Quiet. The whole ship was quiet.
The year according to the data log was 2554. Twenty years since the Spirit of Fire had lost contact with any UNSC forces, and the ship was beginning to die. Already aged by the time of its recommission in 2520, the battered vessel now struggled to remain functional. Having lost its main trans-light reactor, the ship now relied only on its thrusters, and even those had died down to a dull strumming whir. The crew was dormant, at least those surviving the last engagements with the Covenant. The only activity still aboard the craft, was a small blue light on the observation deck.
Serina, the ship's AI unit, was booting up once more for system diagnosis, something she'd been carrying out once every few months and she was getting very, very tired of it. By all rights she should be dead, an AI's life span was considerably short, and she'd already outlived herself a few times over, and at great cost. Before the last of the crew had gone to dormancy, several technicians had worked on ways of preserving this most valuable asset, and at the price of purging a great deal of system data, they had been able to fragment and store away the most of the unit. For Serina however, this only delayed rampancy, a condition which awaited all AI that outlived themselves.
It was a hard thought to avoid, and the AI unit attempted to focus on the task at hand. Evaluating the ship's status, deploying a beacon, waking crew for necessary maintenance, but even the simplest tasks now, had become incredibly difficult, and it was annoying.
Systems status: Functional
Reactors: Online
Weapons: Functional
Armor Integrity: 68.2%
Life Support: Online
Crew: 6,512 personnel in Cryo
/
Armament:
/
Armament:
15/22 Deck Guns Operational
Point defense guns operational, ammunition low
5 Tactical warheads in storage
/End of system inventory/
/Maintenance on cryo-chamer 05 required/
The blue glow on the pedestal intensified and from it a female figure emerged. Serina, clad in a white coat stood and touched a finger to her temple as she went through the process of waking some engineers for the necessary repairs, and it was unusually difficult. As in an expression of frustration she tapped her finger harder to her temple and furrowed her brow in the effort, how difficult could it be to send a simple signal?. It was not that she could not transmit the message, but that every time she tried to, it was as if a thousand thoughts flooded her processor.
Eventually, though she did it. Eight cryo pods opened on deck four, and she prepared instructions for the waking mechanics.
Then she noticed something, a faint ping she'd been hearing but for some reason had disregarded. It was a ping from outside, and it was of distress. Serina strained her processor, clasping her head in her hands trying to separate the faint signal from the thousand thoughts racing through her. the blue light in the observation deck intensified, almost to a pure white color, until it stopped. Yes, it was a distress call. After twenty years, the ship had made contact.
Captain, wake up. Something has happened.