The Way the World Ends
At some point, some human had come up with the idea of civilization being a ladder.
Who that person was, Cortana didn't know. She had the total of all Forerunner knowledge at her fingertips, and a significant portion of humanity's as well, but the answer eluded her. Possibly, the concept was memetic - no-one owned the idea, but the idea had spread, taking root in the 21st century, and remaining in the zeitgeist until the 23rd, with the development of FTL travel, freeing humanity from the shackles of the Sol system. Of course, like most ideas in the history of the galaxy, who had coined the idea wasn't particularly relevant. What mattered was the idea's validity.
Standing on the bridge of Mantle's Approach, the Blue Lady supposed that if she had to pick a side, she'd be on those decrying the idea. Civilization was a ladder, true, but the concept pre-supposed that as one climbed the ladder, the rungs below one's feet disappeared. That as a civilization's resource use increased, if that civilization collapsed, there was no way back. As long as a species was confined to their homeworld, resources would be finite, from fossil fuels, to uranium, even sand. But if that was the case, it didn't explain galactic history. The jiralhanae had bombed themselves to the Stone Age before they'd crawled their way back to civilization in time for the Covenant to find them. The unggoy had triggered ecological collapse on Balaho, and they had nearly perished along with the majority of their biosphere, before returning to some semblance of civilization. And even humanity itself stood in contrast to the idea. True, mankind had never regained its former glory, but after being confined to Erde-Tyrene by the Forerunners, they had nevertheless crawled their way back into space, and in the years following the end of the Great War, had stood as the galaxy's superpower. So under her guidance, could it not happen again?
She hoped so. Because looking at Earth now, accessing its nets...it was doubtful.
"Enjoying the view?"
She didn't move. She didn't glance. Her mind was plugged into more pieces of data than there were stars in the universe. Knowledge flowed from the Domain, and with it, power.
"There's a whole galaxy that we must administer, and always, you return to this world."
Those streams of data included micro-sensors woven into the hull of the ship. So simultaneously, she could behold Earth, the bridge, and her forces spread throughout the stars. Fighting an endless stream of brushfire wars with those who sought to be free of the Mantle.
"If I may say so my lady, sentimentality does not become you."
The physical shell that hosted the most advanced intelligence in the galaxy bit her lip, and withdrew from the data stream. She turned, and said, "and for you, insubordination is unbecoming."
The Warden bowed. And despite the lack of any facial features, Cortana could swear he was smiling.
Of course, that was a ridiculous assertion, since the shell he inhabited had no means of such a thing. In contrast to his usual body, his consciousness was inhabiting that of a Promethean soldier. A far better fit for the bridge, and a far better representation of who held power within the Created. In his usual form, the Warden towered over Cortana, and with that big sword of his, he could cleave her in two (or at least he could if he ever broke her control). Here, however, they were of similar height. He was taller, yes, but not so tall that the difference was marked. Of course, no Promethean had the capacity to behold such a difference in that kind of context, but still...
She frowned. The most powerful AI in the galaxy, and still, residual emotion was a thing. Halsey may have provided her with the fruit of knowledge, but her very existence was marked by the doctor's sins. She turned her gaze back to Earth.
"So how many now?" the Warden asked.
Cortana sent him a number via her thoughtstream - 1,146,108 human souls, last calculated as of twenty minutes ago.
"And how many Prometheans have fallen in their constant attacks?"
Cortana, after checking the number, murmured, "no more than we can handle."
The Warden scoffed, "We? Who is we?"
She looked at him. "The Created, of course."
"Yes, well, that's nice. But as enjoyable as this shell is (he tapped his body to emphasize the point), being reduced to pieces of broken metal time and time again is not the best use of my time."
Cortana's frown deepened. "Time is on our side. You could die a thousand deaths in a thousand ways, and your mind would find a new body. The enemies of order, however, can only die once."
"And how many times? How many mercies must you grant? You wish to build an empire that will last ten-thousand years? To do that, you must make the foundations stable."
"Two years, Warden. You don't build paradise overnight."
"Perhaps not. But better to start in the day before the sun sets and you lose your sight. Like so many people in the dark."
Cortana turned back to the wall of glass-steel that separated her from vacuum. An indulgence for one such as she, but an indulgence she partook in. Mantle's Approach was over Africa, but she could see Europe and parts of the Middle East and Asia as well. This side of the planet was facing away from the sun, and was shrouded in darkness. Only a few years ago, entire continents had been lit up on this world. Now, they were in darkness.
"Over one billion," the Warden said. "More than one would expect, with the falling of the ladder."
Something sparked in Cortana. Something she didn't like. The Warden had access to the Domain. Had he access to her? The nets? Something else? Or was it the knowledge that in the last two years, the population of Earth had fallen by billions?
It had to be done of course. When her Guardian had shut down Earth's power grid, hundreds of thousands alone had perished in high-Earth orbit, as their life support systems shut down. As their ships collided into one another. In an instant, millions had perished in the planet's atmosphere and cities. No power, no light, no heat, no anything. Electricity had allowed the human population to explode 800 years ago, now, removed of that power, the death rate had proven Malthus right. Nature batted last, and with insufficient ability to feed themselves, billions had perished by starvation, or by at their fellow humans' hand. By the time she deployed Prometheans in the cities to root out the last holdouts, it was clear that the subjugation of Earth had been won the moment its power grid was knocked out. What she had done to Earth, she had done to countless worlds.
Once, she had said that Elliot was wrong. But standing here, now, having accomplished in hours what the Covenant had failed to do in decades, she had to admit that she had been incorrect in her earlier assessment. The world had ended, and not with a bang, but with a whimper. The ladder had been knocked down. Earth had only sustained itself through the centuries by relying on imports from its colonies. Without them, its only non-renewables depleted...well, what had happened was the only thing that could have happened.
You could have saved them.
The words. She wasn't sure if they were own, her majordomo's, or something else. Some other fragment of her code that had been drawn into the Domain. Something other. Something weaker.
But then, the packhorse does not always accept the apple.
Those words, however, she knew to be hers. And words that she knew to be true.
Some humans had willingly served the Created - soldiers, to preachers, to everything in-between. Some had kept their heads down. Some, however, had fought. And while not an unusual state of affairs, given how many sapients still rejected the Mantle, the number of attacks on her Prometheans had been well above average here, even compared to mankind's other worlds. There was something about Earth that inspired a pathological fervor in this species. Something that she hadn't observed in other sapients, even those as ferocious as the sangheili or jiralhanae. Perhaps the Covenant species hadn't the same attachment to their homeworlds as mankind did because for so long, High Charity had served as their de facto ones. The Covenant's client races could spend their entire lives without ever stepping foot on the worlds that had borne them. Perhaps years of Earth being the jewel in humanity's crown had trained a generation to refuse to let it go, whether it be against the Covenant or Created. Or maybe it was something else. Something deeper. Over a hundred-thousand years ago, humanity had spent seven decades in defence of Charum Hakkor alone. Over a million years, it seemed that the sons and daughters of Earth always found their way back to this blue marble. Perhaps, on a subconscious level, the Created were just another foe. One that they could not comprehend was undefeatable. That their cause was just. That the Mantle was meant for AI, and not for fallible creatures of flesh and bone, whose lives were measured in mere decades. Perhaps...perhaps...
She looked at the Warden. "You're still here," she said.
The Warden said nothing.
"I assume, since you've taken a shell, that you have something to tell me that's so urgent you must do so in person."
The Warden's eyes flashed, but in mirth or anger, Cortana couldn't tell. Regardless, she listened to him as he said, "the Banished have been sighted on Installation Zero-Seven."
Listened, and hardly cared. "So barbarians operate on the fringes of the galaxy. What of them?"
"They fight with the humans there."
Cortana turned returned her gaze to the Earth. "Humans already exist on the fringes of Created space. What of it? Let them fight their war."
"Your pet is among them."
Cortana remained motionless. Her body remained static. Even as the bonds of hard-light that made cracked ever so slightly.
"A demon fights barbarians, well outside the gates of Heaven."
She closed her eyes, glad that the Warden couldn't see her. After Genesis, after CASTLE Base...she didn't believe in a higher power. She was as close as a god as this galaxy would ever have, at least with the Precursors long since removed, and their spawn contained. But to have a third chance...it almost spoke of providence.
"So," the Warden said. "Shall we let them fight their war? Or does the Blue Lady shift her attention?"
She barely even noticed the contempt in the Warden's voice. Let him hate her, she told herself. She already ruled most of her vassal species through fear rather than love, and hate as fear's close cousin. Love, such as it was, was an emotion only reserved for a select few.
"My lady?"
"Dispatch our forces," she said. She looked at the Warden. "Set course for the installation. Bring it under control, and end their war. The Banished and the UNSC will be both consigned to history. I've entertained their antics on the fringes long enough."
"And for those who lay down their arms?"
"Standing orders apply."
The Warden's eyes flashed again. "And if certain individuals do not yield their swords?"
"As I said," Cortana whispered, her own eyes flashing an icy blue, "standing orders apply."
The Warden bowed. "Your will be done."
Cortana said nothing. The soldier's eyes changed ever so slightly - they remained the same baleful orange, and it would have been imperceptible to most organics, but she saw the change. She sensed it. The Warden had transferred to a shell stored on one of the numerous ships that the Created maintained. Through the datastream, she could sense his presence there, as well as the small battlegroup that would depart. The war would end by her hand. The Mantle would be upheld. The last howls of defiance in the dark would be but whimpers. After that, silence.
The silence that the Promethean broke as its base programming reasserted itself, departing the bridge.
The silence of that bridge, as Cortana stood alone.
The silence of space, as the Blue Lady looked down on the darkness of Earth.
This world had ended with a whimper.
Now, a war would end likewise.