At what point does the development of artificial intelligence justify the sacrifice of a human life? Can we justify the means by the ends we seek to achieve? When exactly does the pursuit of scientific advancement cross the line into moral ambiguity?
These are the questions that plague me as I stare at the woman before me. Despite her bald head, her features mirror my mother's in a hauntingly precise manner- diamond-shaped face, with piercing blue eyes, high cheekbones and an angular long nose that points marginally downward.
This woman will be more than just a clone, though. Once her neural substrate is extracted, her neural pathways will be scanned and copied through a process called Cognitive Impression Modelling.
Cortana will be an evolution, a culmination of every piece of knowledge and intelligence gathered from across the galaxy. She was created as an insurance plan by my mother to revolutionise the Spartan program. The integration of artificial intelligence could elevate the capabilities of the Spartans to an unprecedented level that we haven't yet witnessed.
John will be the first to undergo this experiment. It's a necessary step to ensure his fitness for duty, especially given recent events. It's a sobering realisation, knowing that Cortana's inclusion in his consciousness brings a unique advantage- a fail-safe mechanism that can temporarily deactivate his consciousness if need be. A safeguard in other words, against any kind of insubordination.
Even as I acknowledge the practical benefits of this arrangement, I can't shake the underlying concern. The idea of manipulating a human consciousness and taking away free will for the sake of control is unethical. Then again, some people, specifically the UNSC, see the Spartans as weapons first and humans second.
I'm snapped out of my thoughts when a small surprised gasp leaves the lips of the clone. Constraints have just abruptly snapped around her form, holding her in place on the bench for the upcoming surgery. My glare finds Adun who's over by the controls. His lack of bedside manners and pragmatism never fails to irk me.
"I'm afraid we'll need you awake for the procedure," I tell her gently, taking a step forward and averting my eyes to hers. "But this will keep your body still."
I bring the hypodermic syringe in her line of sight. A meek frown overtakes her features and I recognise it's an emotion akin to fear. Her gaze flits from the tool in my hand to my face.
Her eyes peer into the depths of my soul with an insatiable curiosity. "Will it hurt?"
For a moment, I'm at a loss for words, caught between the truth and the desire to offer her reassurance. My eyes flicker to her restrained and vulnerable body. A pang of sympathy hits me. Despite her artificial nature, there's an undeniable humanity to her, an innocence that's radiating from her very being.
"Yes," I admit to her, my voice tinged with regret. "There might be some discomfort."
Her eyes widen slightly in response, and I can see the apprehension forming within her as clear as day. Wanting to spare her any further distress, I swiftly administer the injection in her neck with practised precision.
As much as I try to compartmentalise my feelings, the line between right and wrong blurs. The procedure about to happen is unnerving. Even though we're acquiring her consciousness, we are still essentially killing her physical form. I take a step back, trying my best to maintain a composed demeanour as I blink back the emotion pooling in my eyes. I do my best to push aside my doubts, focusing on the task at hand.
I clear my throat. "She's prepped."
Adun presses a button on the control panel, which results in a mechanical whirr as the technology for the procedure shifts into place above her head. The monitor begins to beep, mimicking the steady rate of her heart beat.
At that moment, the door to the lab hisses open and Halsey strides in. "Ready?"
Adun nods his head with a small, "Mm-hm."
Halsey looks over the clone with a critical eye, ensuring that all the equipment is calibrated correctly before moving to stand behind where the technology is primed and ready over her head.
Adun moves from the control panel, falling into place beside me. We both observe Halsey as she presses the ready button on the screen, sliding her finger in a circular motion to fully activate the procedure.
The machine hums to life, scanning the anatomy of the woman's face with precision. With a soft click, a slender needle emerges, poised at her eye. As I stand in my spot, my mind is screaming at me, howling into the abyss that what we're doing right now is utterly despicable.
I can't bear to watch the needle as it finds its mark. I turn my head away just in time with a wince, but it does little to ease the horror. The sound of her discomfort echoes in my ears, mingling with the beeping of the monitor, which only seems to grow more urgent by the second. As the cacophony reaches a crescendo, the rhythm of her heartbeat abruptly flatlines.
Dead.
The flat line persists, unyielding and relentless like a damning verdict. My fists clench as frustration and helplessness simmer within me.
"Turn it off, god damn it," I bark, my ire directed at Adun.
Adun jumps in his spot, but without hesitation, he strides over to the control panel. With a decisive flick of his wrist, the unnerving symphony comes to a grinding halt. Silence fills the room, until there's a subtle whizz. I can't help but look over in irritation, drawn to the source of the sound.
It's a mistake.
Below the neural substrate implant now displayed on the machine is the clones lifeless body. Crimson blood trickles from her nostrils and ears, forming a winding pathway of red. I can no longer deny the enormity of what we've done.
My mind races with chilling questions which send shivers down my spine. If this procedure with John and Cortana proves successful, how many more times will I be called upon to perform such acts? How many more clones will I watch be subjected to this fate, their lives sacrificed in the name of progress? I find myself imagining an endless row of clones, their faces etched with the same fear that I had seen reflected in the clone shortly before injecting her with a sedative.
Bystander.
Murderer.
The weight of my complicity presses down on my chest, suffocating me. Every fibre of my being screams to leave this lab, for solace from the guilt that threatens to consume me whole. With each second that passes, the haunting image of her dead body etches itself into my memory with a searing intensity.
I can't stay here for a moment longer.
I need to leave.
Now.
With trembling hands and a heavy heart, I turn away from the lifeless form, striding purposefully towards the exit.
Halsey's voice cuts through the tense air, her tone sharp. "And where exactly do you think you're going?"
As I turn to face my mother, the floodgates of the emotions I've been struggling to contain fully burst open, washing over me with such an intensity that leaves me raw and vulnerable.
"You know damn well I wasn't comfortable with this project. That's why Adun was your understudy. Not me." I jab my index finger in his direction, allowing the anger, frustration and guilt to sweep me up. "Yet, you still forced me to be here today. You forced me to be apart ofthis."
Her expression remains impassive. "Emotions have no place in our work, Makayla." There's a weary undertone to her words as if she's grown tired of repeating the same message to me time and time again. "We bear the responsibility so they don't have to. We do what it takes to ensure our survival. How can you not see that?" Her eyes squint at me, seeking to understand the turmoil within me. "How are you supposed to follow in my footsteps if a single procedure on a clone affects you like this?"
Her words sting, causing me to narrow my eyes at her. "Maybe I don't want to follow in your footsteps then... if this is what it means."
Her gaze hardens. "Perhaps this line of work isn't suited for you then, after all," she retorts sharply, her words striking deep. "Good scientists can't afford to let their personal feelings cloud their judgement."
Perhaps she's right. However, I can't easily surrender myself to the relentless pursuit of progress at any cost as she does without hesitation. As much as she wants me to be like her, the truth of the fact is, I'm not.
I can't fault her for her conviction. For her, it's always been about pushing the boundaries of science and innovation to secure a brighter future for us all. And yet, at this moment, I feel a twinge of resentment toward her.
I had made my stance clear from the very beginning of this project, purposefully asking not to be a part of it. My boundaries were laid bare and yet, she brushed it aside today. It's a tactic she's employed before, a thinly veiled attempt to desensitise me to our work to condition me.
She may be okay with what's happened today but I'm not.
With a sharp inhale, I bitterly declare, "I'm taking the rest of the day off."
My chest tightens as I turn on my heel. My gaze flickers to Adun, who's doing a measly job of trying to conceal his delight. I don't spend a second longer looking in his direction, effectively ignoring him. The echo of my footsteps punctuates the strained atmosphere as I exit the stifling lab.
I spend the rest of the day cooped up in my apartment, letting the hours slip by as I attempt to distract myself with a novel. But it does very little to silence my guilty thoughts.
It's only as night falls that I muster enough strength to rise from my bed. In the spur of the moment, I fit a harness onto Biscuit and step out into the cool evening air, deciding to take the public train through the city.
I gaze out the window, watching the cityscape blur past in a flurry of lights and shadows, listening to the rhythmic clack of the tracks whilst Biscuit lounges lazily on the seat next to me, her fluffy form sprawled out.
As we step off the train and make our way up the stairs and out of the station, I'm immediately struck by the tranquillity of Tchakova Park. The scent of pine trees mingles with the gentle rustle of the leaves overhead, creating a sense of calm that soothes over me like a balm. It's a welcome respite from the lonesome confines of my apartment.
Biscuit eagerly leads the way along the winding paths and lush greenery, her tail swishing from side to side. Her cream fur glows in the soft artificial lights lining the path and when she looks back at me, there's a sparkle of curiosity within the depths of her feline gaze.
A laugh bubbles to my lips when she drags me by the lead to a heap of leaves and pounces on it, rolling around and then flopping onto her back in delight. It's clear that she's enjoying the chance to stretch her legs and indulge in the nature surrounding us.
I make a mental note to take her out more.
As we grow closer to the heart of the park, the gentle murmur of the nearby stream is soon eclipsed by wistful classical music drifting through the air. I hasten Biscuit along, keen to trace the source of the hauntingly beautiful plucking of notes.
It doesn't take us long to find the source. The musicians are nestled amidst an intimate and modern amphitheatre, with concrete seats rising in tiers around them. Enchanted by the serene setting, Biscuit and I find ourselves a nice little spot to sit down.
I watch the musicians play their cellos for a while before I get interrupted by the cast of a long shadow swallowing my form. My senses prick up and I detect a presence on my left. I glance upwards, straining my neck at the towering figure who is standing on the stairs observing the performance.
With a jolt of recognition, I take in his familiar features: the strong jawline, the brown hair cropped short at the sides, the faint scar under his eye, etched into his cheekbone, and the short stubble adorning his face.
John.
I wonder briefly if my eyes are playing tricks on me, if the stress of the day has finally caught up with me and I'm beginning to hallucinate things.
The thought suddenly strikes me that if he's here right now, then that means Cortana has been successfully integrated into his neural pathways, clearing him for duty.
However, Spartans like him usually confine themselves to their barracks when off duty, so the sight of him standing here, in the open air of Tchakova Park, seems almost surreal.
I blink rather stupidly up at him, once and then twice, but he's still very much here.
"John?" I utter sceptically.
It takes a moment for him to register my presence, his gaze momentarily puzzled until he finally locks eyes with mine. A hint of confusion flickers across his face before he realises who I am.
"Ma'am," he says respectfully, his tone formal as ever.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "Call me Makayla," I tell him. "We're off duty now, and 'ma'am' makes me feel old."
He dips his chin down in a silent nod. A tinge of awkward silence falls over the two of us. He's just standing there, looking down at me and I'm sitting here, staring up at him. I notice that the abrasion on his forehead is fading, the once angry red mark now softened into a pale pink.
I should probably offer him a seat, right? Where are my manners? I clear my throat and shuffle down a little before patting the free spot beside me. I lean back, allowing him to see my furry companion lazing about on my right.
"Join us?" I offer, arching a contemplative brow.
His gaze flickers from Biscuit to me, to the seat and then back to me. With a brief word of thanks, he accepts and settles onto the seat beside me. I steal a glance at him out of the corner of my eye, noting that his posture is rigid and his broad shoulders are squared. I briefly wonder if he ever lets his guard down to relax.
Warmth emanates from his presence, dulling the effects of the cool breeze that had once been nipping the bare skin of my arms. His deep brown eyes catch me looking at him and a flush of embarrassment creeps up my neck.
I divert my attention to my cat briefly. "Oh, uh, this is Biscuit, by the way."
On cue, Biscuit emits a soft meow, acknowledging the introduction as she pushes her way into my lap. I give her a little rub on the head.
"It's, uh, nice to meet you Biscuit," he politely greets.
A small smile lifts to my lips at his formalities. "You can pet her if you'd like."
He uncertainly extends his hand toward her, the back of his fingers brushing lightly against her fur. His hand dwarfs the small cat, yet there's a tenderness in his touch. Biscuit remains unfazed, allowing him to stroke her with an air of regal indifference.
He pulls away after a few moments, stating, "I didn't see you during the artefact testing."
"Oh, I had a bit of a rough morning, so I decided to take the rest of the day off," I admit. My mind starts to drift back to the unsettling procedure I was complicit in. Frowning, I find myself biting my bottom lip, a nervous habit I've had for as long as I can remember. I try to steer the conversation elsewhere. "How did it go?"
"It was different," he rasps. My head tilts slightly to the side as I wait for him to continue. His gaze hesitantly meets mine and I notice a subtle shift in his usual stoic demeanour. There's a glimmer of something in the depths of his eyes, a fugacious hint of emotion that belies the impassive behaviour he typically presents to the world. It's a subtle nuance, but one that doesn't escape my notice. "They feel like memories."
"Not visions?" I press curiously. He shakes his head. "And you felt them again?"
There's a hum in the back of his throat as he answers with a low, "Yes."
"So, you think you're the boy?"
"I believe so."
"What did you see this time?"
"There was a picnic, a forest, a cave and a dog- my dog, I think," he rasps.
The last time he had touched the artefact, he was confused, but now there's a palpable sense of worry underlying his words. The emotion isn't surface level anymore, it's deeper. There's a rawness to his expression, one that I'm unfamiliar with. It's a stark contrast to his usual lack of feeling, and I find myself silently marvelling at his humanity peeking through.
"So, when did you take it out?" I confront him, my voice soft, yet firm as I inquire about the missing pellet.
His eyes widen slightly in surprise at my question. "You can tell?"
A soft smile tugs at the corner of my lips as I gaze at him. I find it strangely endearing that he had assumed I wouldn't notice.
"You're usually so numb to the world, John," I remark lightly. "It would be hard not to notice."
He nods slowly, a faint hint of amusement touching his features. "I guess I should have expected as much... I extracted it a few hours ago."
"Look, I'm not normally a stickler for rules, but that goes against section three-"
"-regulations on spartan behaviour," he interrupts drily. I snort at his quick response, finding the weariness in his tone amusing. "Cortana already briefed me on that."
The mention of her name results in my smile fading. "How's the integration faring?"
"Fine," he replies curtly, looking away.
I detect a hint of disdain and it's evident he's not particularly fond of her. It's understandable, given the circumstances, but I know he'll have to get used to her eventually. He's going to be spending a lot of time with her, working side by side on missions. Adjusting to her presence will be a necessity for him, whether he likes it or not.
"You're going to have to inform Halsey about the pellet," I tell him offhandedly, my attention drifting away from his side profile to the musicians. The sooner the better. "If she doesn't already know, that is."
My mother has a knack for acquiring information in unsettling ways. It's as if she has eyes and ears everywhere. I hated it with a fiery passion as a teenager, and I still do now.
"There's something I need to do first," he states.
My head snaps back to his direction in question. I listen intently as he proceeds to tell me how he wants to revisit the artefact, to experience the emotions without the inhibitor chip and how he wants to do it right now.
"I'll come with you, but I need to drop Biscuit off first."
"That won't be necessary."
"I'm going with you, John," I assert firmly, my tone leaving no room for negotiation. "Besides, you need me. I doubt you have priority access to the room they're keeping it in. What are you going to do if I'm not there to let you in?" My eyes inadvertently stray downward, taking in the pronounced definition of his muscles beneath the fabric of his black clothing. "Use your brute force to get through several feet of reinforced metal?"
I arch a brow at him, waiting for a rebuttal to leave his lips, but it never comes. I have him right where I want him. He knows he needs me.
"Okay," he concedes, though there's a hint of reluctance in his voice.
"Let's go, then."
After our little detour to my apartment to drop Biscuit off, we soon find ourselves striding down various corridors to the lab holding the Madrigal object.
By the time we arrive at the locked lab, I'm breathing heavily from my effort to keep up with John's brisk pace. With a loud exhale, I reach out and press my palm against the sleek, metallic pad located on the left side of the door. The panel illuminates the outside of my hand, scanning my fingerprints with a faint whirr. A second passes before the door emits a satisfying click, granting us access.
John pulls the door open and advances into the room with a sense of urgency. I trail behind him, unsure, caught off guard by his sudden haste. I had anticipated taking a moment to prepare the necessary equipment before he approached the object. But, it looks like he has other plans. My face pales.
What an oaf.
"John!" I call out, but my voice is drowned out as he reaches out with both hands to touch it.
It hums to life, the crevices of the triangular-shaped object instantly glowing a brilliant cerulean blue. Symbols and patterns appear out of thin air, pulsating with energy as they rotate around the artefact. I can't help but be entranced by how different it appears in person compared to the sterile images I've seen on video recordings. There's an undeniable aura of pure energy emanating from it, something primal and ancient that defies explanation.
My ogling is cut short as concern fills me. John's upper body is vigorously shaking backwards and forward, convulsing from the rippling power consuming his mind. My heart races as I watch him struggle.
Then, with a ragged gasp, he suddenly releases his grip on the object and crumbles to the ground.
My instincts kick in and I dart forward, sliding my arms under his and steadying his torso just in time to prevent a harsh impact with the floor. One of his hands is wrapped around me, and his other is clenched around the sturdy podium that's propping the object up. I move into a kneeling position, allowing him to lean most of his weight into me and for his head to rest near the crook of my shoulder.
He's panting, his hot breath hitting against the sensitive skin of my neck, sending a direct shiver down my spine. Each exhalation feels like a desperate plea for air. His chest is rising and falling in an erratic rhythm, fighting to regain control.
"Just try and focus on your breathing, okay?" I murmur, trying my best to keep my voice calm and reassuring as I try and coax him back to a place of calm. "In... and out. In... and out."
Slowly, but surely, his breathing starts to regulate and his grip on me loosens a fraction. A surge of frustration swells within me. Why couldn't he have been more cautious before throwing himself so damn recklessly at the artefact? Did he want to frighten me? A part of me wants to give him a solid whack as payback, but I ultimately resist the urge to do so.
"There's a second artefact," he wheezes out.
I gently guide his head away from my shoulder and study his face. Sweat beads on his forehead, glistening in the dim light of the chamber. Gently, I shift his weight, manoeuvring him into a more comfortable position against the podium. The pressure that had been bearing down on me just seconds ago dissipates, leaving me feeling strangely lighter.
"Are you sure?" I ask him, disbelief colouring my tone.
"I drew it," he confirms, his voice strained as his intense gaze searches mine. "Over and over. My mother was there. My father buried... I saw-"
He moves to rise, but I hold his shoulders down. "-Don't you dare."
My order is barely registered as he loses himself in his thoughts, his wide wild eyes looking through me, rather than at me now. "I must have seen... what if the second artefact is what we buried?" he muses aloud.
Sensing his mounting agitation, I reach out a hand to his face, gentle fingers tracing the contours of his cheek. His eyes, unfocused and distant, slowly refocus on mine.
"John, listen to me," I urge softly, willing him to ground himself in the present moment.
But before I can continue, he speaks again, his hoarse voice tinged with a newfound clarity. "Ice rings!"
"Ice rings?" I repeat back to him, confused.
"The planet I lived on had ice rings," he explains, his hand firmly grasping my wrist. I allow my hand to fall away from his face, yet it remains captive in his warm hold. His fervent gaze shifts from mine, turning to the empty space beside us. "How many planets have rings on your list?" It takes me a moment to realise he's conversing with Cortana and not going insane. "Yes." There's a small pause. "Show me."
A sense of awe washes over me as I observe the holographic projection of a distant planet. Towering trees reach for the sky, their verdant green leaves forming a protective canopy overhead. Through the gaps in the grand foliage, the ice rings that John had mentioned gleam in the celestial expanse, casting a soft glow against the azure sky.
John's voice breaks the silence. "This is the place. I'm sure of it."
"Eridanus Two," Cortana's voice echoes through the room, filtering through the intercom she remotely connected to a few minutes prior.
"But how could I have been here?" he asks, his voice tinged with disbelief. "Eridanus is uninhabited."
"It wasn't always," Cortana interjects matter-of-factually. "The planet was a select site for the Reach for Life project." The projection of Eridanus Two fades away, replaced by images of bustling laboratories and thriving landscapes. Snippets continue to pop up around us as she explains the initiative. "Reach for Life was an ambitious feat of human ingenuity. Teams of UNSC biologists, botanists, and geophysicists designed and built the installation as a self-sustaining ecosystem. The goal: to seed life on otherwise barren planets in an effort to extend the reach of humankind in the galaxy."
My eyes lock onto a photograph of a parent and child planting a seedling in a glass greenhouse. "You're from here?"
"That's according to the promotional material," she says.
Longing tinges John's tone. "So this is where I lived?"
"Based on your memories, it's highly likely," she confirms.
John's brows furrow in confusion."What do you mean, 'based on my memories?'"
"Can't you just access the records, Cortana?" I inquire.
"The operational files were lost when the program was abruptly terminated," she reveals.
Abruptly terminated? This piece of information strikes me as odd. It seems too convenient.
"Why? What happened?" he demands.
Cortana's tone remains neutral as she delivers the devastating news. "A plague carried in on an unauthorised transport ship. It spread quickly, killing off most of the population. There was no cure."
"What about my parents?" he persists, his eyes searching the holographic display for answers.
"Survivors were evacuated to Ehilend, where you were adopted at age six-"
"-Cortana!" his voice booms in anguish, cutting her off. His jaw clenches, and I can see the turmoil churning behind his eyes, frustration and apprehension bubbling to the surface. "What happened to my parents?"
Cortana's response is cold and clinical, devoid of empathy when she says, "In accordance with Emergency Contact Protocol Upsilon, the planet was sealed off to contain the virus. I have no other data."
I watch John closely as the revelation sinks in. His shoulders sag, and I can see the struggle playing out across his features, pain etching itself in the lines of his face as he processes the information. It's a cruel reality, to learn in one breath of the existence of your family, only to have that hope mercilessly extinguished in the next.
"John, I'm so sorry," I softly say.
The words leaving my lips instantly feel inadequate in the face of his grief. He nods wordlessly, his gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the holographic display. I reach out a tentative hand, hesitating for a moment before placing it gently on his shoulder, wanting to offer him some semblance of comfort.
The main door to the room we're in suddenly slides open, spilling artificial light into our dimly lit surroundings. Cortana's projections abruptly cut out when my mother steps into the room. My arm falls away from John's vicinity and I straighten up, turning to face her head-on.
Her icy blues flicker between us. "John and Makayla, what exactly is going on here?"
"Dr. Halsey," John acknowledges at the same time as I say, "Halsey."
John and I exchange a quick glance before turning back to her approaching form. I swallow hard, feeling a knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach. My mind races as I search for the right words to explain our presence here at this late hour of the night. I don't relish the idea of facing her wrath, especially after the extraneous events of today.
"Why are you two in here?" she probes again, her eyes narrowing on the both of us intently.
John speaks up for both of us. "When I removed my pellet, I realised that an altered hormonal state might affect my interactions with the artefact."
Her eyes widen imperceptibly."Removed your pellet?" she repeats, her voice barely above a whisper. Her head snaps to mine. "And you're aware of this?"
I draw in a breath. "For the past hour, yes."
John remains steely in his explanation."There are two artefacts." That piece of information catches her attention immediately, her inquisitive blues moving away from my face to focus on John's. "The one that I found on Madrigal, and another one that goes with it somehow, and... I saw it as a child on Eridanus Two."
Her head cocks to the side, curiosity taking over he features. "Are you sure?"
The door whooshes open once more, and two armed figures step through. John's firm hand wraps around my left bicep, pulling me along with Halsey to a more secluded spot by the window that's out of the way. From our vantage point, we can see into the war room below that's flurrying with activity. He releases our arms.
"The images that I've been seeing... they're memories. My memories," John reveals to her, his voice tinged with a rawness that cuts through the air. "Of my family."
Halsey's eyes divert to mine questionably, seeking my perspective on the matter. I nod in confirmation.
"We'll send some probes to Eridanus Two," she begins swiftly, a plan already formulating in her mind. "We'll start a survey, and-"
"-No. I'm going," John interrupts, his resolve unwavering. "Send a probe. Stare at all the data you want. I need to see it for myself."
His words are final, leaving no room for negotiation. Halsey's lips part, seemingly taken aback by his stance on the matter.
As John turns to leave, my mother's voice calls after him. "John!" He stops in his tracks and looks over his shoulder, meeting her gaze. "I'll come with you."
He offers her a solemn nod, but before he turns completely away, his burning determined gaze locks with mine, lingering for a fleeting moment. I try my best to ignore the subtle swooping sensation that lifts through my stomach, a gentle stirring of emotions that I dare not name or even entertain.
"And you," Halsey's sharp voice reprimands. My eyes reluctantly leave John's retreating form, shifting instead to refocus on her. "What were you thinking using your clearance to allow an unauthorised personnel into the Madrigal lab?"
"An unauthorised personnel who just so happens to be the only person capable of connecting with the object in that very lab?" I purse my lips, my next words dripping in lightly veiled sarcasm. "Anyways, you should be thanking me... we've made progress."