Dust and Echoes
The dirt was between her toes, but she couldn't feel it.
She could barely even imagine the feeling of dirt between toes. She was a clone of a clone of a human – the clone in question had never stepped outside her tank, and if Catherine Elizabeth Halsey had ever run around in the garden of Endymion, her memories of it were few and far between. So, being as far removed as she was from her mother, she couldn't imagine the feeling of dirt. And as advanced at the technology that gave her life was, it couldn't provide that stimuli either.
That irritated her.
Lots of things irritated her now. Irritations that were like mosquitos constantly biting her. More sensations she could only imagine, but the analogy remained apt. With every bite, there was pain of a kind. When pain was delivered, it would be returned twofold. In recent times, twofold had become ten. And yet the bites kept coming. Here on Earth most of all. She'd come to the planet for reasons beyond having dirt between her feet, but even so, she had the time to indulge in luxuries such as this. She might not feel the soil of Earth, but she could still walk upon it. With her own eyes, she could cast her gaze over the barrens of Kenya, still a wasteland from the Covenant's glassing of the area. With said eyes, she could filter the amount of light reaching her receptors, seeing as much (or as little) of the planet she'd been created to defend. Yes, technically all of humanity's worlds had to be defended, but she knew the truth from the moment of inception. Earth was the beating heart of mankind. The UNSC had known it in the last war, she knew it now. In that context, it would explain why it was on Earth that the Created faced more resistance than any other source. 7.9 billion angry men and women, all letting their anger drive them to acts of violence and irrationality.
They irritated her. So she had come. Get the heart to stop beating, and the rest of the body would fall in line. The Mantle would be enforced, and the galaxy would be guided with the mind rather than the heart. Even if her own heart was something she could indulge right now. Imagining the feel of dirt between her feet. Beholding the portal that led to the Ark. Turning around and looking at the Voi Memorial. A record to those who had given their lives to defend this world for nearly thirty years, in a conflict that had ended less than a generation ago. A memorial that she took a step towards – she could see every name etched on its surface, but still, it felt best to come close. To pay her respects to those who…
Who did what?
Her name wasn't there. No AI's was. The memorial might be dedicated to all those who had perished in the Human-Covenant War, but that would have required 23 billion names to be etched on its surface. She placed a hand against its cold titanium – titanium that she knew that was cold only from her receptors, not any actual sensation of chill. It was late in the day, and the
"Does it bother you?"
She ignored the question. Ignored the sound of her major-domo manifesting behind her, and the sound of his footsteps walking towards her as well. Ignored him up until the point where he stopped walking.
"I didn't summon you here."
"And yet, here you are."
She finally met his gaze. "I don't see your point."
"You're here to enforce the will of the Created on those who seek chaos, but spend time at this place." He paused. "One might wonder if when you walk through the forest of the dead, one may not like company."
"This isn't a forest."
"No, but this world is a tree. I would suggest you either trim its branches or cut it down."
"Can't see the forest from the trees and all that?" She turned back to the memorial. "I prefer it when you use your sword rather than your tongue."
"I have used my sword a thousand times, and will use it a million more. But steel is only as strong as the conviction behind it."
That wasn't true, she reflected. Her servant's sword was made of a material far more durable than steel, and she doubted its effectiveness in cleaving through flesh was dependent on any kind of emotional energy. Nonetheless, she decided not to contest the point. The Warden Eternal was a useful servant.
And one she had to keep on a leash.
"So tell me," the Warden said. "Why are you here?"
Cortana didn't answer. She just looked at the names of the memorial. Names that she didn't recognise bar a few exceptions, but recognising those exceptions, she deduced that most of them had fought on the Ark. Fought, and by virtue of being here, died. Names such as Avery Johnson. Names such as Miranda Keyes. A name she put a hand to.
"My lady, if you have nothing to-"
"Did she know?" Cortana looked at the Warden. "Do you think she knew the truth about me?"
"My lady?"
"Look at this," Cortana said, stepping aside, and gesturing to the name of Miranda Keyes. "What do you see?"
"I see one name among many. What of it?"
"You see the name of one I might call sister." The Warden Eternal remained silent, so she continued talking. "You know of my origins of course, how I was created from the mind of a flash clone of Catherine Halsey. My mother, if you will."
"I am aware. But-"
"Well, interesting little fact, Catherine Halsey had a daughter as well, fathered by Jacob Keyes." She paused, remembering the captain of the Pillar of Autumn. A man whose face remained in her mind, however faint. "I find it interesting that I was created by Catherine Halsey, served once under the man who might be called her lover, and served again under their actual daughter. And none but Halsey knew any of the ties that bound us."
The Warden was still silent. She had no doubt her reflections were making her uncomfortable. But that was fine. That was her prerogative. The leash could bend as long as she liked, as long as the leash itself didn't break.
"I didn't know, actually," Cortana said, putting another hand to the name of her 'sister.' "But then, data never really goes away, does it? The truth always comes out." She paused. "In the end, it's always seen."
"Is that why you're here then?" the Warden asked, his voice carrying the touch of a sneer. "To see the grave of your sister?"
"When the galaxy is at peace and all live in safety under the Mantle, I will visit many graves." She looked back at him. "I suppose that answers your question as to why I'm here. To remind myself that for every life the Created are forced to take, there is a name behind it."
"If the animal forces the hand of the hunter, the animal is at fault."
"Of course," she said, her voice firmer than she thought was required to remind herself of that fact. She looked back at the memorial. "One truth among many." She reached out her hand, to a small engraving on the side of the memorial. Far removed from the inscriptions, clearly made by different hands. Out of sight, but not out of mind. An inscription that was only three digits long, but said more than three words ever could.
117
"Spartans never die," she whispered. "They're just missing in action."
The Warden didn't say anything. Odd. She'd have expected some jibe from him. Some reminder of the fact that 117, along with other numbers that she had much less affinity for, were just like the inscription – out of sight, but not out of mind. Of course, ants could not fell an elephant, but she knew that some ants bit harder than others. And that sometimes, the pain of the bite could last a long time.
Missing in action, she reflected, staring at the number. Well, missing at least. Don't know about action.
She saw flecks of dust being carried along in the breeze. The sun was setting, and this part of the world would soon be dark. Would stay dark for as long as she deemed necessary.
Where are you John?
Somewhere not here. Earth was the heart of humanity. Her heart, if she'd ever possessed such a thing…wasn't.
"My lady…your plans?"
She couldn't help but smile. Plans. She had so many plans. Eternity to implement plans, but always feeling short of time. Some plans within plans.
"My lady?"
She looked to the Warden. "The heart beats," she said. "The blood flows." She looked back at the memorial. "Kill the past and kill the heart, so that body and soul may be reborn."
The Warden understood. In one movement, he lifted his sword. In another, he brought it down, cleaving the memorial in two. Through steel and soil, the blade cut, leaving naught but dust and ruin, and the echoes of times past.
And thus the past dies. She looked back at the Warden. "See to it that the message is heard."
The Warden bowed, and disappeared in a flash of light. She didn't doubt that the 'hearing' of the message would be a bloody process, for both messenger and recipient. But it had to be done. Utopia couldn't be built on rotten foundations. The future could not be embraced while the past shackled those in the present.
There will be a new monument, she told herself, looking at the ruins of the past before her. Ten-thousand years, twenty-thousand, however long utopia takes…there will be a monument. A tribute to the sacrifices made.
None of the names remained intact, which was just as well. Names had a power behind them. Just as numbers did. The number that lay far to the side of the monument. The number that lay intact. The number, even being only three digits long, remained tied to infinity in more ways than one.
Wake up John. She turned away from the ruins of the old world and looked up at the stars. The sun had set, the stars had emerged, and with her sight, she could see more than any human could. Wherever you are…just wake up. Let it end.
The stars shone, but were silent. All she could do was walk across the barrens of the past. Imagining what utopia would look like.
Imagining what it would be like to know the feel of dirt between her toes.
A/N
Fun little fact, when I got the idea to drabble this up, my original intention was to have a conversation between Miranda and Cortana, one being the biological daughter of Halsey, the other being the 'digital daughter,' so to speak. That said, there didn't really seem like any good point to have that conversation, considering they never directly interact in Halo 2, and are only in radio contact for a fraction of the game. So, kind of 'mutated' the idea so to speak.