DIDACT: Do so, and I’ll resume.
MASTER JURIDICAL: It was not her plan.
DIDACT: It was the Master Builder’s plan, then.
MASTER JURIDICAL: No confirmation possible. But that is a logical conclusion. How and why did Catalog take action outside of its instructions?
DIDACT: It saw what I saw. It found its courage. It became a true Forerunner once more.
STRING 7
UR-DIDACT
GRAVITATION ON THE control deck had been turned off to save energy and avoid accidents. As we drifted within the flickering displays, I began to feel confined. The direct view was no less oppressive, but I preferred using my eyes to relying on the ship.
All hulks sent into the Burn, including ours, according to Sharp, had been decommissioned and listed as salvaged or destroyed. None of them officially existed. We were abandoned, thrown aside … But it turned out I had been afforded quite a clever crew. Clever, and deeply motivated.
Even more motivated as the Precursor snarl loomed.
Yet as fast as Maker worked, she was not fast enough; the ship’s systems were still balky and the revived ancilla showed alarming signs of autonome dementia.
“Ships are taking up formation around the tangle,” Sharp observed.
How could we have ever presumed to understand such ancient technology? Even to the extent of believing it to be inactive. It was not dead; it had simply bided its time, waiting for the proper moment. The same thing might be happening throughout the galaxy.
I replayed in memory what we had seen at Charum Hakkor, the aftermath of the Master Builder’s insidious Halo test: the disintegration of all Precursor structures, including the star roads. Halo radiation disrupts neural physics, and the theoretically analogous process of neural physics is often invoked to explain Precursor technology.… Space-time as a kind of organism within itself, apparently subject to the destructive radiation of the Halo.
“Whatever that thing is, it may not be invulnerable,” I said.
Maker gave me a skeptical look. “It’s bigger than any space-faring construct we’ve made,” she observed.
“If it is space-faring,” Sharp said, doubt and hope mixed.
“It’s faring well enough toward us,” Maker said, backing away from her labors.
Catalog pushed up its many eyes and wands. “I have transferred my report and received a response. The Juridicals would very much like for all of you to survive to testify. To that end, they are extending communication privilege to this ship. We may be able to arrange a direct link to the Capital and the Council, or to anybody you think is better equipped to advise us on how to return to the Orion complex.”
“How kind,” I said. “Are you certain the Juridicals aren’t still in league with the Master Builder? Certain we weren’t sent here just to die or be absorbed by the Flood?”
Catalog grew sleek, like an animal dropping its ridge fur.
Sharp watched me closely. “You have that look,” he said. “I’m curious as to your reasoning, Didact. If I may be allowed a glimpse.”
“Not yet,” I said. The others regarded me with concern. “We need to learn who’s in charge of those ships.”
“The Juridical link may not be open much longer,” Catalog warned. “There is a tremendous amount of traffic throughout the ecumene. Massive evacuations. If those wheels begin to move again,” it added, “all bets are off.”
For a moment, all of us were lost in even darker thoughts. Billions of Forerunners fleeing the Flood in millions of vessels … Before my exile, I had helped plan just such evacuations.
Sharp’s chest muscles gave a brief quiver. “The Flood may have us in a few hours,” he said. “I’d like to face that believing there is purpose to our sacrifice.”
“Of that I’m not yet convinced,” I said. I looked out across the night-dark orb of Uthera—switching from display to direct view, as if one or the other might hold answers to questions I was reluctant to ask.
I focused on Catalog. “Very well. Your channel is open. How did the Flood take over these systems? Query the Juridicals about that. Did they depose the commanders in charge of this zone’s defense?”
At first, my request seemed too much for Catalog. Again it withdrew its eyes and sensors and its carapace became smooth. But then it bristled. “All those answers are available, if they will be of service in removing us from this danger. Your testimony is most important.”
I turned to Sharp. “You were here, weren’t you? That’s why you’ve been returned. Why don’t you tell us what happened?”
Sharp drew up his knees. His face worked through a variety of expressions. Finally he said, “This system lies outside of the Jat-Krula protected boundary [TT: “Maginot Sphere”]. All systems beyond Jat-Krula have been left to fend for themselves. The ecumene—last I heard—was focused on preserving what lies inside the boundary.”
I was all too familiar with Jat-Krula. During one of our interminable civil wars, half a million years before my birth, Jat-Krula had been a formidable strategy of fortified defense, designed to control frequently traversed manifolds in the Orion complex.
Key to Jat-Krula was vigilance over all conceivable slipspace entries and portals—the necessary and most efficient avenues of slipspace travel. Millions of fixed fortifications had been spread like beaded curtains between hundreds of systems, standing vigil over a collective of jump solutions, protecting historic routes that supported trade as well as offensive and counter-offensive maneuvers.
Any major assault force, it was reasoned, must pass through this hyper-spherical boundary. And the boundary, so planners insisted, could at a moment’s notice be rendered impassable, solid—impregnable.
Then a legion of revolutionary Warrior commanders decided to forego crystal-mediated slipspace and instead flew twenty attack squadrons “naked” through a non-manifold array, bypassing the Jat-Krula defenses. The passage was savage. Their squadrons suffered fifty-percent losses—but the remaining ships emerged within the boundary and quickly overwhelmed fourteen key systems.
This brave and catastrophic act should have forever changed Forerunner strategy. Jat-Krula became a sobering object lesson taught to Warrior-Servants at all levels. There was no such thing as an impregnable defense.
Yet if I were to believe this former Warrior-Servant, what had once been old and outmoded was again novel and exciting—ignoring the deadly lessons of history.
“We’re ruled by idiots,” I murmured.
“It gets worse,” Sharp said. “The Master Builder seemed to believe that by demonstrating the force of the Halos, out in the open, the Flood—by which I suppose he meant Graveminds—would see we were willing to suffer total destruction rather than defeat.”
That could explain what had been done at Charum Hakkor. A tactical demonstration—like threatening to cut one’s own throat if an aggressor came too close. Jat-Krula … combined with suicidal intent.
I felt my skin grow hot. “Madness!”
“I warned them,” Maker-of-Moons said quietly.
I could not absorb all of this for many minutes. Maker did her best, with Sharp’s help, to bring the ship back to cruising power. But multiple systems failed just as they were engaged.
We were overtaken by the vast weave of reawakened star roads, spinning and churning like serpents in a huge nest—the graceful and haunting structures of our deep past now made fell and horrifying. The tangle looped around Uthera, deftly avoiding intersecting the planet. Then, incredibly, the planet itself began to crack and shrink, as if squeezed by a huge fist. The resulting shift in our orbit thrust us farther into the mass. An entire planet was being destroyed—just to draw us closer.
“This is the way Precursors moved stars,” Maker whispered.
The ships escorting the tangle were near enough to reveal their outlines. I recognized roughly four classes of vessels. The newer designs were unfamiliar, but they were all Forerunner.
“Channels for communication still open,” Catalog said. “There is still time left for testimony.…”
“Oh, shut up,” Sharp said.
I had to look upon this fate as one way—not the best way, to be sure—to learn what was really happening in our galaxy. The others, I decided, should try to make their escape, if such was possible, while I offered myself as bait. I at least had the consolation of knowing that my imprinted duplicate was capable of handling most of the challenges I might have faced, had I survived. Some part of me would live on, free and unmolested.