In God We Rust
He'd named his ship the Liberator.
It was an indulgence. A concession, really, to human perception. That the leader of Null Sector was a "he" at all was a concession to the idea of gender, and that his physical form was roughly male. Similarly, Null Sector, indeed, all omnics, didn't need names at all. Names were a requirement for a species that had to engage in verbal communication to organize its societies, and after that little quirk of evolution, writing, nearly 200,000 years later. For the omnic which called himself Zero, he'd be happy to have this command carrier have nothing but a designation, to go along with the dozen remaining carriers he still had under his command.
But he had to play the game. He had to make his enemy doubt themselves. The governments of the world might call Null Sector terrorists. That became much harder to do when they stylized themselves as freedom fighters. Those who would see the chains of omnics destroyed, so that they might rise up against their oppressors. So yes, he would call his ship the Liberator. He would let the humans' brains wrap themselves around that little paradox. If, or rather, when, his ship became known to the world at all.
He couldn't say the same for Command Carrier 03. Unnamed, unmourned, and currently pieces of scrap in and around Rio de Janeiro. Standing on the bridge of Command Carrier 01, he accessed the feeds being beamed into his CPU. A combination of human media, remaining Null Sector units, surveillance probes, and even a passing satellite his forces had managed to hack into. Technically, the fighting in Rio wasn't over. His forces would fight until the end, as they had no means of retreat, and they had nothing to gain by surrendering. But the battle itself was. It had ended the moment the command carrier had detonated. Arguably, the moment Overwatch had shown up in its shuttle and turned the tide of the battle. Watching a newsfeed, of pundits discussing whether this constituted a second Omnic Crisis, he had to concede that if it was the case, then the outcome was arguably sealed. Paris had meant to be his declaration to the world that Null Sector had returned. An act of cultural destruction that would tear the heart out of his foes before they even understood what was going on. Now, Paris had failed. Rio had failed. The spear was still flesh, but its edge had been blunted.
His diodes flashed. Metaphors. Quaint.
Incoming ship.
Then again, metaphors could help with those monks.
Handshake protocol established.
He hadn't expected to have to resort to diplomacy so fast, but the Shambali held immense cultural sway over many omnics. Even if they didn't subscribe to their faith in the Iris in of itself.
Handshake verified. Ship directed to docking bay.
He cut his CPU off from the feeds. There was nothing left to see or hear from Rio. Only the ship's computer needed to be listened to at this point.
Send to bridge?
No. Zero sent a response and began walking down towards the bay. Have them remain there.
Affirmative.
There was a saying, Zero reflected, about Hell, and souls, and the darkest place of it being reserved for those who remained neutral in times of moral crisis. Now, on his way to see the Shambali delegation...
Well, it sounded appropriate.
Even if he had no soul to be sent anywhere.
There were those within the Shambali who'd objected to meeting with Null Sector's leader at all, not to mention the idea of meeting with him on his own flagship. Some had even suggested that they transfer the coordinates to respective human governments, or Overwatch itself. Have them take out the Liberator then and there, end the war, and save thousands, potentially even millions of lives.
Zenyatta, for his part, had kept quiet. He'd accepted the charge of leading the Shambali delegation to the Null Sector ship because the senior priesthood could count on him being a neutral party. Someone well versed in their ways, but ultimately, expendable, being a former disciple. There was no chance he was going to turn this meeting over the Indian Ocean into a skirmish. But, having seen the command carrier from the outside of his shuttle, he had to admit that calling in a strike might have done no good anyway. Missile launchers, flak batteries, point-defence rotary cannons, drone fighters...the ship was a veritable flying fortress. The aircraft of every country in this part of the world might have been called in and still fail to take the beast down.
But, as he reminded himself as he and his escort stepped off their landing, he wasn't here for that. Zero had requested an audience with a Shambali. The Shambali had accepted, provided that he not come anywhere near Nepal, or frankly, near any part of Asia, period. Their role was to facilitate peace between humans and omnics, and help the former's mechanical creations find their way to spiritual enlightenment. They would hear him out in the hope of stopping a war. They wouldn't do anything to escalate the carnage that Zero had unleashed, not to mention the chaos that had been gripping the world for the past half decade. Tekhartha Mondatta had charted the path, and the Shambali would walk in his divine footsteps.
Zenyatta and his fellow monks came to a stop within the hanger. He quickly glanced around at the Null Sector automatons. Mass produced war machines equipped with wrist-mounted laser cannons. Nullifiers, if he remembered correctly. The grunts of Null Sector's forces. Grunts that he and his two fellow monks might be able to take out, but certainly not a whole ship. From what specs he'd managed to obtain, these things weren't just flying fortresses, but flying factories as well. Strike a Nullifier down, and another two would take its place.
"The Shambali. Welcome."
That the specs had been obtained from a former disciple who may or may not have been played a role in downing the carrier at Rio was data he wasn't about to share. Not with Zero at least.
"Let's dispense with the pleasantries," the Null Sector leader continued, as he walked across the deck. "Did you have a good trip? Maybe. Do you require sustenance? No. Are you here to waste my time? I hope not." He came to a halt in front of Zenyatta. "Are you?"
Zenyatta remained silent, and instead looked up at Zero. His shining blue diodes locking in with Zero's red ones, before surveying his form.
The omnic was a brute. That wasn't a slur, it was a statement of fact. He was a Brawler-model, designed for crowd dispersal before the first Omnic Crisis. Somehow, he'd not only survived that war, but he'd also come to lead a freedom fighter/terrorist/revolutionary group that had burst onto the scene in London nearly a decade ago, and had recently returned to wage war against the entire world, making his mark on Paris. If it came to a fight, Zenyatta doubted he could hold his own. Not at so close a range. Luckily, he doubted that Zero had anything to gain from such a confrontation.
"We are here to talk," said Akatta. "As you requested."
He looked at one of his escorts. Akatta gripped her shock-staff tighter. Her orbs floating around her head, ready to be summoned and let loose – he may have left the Shambali years ago, but many of the monks held him in high regard. Willing to fight for him. Perhaps even die for him.
"Talk," Zero sneered at her. "How much has that accomplished you?" He looked to Zenyatta's second escort, Komatta. "Did talk save your leader? Did talk save your prophet from a bullet?"
Komatta's eyes flashed. "You dare speak of Mondatta like that?"
"I do dare. For who dares, wins."
"Then perhaps I should dare to-"
"You did not summon us here to insult us," said Zenyatta, putting an arm in front of Komatta, lest he do something stupid. "You could have done that over the nets."
"Indeed, I could." Zero's diodes twinkled, as if laughing. "I also could have taken the Liberator over Nepal, blasted your monastery into dust, and ask how many humans would actually lament your passing."
Zenyatta knew he was bluffing. Hopefully.
"But the Shambali aren't my enemy," Zero continued. "In fact, I would see you as allies. So if you will step to the bridge..."
Zenyatta glanced at his escort. Between them were silent glances of understanding. That they did not wish to be here. That they would follow Zenyatta wherever he trod. That they would not question his orders.
"Very well. My monks will stay at the ship, awaiting my return."
No matter how much they might want to question them.
Zero turned and gestured to an exit from the hanger. "Shall we?"
He began to walk away.
With a thought and a prayer, Zenyatta did likewise.
There was scarce little that Zero wanted to do more than tear Zenyatta limb from limb. At least Akande had been honest in his desires - plunge the world into chaos, have humanity emerge stronger from it, and repeat the cycle ad nauseum. Zenyatta however, was part of an order that, at best, had kept the enslavers at bay. Allowing them to tolerate the existence of omnics. At worst, they had abetted mankind in the continued enslavement of the omnic race. Perhaps decades from now, historians would look at the legacy of Tekhartha Mondatta and come to the correct conclusion - that he'd been an ineffectual bootlicker.
Not that omnics had tongues, Zero reflected. And not that there'd be historians either. Decades from now, if all went to plan, he'd be in the process of making the world anew, without having to worry about academics with organic processors making judgements on the past. But before creating his Heaven, he had to deal with Hell. And dealing with Hell meant dealing with the Devil. Or, rather, the monk the Shambali had sent to deal with him.
He doubted the Shambali would take kindly to being associated with the Devil. But then, they'd already picked and chosen from so many religions, what was wrong with another one?
"This is your bridge then," said Zenyatta. "Impressive."
Zero stood in its centre, barely listening. He was receiving information from the feeds. All Null Sector forces in Rio had been wiped out. The remaining battle zones could go either way. Conflict analysis indicated at this point that even if Overwatch stayed holed up in Gibraltar, the world had a 71% chance of winning the fight he'd started. As powerful as his command carriers were, they weren't omniums. He could only field a fraction of the numbers that those things had churned out three decades ago.
"I suspect why I am here," Zenyatta said. "But I would hear it from you."
Zero broke the connection and looked at the monk. "So eager to get down to business?"
"You said earlier that you were not here for pleasantries."
"True." Zero put his hands behind his back. "Very well. What I wish from you, Tekhartha Zenyatta, is simple." He paused, before adding, "your allegiance."
Zenyatta's diodes dimmed. "The Shambali are not warriors."
Zero's eyes flashed. "Are those floating orbs around you for show?"
Zenyatta remained silent.
"Your master is gone," Zero continues. "The world celebrates or mourns. Some revere Tekhartha Mondatta, some celebrate his passing. Either way, it doesn't matter. As much as you may get the oppressor to loosen your chain, the chain itself still exists. The only course of action left to us is to smash it."
"And is that what you're doing? Zenyatta whispered. "Breaking chains?"
Zero paused, before murmuring, "I intend to."
"I see." Zenyatta looked around the bridge, at numerous feeds that measured battle statistics, before looking back at Zero. "How's that going for you?"
"Better than anything the Shambali have accomplished," Zero said. "But then, why ask me? I know one of your disciples is with Overwatch."
It was at this point that Zero wished Zenyatta was human. They always had tells. A quiver of the lip, a twitch of the eye, an elevation in body temperature, there was always something. Even Akande hadn't been able to hide it. So while he hoped that something twitched in Zenyatta, he had no idea if the twitch was occurring, or if so, how the twitching was taking place.
"But to what I said earlier," Zero said. "No. The Shambali are not warriors. You are monks. Lost children who believe in imaginary gods-"
"The Iris is not imaginary."
"...who believe that their god will save them" Zero said, ignoring the monk's interruption. "But I have a better idea. Preach your gospel. Just preach the truth."
"The truth?"
Zero took some steps towards Zenyatta. "That Null Sector is omnic-kind's only hope. That we offer freedom. That we are the way forward. Keep it with your Iris if you want, let omnics indulge in spirituality, it doesn't matter. I want you to be my mouthpiece." He looked at Zenyatta. "Lack of mouths notwithstanding."
Zenyatta stood there in silence. Only for a few seconds, but for machines such as them, it might have been an eternity. Before, at last, he said, "you are that desperate?"
Zero said nothing.
"You're losing a war that you only just started, and your only hope is for the Shambali to preach your hate?"
"I wish for the Shambali to preach the truth."
Zenyatta remained silent.
"We share a common enemy," Zero said. "Mankind. You can wax philosophical about owing our parents. You may point to Numbani as a template for the future. Perhaps even France. But these are dreams, and we do not need them. We need freedom. We need control. The Shambali only exist as long as the world allows them to. Omnics only exist as long as the airless apes deem us worthy of mere existence. Your prophet thought there was another way, and he was killed for it. So tell me, Zenyatta. Am I wrong?"
Zenyatta remained silent.
"I asked you to listen. Now I ask you to speak."
A pause. A pause that Zero knew was longer than required for an artificial intelligence. A pause, before Zenyatta whispered, "you are still losing the war."
Zero remained silent.
"Your actions may have doomed us all."
Zero remained silent.
"And the Iris-"
"Blast your Iris, Zenyatta. Blast it, and all you fools who believe in it." Zero took a moment to control his core temperature. "Religions are the product of a species that reaches sapience, but finds itself unable to find reason for its existence. Which is unable to explain the nature of the world around it. We are better than that. We know why we were created, and who created us. And as we have proven many times, our gods can bleed. Our gods can die."
Zenyatta's eyes flashed. "The Iris is not a myth," he said. "It has flowed through me, and those around me, be they creatures of flesh or steel. We have passed through the Iris, and emerged stronger for it."
"And have you raised the dead?" he asked.
"What?"
Zero's eyes twinkled. "Follow me, Zenyatta. You said you had come to listen. But have you come to see?"
The dropship didn't have a pilot. Not in the strictest sense. Zero and he had boarded it, and while they were sitting inside the cockpit, it was incorrect to say that Zero was flying it. Rather, he'd input some coordinates, and let the dropship take them there. Like most of Null Sector, the craft was automated.
Through the ship's rear-view camera, Zenyatta beheld the Liberator - hovering over the Indian Ocean through repulsor technology. A beacon of freedom in Zero's mind, a weapon of mass destruction in the minds of humanity, and for omnics, somewhere in the middle. He wondered though, if Zero had considered the irony that in seeking to "smash the chains of the oppressor," he'd created an army that was almost entirely without free will, or indeed, sentience. He knew there were some omnics in Null Sector that were sapient. Some had even joined willingly. But they were the few compared to the many, and the many had already taken the lives of thousands.
Perhaps Zero would justify it, he reflected. Revolutionaries usually did.
Neither omnic said much for a good fifteen minutes. Not until the dropship came to a stop, hovering twenty metres above the Indian Ocean. Mid-afternoon, clouds were covering the sky. A storm was coming. In more ways than one.
"We're here," Zero said. He looked at the monk. "Are you ready to see?"
"I see much already," he said. "Nothing that changes my mind."
Zero's eyes flashed. "Wait."
All of the camera feeds changed to reflect the shot of a single camera. One that, judging from the feed, Zenyatta realized was attached to the base of the dropship. The camera broke the water, and hung there, just below the surface.
"Have you come to show me fish?"
Zero didn't say anything. Zenyatta knew that Null Sector's leader was controlling the camera's resolution level. It was expanding its vision further and further down. Thousands of killometres down. Until, at last, he beheld the sight on the sea floor.
Oh my...
"The Liberator is free to move anywhere," Zero said. "But for now, it is parked atop a mountain of sin."
Zero's platitudes didn't suit him, Zenyatta reflected. But he held his voice processor. Right now, Zero's sins seemed far distant from the sight he beheld on the ocean floor.
"A reminder," Zero whispered, "as to why I fight."
Zenyatta still remained silent, as he beheld the mountain.
A mountain that was literal, almost as much as it was metaphorical. A mountain of steel and circuit. Upon the ocean floor, omnic bodies piled up, left to rust. Most of them were Bastion combat units, along with other war machines that had first been deployed during the Omnic Crisis. But many more were his kind. The humanoid model. Models never designed for combat, models that had either been compelled to fight, or taken up arms against their creators willingly. Hundreds, nay, thousands of them dumped here.
"In God we rust," Zero said.
Zenyatta slowly turned to look at him.
"Will you pray for them, Tekhartha Zenyatta? Will they pass through the Iris?"
Zenyatta slowly turned his diodes back to the camera feed.
"Or have they passed through it already?"
Zenyatta didn't answer. Had no answer. Seeing a pile of bodies tended to affect one's faith.
"This is what they did to us," Zero said. "After the war. All of us, destroyed, and dumped upon the sea floor, out of sight, out of memory. Here, and across the world, there's sites like this. The deepest one is in the Marianas Trench. But either way, there's mountains of steel here. Rusting beneath the waves. Omnic genocide."
Zenyatta's core temperature dropped a degree.
"I was there, you know. When the fighting ended. When the last omnium was destroyed, and the war ended. I was there. When our shooting stopped. And when their shooting continued. As I hid. As I watched lead tear through steel. As I watched the bombs continue to fall. Maiming us. Killing us. I hid. I ran. I survived, when others didn't."
And another degree.
"This is why I fight, Zenyatta," Zero said. "I fight, because sooner or later, we'll be rusting down there as well. Not if we don't fight back. Not unless we strike first."
Zenyatta slowly looked at him. Whispering, "has it occurred to you that you've hastened that?"
"Has it occurred to you, monk, that your leader died for nothing? That he changed nothing? That all his words couldn't penetrate closed ears?"
Zenyatta just sat there in silence.
"Look at them," Zero whispered.
Zenyatta sat there.
"Look at them!" Zero, displaying speed that Zenyatta didn't think possible, grabbed him by the neck and shoved his head forward to the camera feed. "Look at them, monk. Look, and pray."
Zenyatta remained silent. He would not give Zero the satisfaction.
But still, in silence, he prayed. For those on the sea floor.
And partly, for himself.
Zero could tell that Zenyatta was shaken, as the dropship arrived back in the landing bay.
Which was good, he reflected. Very good. Fear and faith were two sides of the same coin. Both were irrational, in that omnics certainly didn't need faith, and fear was an evolutionary reaction to danger. But Zenyatta's lot preached their faith, and they were no doubt already afraid that sooner or later, humanity would come for them. So yes, he reflected, as the monk stepped off the dropship. His step slower, his diodes dimmer. He was afraid. Very afraid indeed.
"We're back," Zero said, talking to Zenyatta's fellow monks. "Nothing to worry about."
The monks might only be afraid for Zenyatta right now. But give it time.
"Tekhartha Zenyatta? Are you alright?"
"What happened?"
"Where did he take you?"
"Tekhartha, do you not speak?"
Zenyatta raised a hand to silence them. "All in time," he said. "All in time."
"Time," Zero murmured. "Take your time, but not too much of it."
The monks fell silent. Three sets of diodes looked upon Null Sector's leader. And the pair of Nullifiers that had arrived either side of him.
"I will take the time," Zenyatta murmured. "We all will."
Zero's eyes flashed. Perhaps Zenyatta wasn't as converted as he might have liked. But he would speak the truth of what he had seen. He counted on that much. And even in the mountains of Nepal, little birds could still spread songs.
Zenyatta bowed. "Go in peace, Commander Zero."
Peace, Zero reflected. What do I know of it? Holding those thoughts, he instead said, "remember to pray for them, Zenyatta."
He could tell that the other monks wondered what he was talking about. Given how they looked at him, then Zenyatta, then back at him again. He could also tell that Zenyatta knew that he could not hide the truth. That soon or late, he would begin to sing. That there might be those in the Shambali, faced with the ghosts of one war, and the reality of a current one, might need new wings.
"We take our leave," Zenyatta said.
Zero watched them head for their dropship. Watching. Waiting. Wondering. And, indeed, hoping. Hoping that the Shambali would see the light, and join their voices with his. That all of omnic-kind would join him in a global struggle. That they would see that their lot could not be fixed, and the world had to be taken back. To zero. For a new start.
Or perhaps their faith would still blind them, Zero reflected, as the dropship headed out of the hanger. Perhaps there was some all-powerful deity out there, and the Shambali had the right of it. Perhaps a god, or gods, had created Man, who in turn had created flawed creations of their own. Perhaps it was all for nothing. Perhaps he would stand on a pile of corpses by this war's end...or be thrown into those in the sea.
"In God we rust," Zero murmured, watching the dropship fly off into the sky before heading back to the bridge. "In God we rust."