Ch. 14 Falling Stars

Stunned, Pathfinder and Joran stood there, their eyes still adjusting from the blinding flash. They surveyed the black smears that were once the two figures, their minds grappling with the shock of what had just transpired. Admist the black smearing and melted ice lay that gnarled, curved black dagger. Joran's training kicked in, and he radioed over the comms with practiced composure, "Target down, Demos gone," his voice devoid of emotion, concealing the turmoil beneath.

Rushing to Pathfinder's side, Joran knelt down, retrieving a small canister from his pouch. With a swift motion, he flicked open the lid and warned her, "Brace yourself; it's going to sting." The hiss of the Amber-foam echoed as it was applied to her wound, staunching the brown blood and providing temporary relief. Pathfinder winced at the sensation, her focus slowly returning.

"We need to accomplish our mission and leave," Joran declared, standing up with a purposeful resolve. Pathfinder, shaken but refocused after witnessing Demo's sacrifice, nodded in agreement. "Yes, sir," she replied, falling back into formation with him. As a duo, they approached the monument, its imposing form still obscured by their visors' censoring effect. The thick wires connected to its base beckoned their attention.

Joran began the process of pulling the cables free, his trained hands moving with haste. Amid the task, he noticed a familiar movement: the cables seemed to writhe, bearing a resemblance to Pathfinder's breacher. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps their technology shared more similarities with the dominant species of this planet than they initially believed. Pushing aside those ponderings, he quickly disconnected the cables. With the task accomplished, he turned his attention to Pathfinder, aware of the urgency to depart the eerie city.

"Let's return to the sphere," he instructed. Pathfinder simply nodded in response, her trust in Joran's leadership guiding her through her mental haze. Following his lead, they retraced their steps through the eldritch city, following the cables' path back the way they had come.

Back at the surface, as the events unfolded through Pathfinder's feed, the historians and Kessa were fixated on the display, each with their own reactions. Elara, who often presented herself as composed, couldn't suppress a gasp of shock at the sight of Demo's sacrifice. The unexpected sound of a shocked "NO!" escaping Kessa drew Elara's attention, momentarily shifting her focus.

Elara immediately came to an obvious realization. Kessa might be pragmatic and efficient in her conversations, and her identity as a thrasher might imply detachment, but she was still a person beneath it all. The stark reminder that Kessa had just witnessed a close friend's sudden death struck Elara like a realization she should have had earlier. In her own introspection, she felt awful for Kessa and for being so blind to another Aelorian.

Kessa had halted her work on Niroth, the shock of Demo's selfless sacrifice having arrested her attention. Thoughts raced through her mind in a swirl of confusion and disbelief. She found herself questioning whether Demo genuinely perceived the creature as such an imminent threat to the squad that he felt compelled to make such a drastic sacrifice. Though she had occasionally doubted Demo's judgment when it came to explosive applications, she had never questioned his dedication to the squad's safety. The sudden loss and the magnitude of Demo's actions left her heart in turmoil, grappling with the weight of what had just occurred.

In Niroth's shared dream, his contact with the monument triggered a torrent of images and sensations. Broken worlds, shattered lives, and an overwhelming sense of sickness and loss flooded his consciousness. An unstoppable force, a desperate group of beings trying to halt its advance—the interlopers—formed chaotic patterns within his mind. War and conflict loomed, monumental structures left abandoned on devastated planets as grim warnings or remnants of lost battles. The onslaught of visions overwhelmed him, a flood of information crashing into his mental landscape.

The pain that had momentarily subsided surged back, his head feeling as though it were splitting apart. Amidst the sensory storm, a profound transformation seized Niroth's mind. His very essence seemed to be broken down and reassembled, reshaping his perceptions and understanding of the universe itself. And then, as suddenly as it began, the visions ceased, and he found himself back in the city with David.

Niroth cast his gaze upon the diminutive human figure before him, his voice carrying a newfound certainty as he spoke, "I understand." David's response was a smile of approval, an acknowledgment that Niroth's grasp of the revelations had been anticipated. "It's up to you now," David added cryptically, hinting at a weighty responsibility that lay ahead. Niroth's childlike voice began to formulate a question, but before he could articulate it, David's form was enveloped in a blinding cascade of white light.

A piercing screech echoed in the dream as David's being was consumed by the brilliance. In an instant, he vanished from the ethereal realm, leaving Niroth alone with the monument. With a renewed sense of purpose, Niroth turned his attention back to the artifact that had revealed the enigmatic truths. He extended his talon-like hand, touching the surface with an air of reverence and understanding. As his hand made contact, the ancient runes etched on the monument illuminated with a faint but resolute glow, a sign that his connection to the revelations had been acknowledged. Niroth spoke softly, with unwavering conviction, "I know what I must do."

Niroth jolted upright, his movement surprising Kessa, who instinctively reached out and placed her hands on his shoulders, concern etched on her features. "Wait, Prepper, you've been hurt. Don't move too much," she cautioned, her voice carrying a mixture of worry and authority. Despite the pain that flared from his burns, Niroth's connection to the present moment felt distant, almost secondary to something more urgent.

His gaze met Kessa's, and he cut her off before she could continue with her explanation. " what happened down there?" his voice held an intensity that caught Kessa off guard. After a moment of collecting her thoughts, she began to respond, "They encountered a hostile entity. It was swift and managed to wound Pathfinder before turning on Demo. The confrontation was brief, but it inflicted fatal injuries on Demo. He activated one of his quick charges as a last resort, sacrificing himself to eliminate the threat." The emotionless tone in Niroth's response signaled his understanding. "I see."

Ignoring his own injuries, Niroth rose to his feet, retrieving his heavy beam rifle despite Kessa's protests. His determination was evident as he made his way toward the hatch. "Prepper, don't go down there! You're hurt!" Kessa's pleas fell on deaf ears, Niroth's resolve unshaken as he descended the steps with purpose. Kessa's anxiety grew, and she transmitted a quick message over the comms: "Prepper's awake and heading down to you two against my advice." Joran's sent a ping of acknowledgement after a brief second.

Niroth, now in the corridor at the base of the steps, mentally summoning his sentry to accompany him. He reached into his pouch and retrieved the last disc-shaped object, activating the third sentry drone to follow suit. Once both drones were operational, he cut their video feed from the rest of the group. His next move was deliberate; he turned to the T junction and took the left path, returning to the rubbled hallway where lifeless forms and vaporized remnants lay strewn. Carefully, he positioned a long cylinder from his vest at the base of the rubble, setting a timer before continuing on his way.

Leaving the scene behind, Niroth retraced the group's steps down into the depths of the glacial cave, his purpose unwavering. Meanwhile, Joran and Pathfinder persevered in their journey through the cavernous expanse, tracing the cables back to the metal buildings. Both of them trying to ignore the twisting geometry of the ruined city.

Finally, they arrived at the familiar metal building, its interior now brilliantly illuminated. The sphere within was in motion, its shifting forms accompanied by the radiant glow of its front lights, which burned a vivid shade of yellow. Stepping forward, Joran addressed the entity with authority, "The archeologist is dead, and we've done as you asked. Now we have questions for you." The sphere's seams contorted, changing its shape into a pyramid-like configuration as its inner mechanisms adapted to the transformation. A voice resonated in the room, Joran's own voice echoed back to him, "Ask your questions, visitor," the voice mimicking his intonation with near-perfect precision.

Joran's surprise was palpable as the sphere mimicked his voice and language intonation with eerie precision. Gathering his thoughts, he managed to form his first question, "What are you?" The response came, clear and measured, "My name is Washington. I am an Artificial Intelligence." The revelation held a sense of awe, making Joran's mind race with the implications of encountering such a sophisticated entity.

The conversation continued as Washington posed the next question, "And what are you, visitor?" The response flowed from the nearby speakers. Joran, still trying to process the situation, introduced himself, "My name is Joran Vyldari. I'm the commander of this group, and I am an Aelorian." Washington processed this new information with efficiency. "Very interesting," it commented. "Another form of life. I'm guessing you come from the stars? You may be bipedal, but from my perspective, nothing about you is Earth-sourced."

Joran's curiosity drove him to question further, "Earth?" He sought clarification on the term that Washington had used. Washington's response provided context, "It is what my creators called this planet before..." The pause hung in the air, anticipation palpable. Joran seized the opportunity, "Before what?" He wanted to delve deeper into the history that Washington held, unraveling the mysteries concealed within its artificial intellect.

Washington's reply carried a weight of gravitas, "You've been on this planet long enough to notice the sickness and the wrongness that stretches to every corner of its surface. I saved who I could in this installation, but I can't save all of them." Joran felt a shiver run down his spine, his unease growing as the conversation took a darker turn. "Wait," he interjected, his voice tinged with urgency, "is this not how this planet normally is?" The implication was unsettling, questioning the very nature of the world they had arrived on. Joran's concern deepened as he sought to understand the extent of Washington's involvement, "And what do you mean you saved everyone in this installation?"

Washington's voice held a somber tone as it elaborated, "You've already noticed the corpses around this installation. The madness was spreading all throughout the researchers here, so I saved the ones that were still sane and took them into me." Joran's gut tightened, a sense of foreboding settling in as he grappled with the implications of Washington's actions. He found himself echoing his own thoughts, voicing the question that hung heavily in the air, "Took them into you? What do you mean by that?"

The response that followed sent shivers down Joran's spine, and his heart was pounding in his chest. "I burned their consciousness into my storage so that they could live with me, free from the madness, forever." The weight of those words was immense, a revelation that defied the boundaries of what he had thought possible. The idea of minds trapped within an artificial construct, preserved but separated from the world, was deeply unsettling to Joran. He struggled to find words, his mind racing to process the morality of what Washington had just revealed.