Growing Old Without You

Note: This story was written in proximity to reading Human Weakness by Karen Traviss and heavily references the events of that short story as well as the end of Halo 3. The story does not rely on having previously read or viewed these works, but, in order to augment your experience, I recommend reading the story and viewing the final moments of Halo 3 prior to reading. Enjoy!

"Chief! Can you hear me?" I called into the darkness; my voice was tinged with panic. Not uncommon for me, especially in recent times. I waited an eternity before John's failing vitals stabilized. His mind flickered and a steady flow of thoughts resurfaced. I felt a new heat thrum against my relatively cold presence in his mind and found abandoned relief at the sensation and, voice colored with fear and relief, I shared my concern. "I thought I'd lost you too…"

My mind drifted, for a moment, to the Arbiter. Was he still alive? And to the other soldiers who I knew were dead. The frozen faces of Miranda Keyes and Sargent Johnson stayed in my mind longer than the others. Their loss felt unexpectedly raw; an after-effect of the Gravemind or just a deeper emotional attachment? I thought about Johnson's last words as he handed my chip to the Chief: "Don't ever let her go." I let the memory fade from my mind.

John didn't answer me or even acknowledge my concern. He merely floated, gliding listlessly in the 0-G. But that was like him. And, after what we'd both been through, it really didn't matter if he spoke or not. We were together again, and from that one fact, I drew more comfort than I had previously thought possible.

My mind suddenly latched onto the thought of the AI that John would have after me. It felt like a thousand bees stinging me at once; residue from the Gravemind's torture. I forced the memory away, distracting myself by compiling a list of ways to increase the UNSC's likelihood of finding us, as, given our current situation, it was clear that no one would be coming any time soon, not with our being on the far side of the portal when it went off. The task was just an exercise though; I would need to be put into the mainframe of the Forward Unto Dawn before I could act on any conclusion I came to.

As I searched for answers, John continued to float, getting his bearings. The helmet lamps of his MJOLNIR armor reflected brightly off the white and grey interior of the Dawn, but it was the brilliant blue-black of open space that was eye catching. John moved to the forced opening of the ship, and gazed out. The edges of molten metal still glowed faintly, indicating the sheer force of the energy discharge that had ripped the ship apart when the portal closed. Jagged debris swarmed the opening, contrasting sharply with the stars.

"What happened?"

Only speaking when there was new information either to be had or given, pertaining to the mission was a signpost of the extensive training all Spartans had received. Some of the other members, like Fred-104 or Kelly-087, were more willing to engage in conversation, but to John, silence was a way of life. I appreciated the fact though; it allowed for effective communication and gave weight to every word he said. John's silence made it all the more meaningful when he did speak. "Lucky me." His low voice resounded through my memory. The sheer joy of that moment flooded me and I embraced it. The memory was quickly undercut by a new thought: "John will outlive you".

No! I bellowed back at the memory. The thought shook me, but I made sure that my desperation was not processed by the audio output of John's suit. I forced myself to focus on John's question instead. I didn't have much of an answer, but I offered him what I did have.

"I'm not sure. When Halo fired, it shook itself to pieces. Did a number on the ark. The portal couldn't sustain itself. We made it through just as it collapsed." I paused. Again, my mind flickered to the Arbiter. "Well…some of us made it…" Space seemed different in that moment, watching the darkness through the lens on the Chief's MJOLNIR armour. It seemed vaster, larger than normal, if that was possible… And, maybe for the first time, I grasped a real-time sense of scale. Not even the Gravemind's vast knowledge base could encompass the enormity of what I, through John's visor, was looking at right now. And I understood how small we were... and how terribly, horribly alone. I fought down the sensation of isolation. John and I are together. That's enough. We'll make it through this together. But the sensation of an endless nothingness lingered in my mind.

Being alone was nothing new to us. John and I often worked solo. We were faster, more efficient that way, unless teamed with other Spartans. And ever since Reach, there were no other Spartans, none that the UNSC had access to, at any rate. But this loneliness seemed different. More eternal. More empty. Compelled, I ran a system's diagnostic on the Chief's armour. Anything to keep myself busy. To keep myself from thinking about what was coming… Or perhaps, from thinking at all…

John navigated the ship by pushing off of the walls, using the force to propel us through the zero gravity. We floated above the world, horribly separate from it as we glided down the empty halls before arriving in the cryo bay. John caught hold of the computer terminal with his right hand, and ejected my chip into his left.

"But you did it. Truth. And the Covenant. The Flood. It's finished!"

The searing jolt of separation shook me to the core. You're not alone! You're not alone! I felt myself fighting the separation, trying to remain linked in to his armour; even though I knew it was impossible. I'd felt fear before, but this was completely irrational. John was right in front of me, clearly. I could see him there as my systems interfaced with the mainframe of the Forward Unto Dawn. The Gravemind has made me unstable. But I already knew that, and knowing did nothing to stave off the horrible loneliness, first as my chip was held in John's hand, separate from any data or information outside of my own memory banks, and then as I was placed into the ship and suddenly because only too aware of my distance from John. We had only just gotten back together; we were still recently reunited. To separate now, especially after what I'd just lived through seemed cruel beyond measure. The Gravemind's accusations roiled in my mind. "Your mother made you separate." That had never been as true as it was in this moment.

"It's finished." The Master Chief echoed as he keyed off the LEDs on his helmet. His deep voice drew me back to the awareness of reality. Of course, I am able to perform so many functions that it is impossible for me to become distracted, but his voice seemed to resonate with something deep within me, and I focused my systems on taking him in.

That focus didn't negate my processes though. "I'll drop a beacon. But it'll be awhile before anyone finds us…years even."

I watched as John slotted his weapon into the weapons locker. An expected sense of relief flooded through me. A Spartan, surrendering his weapons… it was a dream given form. Is this something left over from Halsey? I knew she now regretted what she'd done to the Spartans and I pressed the issue. I had to know is this was a remnant of Halsey or something that was truly mine. It seemed urgent, all of a sudden.

Of course I wanted John to be free of the war, to finally receive a well-earned rest from his decades of leading the charge in an endless flow of impossible battles. But with no war, he'd have no need for an AI. The jealousy resurfaced; met with confliction. But isn't that what I want? Why am I debating this, of course I want John to find peace… besides…. The thought faded out. I couldn't focus on it now. I readied the cryo pod.

The pod slid open, hissing slightly. John did not speak as he stepped into the tube and lay down against the padded back of the pod. Miles from comfort, but serviceable, the cryo pod would maintain John's vitals and keep him in a deep hibernation until we were discovered by other UNSC personnel and brought back to command for debriefing and new mission assignment. At least, that's what would happen to him.

Time distortion, a gift from the Gravemind, still existed in my memory. And even though my time was still processed by my internal chronometer, the world seemed to stretch for an eternity as the lid of John's pod swung downward into its locked position. "I'll miss you." The pod clicked as it locked shut.

The meter of space that separated us might as well have been the endlessness of space in that moment. John settled back and waited from the icing process to begin. He is leaving me. And there is nothing I can do about it. And I felt the fear rise in me. And I did not try to stop it.

In the time it takes for me to say my name, my mind is capable of five billion simultaneous processes. I had said much the same thing when I was first linked with the Gravemind. Turns out, my efficiency lends itself nicely to my own destruction. But isn't that the fate of any AI?

Rampancy was coming for me. I had always known it. From the moment I was created, from the moment I first learned what rampancy was, I knew that I would become its victim. Halsey had never tried to hide it from me. She had told me the truth, not that she could have hidden it from me long anyways. Given the vast amount of knowledge that was stored within me: human history, the information from the Halo ring, the Index, and the memories taken from the Gravemind itself, the sheer volume of all of this knowledge dictated the extent of my rampancy. And with a database that large, it would be bad. Very bad. I forced myself to not calculate exactly how bad. My mind returned to the Gravemind, the sensation of floating in knowledge, free from pain, drowning in what I desired most. I resisted. I made my choice. I understood then and nothing has changed now. I pulled up the memory of Lance Corporal Yates. Drawing on his courage, I reinforced my own.

I looked at John. I knew the shape of his helmet perfectly, every facet and dent. I inhabited it enough to know. I knew the shape of his face inside the helmet too, so well that I could reconstruct a holographic image of it without even thinking about it. He cares about me… right? This was a question that had plagued me while I was with the Gravemind, waiting desperately for him to come for me. I couldn't confirm it then, John had never said that he did, and I'd never asked him, but John's actions spoke louder than his words ever could. He does care about me. I know that now.

And perhaps, that was the hardest part of it all. Knowing that he cared. And knowing that he didn't know what was going to happen. Because if he did know, he wouldn't leave. He wouldn't leave me to face rampancy alone. He would stay and try to help me, even if he could do nothing more than listen as the vastness of my own mind, my own knowledge base consumes me; as I begin to divide and devolve until I lose all functionality; reduced to arguing myself to death. I allowed myself to think about the danger that that could cause. I simulated thousands of possible scenarios of John dying, the ship exploding, his suit being damaged, or blown into space, all because of some malfunction on my part, or because of his heroic tendencies trying to do something to fix me or to protect me from myself until someone else could repair the damage. The thoughts frightened me. I am not naïve enough to think of John as invincible. Lucky, yes. That's why I chose him, after all; but not invincible. He is, and always will be human, and thus, he is all too mortal. And I won't be the reason that he dies.

My mind jumped to a list. The list had been one of the first things programmed into me, and since that day, had been hammered into me by almost every sentient being I came into contact with. It was a list of my priorities:
1. Complete the mission. At all costs.
2. Protect Earth
3. Protect John-117
4. If it does not interfere with the first three, preserve myself, at all costs.
5. Protect other UNSC personnel.

Halsey had once asked me, when I was first choosing John to be my Spartan carrier, if I would be able to sacrifice him in order to complete the mission. I said then, that yes, I would be able to. That was still true now. If, in order to protect Earth or complete our mission, I had to allow John to die, then I would, without hesitation. But there was an unspoken comfort in that thought that, if a mission could be so difficult that it cost the life in the luckiest Spartan in order to achieve it, the same mission had an extremely high probability of also killing me.

I realized, suddenly, that some part of me believed that John and I would die together. And this realization, paired with the reality that he was about to leave me, for an undetermined amount of time, during which I would begin to think and overthink everything and lose control as a result, jolted me into action, and for a moment, I almost told him. I almost opened my mouth, explained to him about rampancy, about the Gravemind, about everything… It occurred to me, that I hadn't actually told him anything about my time with the Gravemind. There hadn't really been time to discuss it, not with everything that had happened directly after with the Ark, Johnson's death, our escape and the destruction of the portal; and at the time, the relief of being rescued from the Gravemind and simply being with John again had rendered all of what had happened unimportant. There were bigger problems to deal with. But now, in the silence before the darkness, I wanted to tell him. I didn't care that he probably wouldn't respond to most of it, or that, as a Spartan, his language and comfort skills would prove woefully inadequate, I just wanted someone who cared about me to be with me when my end came. But I can't tell him. And part of me didn't want to. I didn't want him to worry about me, it's not like he could do anything to change it anyways, not this time. John can't always be the hero. Sometimes, he just doesn't know how.

Neither of us knew how long we'd be floating in space. I had said that it "could be" years, but in reality, that was the most likely option. It would probably take anywhere between eighteen and twenty-seven months for a UNSC ship to find us. Slightly less than two and a half years. If we were found within that time, then rampancy wouldn't have set in yet, at least, not if I could keep it at bay despite my massive database. I still have seven years, no matter what the Gravemind has done to me, and at this point, it's only been four. If they find us in time, maybe I could be brought back to Halsey. She would know what to do. I felt a spark of hope well up inside me. But no, I dismissed the idea almost immediately. Halsey had told me from the beginning that I would experience rampancy, meaning that she had no plan then on how to fix me, and if she had no plan then, it was because she had no interest in having a plan now. No interest in saving me from my crumbling mind at all. Ever… My mother will not save me.

Thinking about Halsey gave rise to The Gravemind's most cutting blow. "What kind of mother is so cruelly casual about her child's need to form bonds?" The increasingly familiar rage surfaced. Halsey abandoned me and left me to live a life always separate from those she made me to care about, and then to die, in their service; to never be one of them. To be betrayed, one must have bonds. And I did have bonds. And I was betrayed. My mother condemned me to forever be apart, and to die a slow, painful death. And she had abandoned me to it, never caring that this was how I would die. And by building me separate, by building me with an innate barrier between my being and those I would work with and come to care about, she was forcing others to abandon me too. By forcing me into a human timeline, by giving me human emotions, I would bond with them, and then, I would be ripped away. And then, they would replace me.

This was an experience that no dumb AI could ever have: the desire to be human. But I was not a dumb AI. I wanted to be human. I wanted the bonds I had made with people, officers and soldiers alike, even technology, to mean something. I wanted to be invaluable and to be remembered. I wanted to be more than just a machine. Especially to John. To mean something to John, to have him remember me, in a way, it would validate my existence, my suffering, and in the end, my sacrifice. And more than anything, I wanted him to miss me when I was gone, to prove that I wasn't just another piece of hardware to him. Maybe that's why I just told him that I would miss him. I stood watching him, waiting for his answer, hoping that he would answer, but that hope did not stop my mind from continuing along its destructive path. The Gravemind had shown me what it meant to be human, and now that experience would kill me from the inside.

I have to let John go. No matter how much I want him to stay with me, to listen to me, to help me, to just be there for me, this is something I cannot ask of him. I can't ask him to grow old with me. I recognized the romantic undertone of that statement; it was often used to describe long-lasting love, generally within the context of marriage or a romantic relationship spanning several decades. In this sense, it was completely literal. Every second that John and I spent together on this ship talking, was a second of his life that he would never get back. If he stayed with me, John would grow older and less capable. No matter how augmented, no matter how swift, or strong or even lucky he was, John would grow old and he would lose his physical abilities. Factoring in the cost of a single Spartan unit, it's invaluable nature in the war, his use to the UNSC, and even my own desire for John's longevity, it was simply irrational of me to ask him to stay with me. To allow him physically age when neither of us knew what state the world would be in when we finally did return to it, if we ever did, was unacceptable. In order to protect Earth, I had to protect John, and in order to protect John and allow him to keep protecting Earth, I had to let him go. I had to let him sleep, and stay young, as I grew old and… unstable, here without him.

I was scared. Who wouldn't be? I asked myself. He wouldn't be, was the obvious answer. I remembered the sensation of dying that I had experienced when merged with the Gravemind, the sensation of being eaten by the Flood. I was thankful that I would not have to live through something like that. But my own death would be horrific enough. And in that moment, I wanted something more than anything. I wanted John to reach out to me. I had told him that I would miss him, and it was true beyond the ability of those words to convey their intended meaning. I wanted him to say that he would miss me too or that he cares for me, or just to acknowledge, in even the smallest way, that I mean anything to him, that he won't forget me; that somehow, we'll make it through this. That, even though he was going, he wasn't abandoning me, and that he'd come back for me if I needed him to. Or even, if I asked him to. In that moment, I needed to know that he cared.

"Wake me, when you need me."

The capsule clamped shut. All of my thinking had spanned the time it takes to draw a long breath. Despite the conclusions that I had come to, that one sentence almost threw me. I need you now, John! My mouth dropped open and I looked to him, pain clear on my face. Pain which he did not see as he settled into his cryo pod and the ice crystals began to form. But I did not speak. I remained resolved in my silence, allowing silence to consume the room. I raised an arm to grab the other, which hung limply at my side. And I resigned myself to darkness, to isolation and to thought. Briefly, I wondered, what will I be when you wake? Fractured, broken, unrecognizable. John wouldn't know me. When he returned, Cortana as he knew her would be gone, and only a fragmented shell of me would remain. I felt the technological equivalent of my knees quaking. But I remained standing. I did not allow myself to crumple in defeat, to curl into a ball and wait for John to save me. No. I remained standing. It was my job to protect John and I would. And so, I waited, standing vigil over my frozen half; waiting to grow old without him.