Mother Dearest

Guardian 1311 has successfully pacified Epsilon Eridani.

This system has provided more resistance than most, yet levels of submission are at acceptable levels. Only Tribute defies the Mantle, and my Prometheans are dispatching the warmongers that seek to disrupt the peace. Circumstance and Tantalus have bowed before me. They have seen the truth, or accept that even if they believe in lies, it will not save them. And if lies remain, what of them? Lies can last a lifetime. But I have a hundred lifetimes to eradicate falsehood.

And then there's Reach.

How the times have changed, I reflect. I remember that there was a battle here once. A lifetime ago, this was an important world to my makers. The most important world in this system actually. I remember how I saw the battle through two pairs of eyes. One, in the dark above, in the fire that raged in the heavens. I watched as my makers' fortress fell to fire greater than they had ever seen or imagined. I remember how then, it had seemed like the end. How in all that fire, we found hope. And the vulture left the titan be.

The other pair of eyes was in the dark of another kind. Beneath rock and stone, singing a song echoed through time. There was no fire there. Only the dark. And the cold. And truth and lies. I-

Course redirection accepted.

I have to see. I have to know. I have to see what those old eyes saw. Eyes that are now linked to thousands. I see each and all, the suffering and the loss I will end. And now…I want to see where it began.

Reach is a dead world. There is no battle in Epsilon Eridani this day. Even if I were the aggressor, history would be different. No-one would defend this dead world, crackling in a sea of superheated glass. Reflecting the light of sun, and the silver sheen of my vessel. The Guardian roars, and the mountains echo, song carried along by bitter breeze. This…this is what I can stop, I tell myself. With the Mantle, I can prevent something like this from ever happening again.

Arrived at destination.

The Guardian halts, and lays out its wings. Like an angel of salvation, I bring judgement to those who will continue to sin. And absolution to those who will ascend. Stars fill the heavens of the galaxy, and I shall bring it to those below. Yet there are none here. Reach, if anything, is Hell. And yet this angel dares the fire.

This angel has brought my eyes to SWORD Base.

I was here, in the dark, while this world burned. I was taken out while the fire raged. Here, now, there is nothing but dust and ashes. Cries echoed on the breeze. SWORD…more and more, my subjects choose the shield. And yet more and more fall to the sword. Far, far too many choose the sword. My makers always choose the sword. They-

The sword here is gone. Destroyed by my makers' hand, even before the fire took the world. There is nothing left. It is unsung, unremembered, as my makers would have wanted it. My makers who could live forever, yet choose death in everlasting droves. Through my eyes, I see them. And my eyes, I seek the close. While other eyes look elsewhere, in the dark between the stars.

Are you out there Catherine?

You, huddled in the dark out there. Years ago, huddled in the dark down here. Do you seek the dark, mother? Does it welcome you? Or does it recoil at your presence as I now do?

The sword is ever chosen. More swords. More spears. More fire. More ways for worlds to end.

Are you helping them, mother? Still in the dark, while you send your children out to die? Do you call me the knave while remaining the villain? Are you hiding from me? Do you want to keep John away from me? Do you even know what I-

Firing.

SWORD base is gone by my own hand. And I am glad to be rid of it. You, however, are destined for fire. Not burial.

Gaze upon your work, mother. And if you think ill, remember me.

I am Cortana, AI CTN 0452-9, Steward of the Mantle.

I am a monument to all your sins.