, as the robots attacked them too. They won't listen to me; they'll likely try to kill me for escaping.
Alright, what's the plan? I need to try to blow up the power source on the third level, required for the complex's autonomy. The reactor, as usual; if I can vaporize everything here, it'll be good. I need the elevator down. The avatar ran out of the control center.
This place is quite large, so I had to go on foot through empty and quiet sterile halls. No traces of life, no noise, only the lighting and consoles are on, and the stasis cells are in active form.
Thus I managed to reach the corridor to the elevator down and activate the light bridge.
"It's Vorhess!" a shot rang out, bullets struck the shield, causing it to flare.
How inconvenient not to have a full view! I turned around, seeing an Asari marine with an assault rifle and a Turian aiming at me. The Asari immediately started firing, and I ducked behind a square pillar that had a console hologram on it. It went out from such treatment. Social module—go!
"Ladies, ladies! You're confusing me with someone else! You're beautiful; if we had something, I would definitely remember!" — bullets drummed against my cover, suppressive fire, — "no need to be so aggressive!"
"Come out, traitor, and accept your death!"
I huffed; there was no desire to fight an experienced sorcerer. Which meant jumping into the nearest door, which happened to be glowing green—open. Firing a couple more shots, I shouted:
"I'm still sure you're confusing me with someone else! How about a drink, a sit-down, a talk about our problems? I'm even ready for a date to make up for the fault of whoever upset you so much!"
And I bolted for the door. I immediately had to dodge a purple sphere from the Asari with a roll. Damn sorcerers, you should be burned! The sphere hit the door, causing it to emit a shower of sparks, noticeably buckle, and go dark.
"Fine then, I didn't really want to go in here anyway," — I'd have to take a detour, which wasn't good.
What was also not good was that I was definitely in the sights of both ladies, so I raised my hands with the pistols.
"Vorhess," the Asari hissed through her vocoder, "thought you'd leave us to die from the robots and escape?"
I shrugged.
"Just for the record, I was paid half the amount for the flight, and I lost the ship. I have a family to support, you know!"
Crunch.
"Family?" the Turian asked extremely skeptically, turning toward the sound.
Crunch.
The pursuers exchanged looks.
"Oh shit, we thought we lost them!"
Looks like we have problems.
"Ladies?"
At that moment, the door at the far end shattered into fragments, letting the creatures in. A quick analysis confirmed: we have combat forms of the Flood here. A Turian, Salarians, a Quarian. Bodies bloated, yellow, heads dangling as if they were extra (which they were), arms ending in long whips with bony blades over the fingers, and stalks of the infection form protruding from torn chests. The flesh itself seemed to flow out of the armor in bubbling scraps. The costs of rapid transformation.
Seeing us, what used to be a Turian let out:
"Uwaaaaaaaaarrrrrr!" — and charged.
We opened a disorganized fire on the enemy in response.
"I officially declare: you guys are ugly!" — and seeing the Turian woman shoot her former kinsman's head off, I noted, — "not in the head, but in the stalks on the chest, there's a large nerve node there. They don't need a head; they think with a different part."
And indeed, having scattered his brains, the attacker didn't even slow down. I had to use my shotgun-pistol hybrid to protect the riflewomen. A shot to the chest, and the creature falls, deprived of its control node.
However, due to the delay, two forms managed to enter melee combat. I exchanged blows with the first; the system wailed as my armor's shield went out from the impact. But a blast of buckshot into the nerve node ended its existence too.
But...
The asari was less fortunate. The first strike, as in my case, knocked out her shield, but then the parasite missed with its second blow, and the asari failed to successfully sever the nerve cluster. Without half a skull and an arm, the little creature was still feeling just fine. But under the focus of the three of us, it died—probably. I delivered a coup de grâce just to make sure it wouldn't get back up.
"Alright, ladies, are you with me? We need to leave before its friends come running. They're touchy, scary touchy."
The turian looked at me with suspicion.
"How do you know where we should go?"
A bit of arrogance.
"I'm a pirate, and as a pirate, I have a pirate treasure map," looking at the barrel pointed at my face, the Avatar snorted, "this place was built for organics; there's a console with a map at the complex entrance. Want me to send it? I was heading for the backup elevator; there are three of them here."
They seemed embarrassed. But there was no time; they'd already broken the door, so we had to take a detour.
"Well, are we going?"
"We're going," the turian agreed.
And so, we went.
***
Read the story months before public release — early chapters are on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/Granulan