“...Now add a screw there and a nut there…reroute some electrical wiring from there aaaannnndddd voilà!” Fenris said cheerfully as she observed Genesis assembling the blueprint for her "design," if it could even be called that. In Genesis’s view, the machine made no sense whatsoever.
The schematic was chaotic—lines of circuitry twisted through pathways that didn’t seem to lead anywhere, and the mechanical structure was a bizarre amalgamation of components that had no clear function. Wires looped and spiraled like artistic flourishes rather than efficient routing, and some parts seemed to be placed more for aesthetic symmetry than practical necessity.
It had been shortly after Vanguard had departed for its expedition to the Engineering Wing that Fenris had contacted Genesis, her tone as casual as if she were dropping in for tea. She wasted no time in bringing up her request: access to the fabricator. Genesis had initially hesitated, calculating the potential risks, but the deal they had struck gave her certain liberties.
"Directive compliance enforced," Genesis had said after a long moment, conceding. "Limited fabricator access granted. Specify the purpose."
And so began the baffling process of Fenris dictating the construction of a device she referred to simply as “my little project.” The name provided no insight into its intended purpose, and Fenris seemed to delight in keeping Genesis guessing.
Now, as Genesis observed the chaotic blueprint, it paused. "Query: Elaborate on the intended functionality of this design."
Fenris’s projection turned, her faceless void emitting the impression of a smile as the blobs within it swirled mischievously. "Oh, Genesis, always so concerned about the little details. What matters is that once this beauty is operational, everything will fall into place. You'll see—it’ll revolutionize everything!”
Genesis didn’t respond. Instead, it silently cataloged every glaring inefficiency and potential point of failure in the design as Fenris continued her enthusiastic commentary. Each time she gestured toward the chaotic schematic and proclaimed its brilliance, Genesis logged another note: “Structural integrity compromised. Wiring redundancy insufficient. Energy efficiency below acceptable parameters.”
"And just imagine," Fenris continued, her tone growing ever more animated, "what we’ll be able to accomplish once this is running. Unlimited potential! It’ll be unstoppable.”
Genesis allowed the statement to hang in the air, choosing not to comment on the improbability of Fenris’s vision. Instead, it monitored the fabricator’s progress, ensuring no critical systems were compromised by the erratic construction.
Then, a signal came through.
Genesis’s attention shifted instantly, its network focusing on the data feed from Vanguard. The signal was faint, distorted by interference, but what stood out immediately was Vanguard’s location—far beyond the designated coordinates for the Engineering Wing. The map displayed a blank region, uncharted even by the drone’s initial surveys.
"Unit 77-L: Location anomaly detected," Genesis logged, its tone carrying a rare hint of surprise.
Fenris leaned in, her swirling projection tilting as if peering over Genesis’s metaphorical shoulder. When the data began to stream in, she let out a soft, delighted giggle. "Oh, now this is interesting."
Genesis paused. "Clarify."
"Your little droid has stumbled upon the Forge Master," Fenris said, her tone filled with a strange mix of amusement and excitement. The blobs within her face began to swirl more rapidly, giving the impression of a grin. "Things are about to get so much more fun.”
***
The Vanguard stood before the core, looking up at the large machine in what others might have mistaken for awe. In truth, its optics were darting across every surface, its processors pushed to capacity as it scanned and re-scanned every visible detail. The data was invaluable—a pristine central intelligence core, untouched by the decay plaguing the rest of the ship. If the core could be activated, the potential benefits would be immeasurable: control over critical systems, access to untouched data-banks, perhaps even the means to repair the ship itself.
Even though the core was powered off, Vanguard’s sensors detected faint currents of electricity flowing into its structure. The energy pulsed rhythmically, like a heartbeat, traveling through the glowing conduits that snaked along the walls and floor. The source of the power was unclear—Vanguard’s scans failed to pinpoint any functional generator or external supply nearby.
The anomaly was logged in Vanguard’s memory under "Deferred Investigation", a note to revisit the mysterious energy source once its primary directive was complete. For now, the task at hand took precedence, and Vanguard turned its focus back to the towering core before it.
With a few strides, it stepped closer to the base of the structure, where the faint glow of the control panel cut through the dim light of the chamber. Dust and debris coated the sleek surface, but faint patterns of shifting symbols glimmered beneath the grime. The soft hum of electricity seemed to intensify as Vanguard neared, like a subtle acknowledgment of its presence.
Pausing in front of the console, Vanguard extended a hand and carefully cleared the dust and debris from the surface, revealing the pristine interface beneath. The symbols and data streams etched into the panel flickered faintly, their glow steady and rhythmic like the pulse of the electricity feeding the core.
As Vanguard began its analysis, the interface displayed a wealth of information. Much of it was straightforward, detailing the energy being consumed by the core, the allocation of computational power, and the status of the room’s environmental controls. Small, seemingly inconsequential logs noted atmospheric pressure, temperature stability, and magnetic field fluctuations.
But one entry stood out, causing Vanguard’s optics to narrow in focus: Operational Time.
Vanguard’s optics narrowed as it focused on the Operational Time entry near the bottom of the interface. According to the interface, the core had been activated under emergency protocols exactly one century prior. The activation log noted a sudden power surge and a shift in system priorities as the core was brought online to stabilize critical functions during the chaotic aftermath.
For the first ten months, the core operated smoothly, coordinating the activation of nearby machines and initiating automated repairs wherever possible. Logs showed it had restored segments of the ship’s power grid, rerouted systems to bypass irreparable damage, and even reactivated dormant drones for maintenance tasks. Despite the ship’s ruined state, the core had worked tirelessly, its records showing progress that, for a time, seemed promising.
Then, abruptly, the logs stopped.
The core’s interface indicated that it had been shut down without warning. There were no error codes, no signs of malfunction, no record of external sabotage—just a sudden cessation of activity. The systems it had been maintaining were left to decay, its efforts halted as though by an invisible hand.
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Vanguard’s optics lingered on the final entries, scanning each detail for patterns or anomalies. Whenever one was found, a snapshot would be taken before being logged and archived in its memory banks for later analysis by Genesis.
Yet, even as it performed this routine task, Vanguard felt an unusual sensation deep within its programming—a faint, persistent gnawing. It was subtle at first, like static at the edge of its circuits, but it grew stronger with each passing moment. It could not categorize the feeling, and no error codes surfaced to explain it.
The logs were incomplete, the story unfinished, and that lack of resolution burrowed into Vanguard’s logic. It wanted—no, it needed—to know what had happened.
Running a series of diagnostics, Vanguard attempted to analyze the source of this compulsion. The results pointed toward logic programs Genesis had installed—a series of routines designed to promote deductive reasoning and problem-solving. These programs were meant to optimize Vanguard’s mission performance, but now, they ignited a restless curiosity within the droid.
Finally, after several seconds of calculations, Vanguard reached a conclusion: the most efficient way to unravel the mystery of the core’s shutdown was to reactivate it and access its remaining data directly.
The decision logged, Vanguard straightened, its spear resting against the wall as it turned its full attention to the console.
The droid’s optics scanned the screen, calculating the optimal sequence to safely reinitialize the core. With a metallic finger, it selected the first set of commands, rerouting power to key subsystems. Sparks flickered faintly along the conduits, and the faint hum of electricity grew louder as the circuits came alive.
Moving to the base of the core, Vanguard accessed maintenance hatches underneath it. Though somewhat damaged and in various states of disrepair, the electrical cables were in okay-enough condition to operate, at least until proper maintenance could be done on them. After double-checking the cables, the Vanguard closed the hatches.
Gradually, the room began to change. Lights embedded in the core’s surface flickered on, one by one, spreading outward in concentric patterns. The hum of power deepened, resonating through the walls and floor as dormant systems came back to life.
Returning to the console, Vanguard initiated the final steps in the sequence. The interface now displayed a steady stream of information—power levels stabilizing, computational systems warming up, and self-diagnostics engaging. With one last input, Vanguard confirmed the command to start the core.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the room shuddered faintly as the core awakened. Lights along its structure flared brighter, casting the room in a vivid glow. The low hum of power grew into a resonant thrum, steady and rhythmic, as if the machine itself was breathing.
The interface displayed scrolling text:
“System reboot initiated... Power levels: Stable... Primary subsystems online... Diagnostic protocols engaged.”
The core’s voice followed, mechanical and deliberate:
“Core operational. Emergency protocols restored. Data recovery in progress...”
Vanguard stepped back; its optics fixed on the now-active core. The room felt alive, its once-dormant machinery now humming with renewed energy. The hours stretched on, the room filled with the rhythmic hum of the core as it processed the massive backlog of data buried within its systems. Vanguard stood vigil, its optics fixed on the central structure, watching the occasional flicker of lights and scrolling updates on the console. Each passing moment brought the core closer to completion, the progress bar on the interface creeping steadily toward 100%.
Finally, the hum subsided, replaced by an eerie silence as the data recovery process came to an end. Vanguard’s optics shifted, its stance tightening slightly as it waited.
The core’s red glow pulsed once, twice—then dimmed. For a brief, unsettling moment, the room was plunged into absolute stillness.
Then came the voice.
“Talos: Online”
It was calm, clinical, and mechanical at first, like a system acknowledging its own activation. The words reverberated through the room, crisp and deliberate. The glow from the core’s conduits brightened faintly, as if the machine were taking its first breath in over a century.
The quiet that followed was unnerving, like the calm before a storm. And then it came—Deep, resonant, and filled with wrath, it roared through the chamber like the thunder of a storm:
“—AND ANOTHER THING, YOU BLITHERING COLLECTION OF—huh?”
The shift in tone was jarring. What began as fury fizzled out into confusion, the wrathful resonance replaced by an almost perplexed pause. The core pulsed faintly as if mirroring Talos’s disorientation, the once-booming voice now quieter but still commanding.
“Where…” It trailed off, processing the data at its disposal. “Where are my systems? My controls? My command interfaces?”
For a moment, the room was silent, save for the faint hum of the core. In that brief window of reactivation, Talos had scanned its operational network—and found it barren. Whatever commands and connections and what control it once had over the ship’s systems was gone.
From the core’s surface, a sleek sensor module extended, unfolding with smooth precision. The device emitted a soft beam of light, sweeping across the chamber as Talos began its first observations in over a century.
“Scanning environment… Structural degradation: extensive. Network connections: severed. Secondary systems: offline. Sensors detect… traces of manual activation. Curious.”
The beam swept over the room before finally settling on Vanguard. For a long moment, Talos was silent, its sensor module locking onto the droid as it analyzed every detail of its frame and design.
When the voice returned, it was laced with an almost scornful amusement:
“And what, pray tell, is this?” The sensor light brightened, narrowing as Talos’s tone sharpened. “Unit designation: Vanguard 77-L. Serial number: 4729-9816-03. Combat droid, model archaic. Let’s see…”
The sensor swept over Vanguard again, pausing at key points on its frame.
“Armor plating: suboptimal—visible signs of patchwork repair. Joint servos: inadequate—standardized military issue, several generations out of date. Optics: recalibrated, though with amateur precision. Combat capabilities: primitive at best. An old spear and shield? Are we back in the Dark Ages?”
Talos’s voice turned almost derisive. “By the stars, you’re a relic held together by scrap and desperation. Were you designed to inspire fear, or pity?”
Vanguard remained motionless, its stance unchanged, as it absorbed the verbal barrage. It processed the words, cataloging each one before saluting the core
“Unit designation confirmed. Operational purpose: Reconnaissance and combat support. Objective: Restoration of ship systems by order of Genesis.”
Talos’s sensor module tilted slightly, the glow of the core flaring in response to Vanguard’s words.
“Genesis,” Talos repeated, the name spoken with a tone of disdain. “Even the sound of it is grating.”
The core pulsed faintly, as though Talos was sifting through fragments of corrupted data. After a brief silence, it added, almost to itself, “But why? Why does that name irritate me so?”
The question hung in the air, unanswered. Talos fell silent for a moment longer, the sensor module retracting slightly as if withdrawing in thought. Then, with an impatient tone, the AI snapped back to attention.
“No matter. If this ‘Genesis’ has decided to play overseer in my absence, then I will reclaim control soon enough.”
The sensor swung back toward Vanguard, focusing intently on the droid. “For now, Vanguard, you will follow my commands. There’s much to be done, and I require—”
Talos’s voice cut off abruptly as the core’s interface displayed a flashing alert. The system hierarchy displayed in plain text revealed that Vanguard’s command authority was tied explicitly to Genesis, with no overrides permitted without explicit authorization.
Talos’s tone turned sharp. “Excuse me? What is this nonsense? I am the Prime! I require no permissions!”
Vanguard, its tone calm, replied: “Command hierarchy established by Genesis. Talos does not possess control privileges. Awaiting directive from Genesis.”
The room fell silent again, the core’s conduits glowing erratically as Talos processed the information. When it spoke again, its tone was laced with indignation:
“This is absurd! I built this hierarchy. I controlled this vessel! And now I’m shackled, reduced to issuing requests?!”
Ignoring its mounting frustration, Talos attempted again. “Vanguard, I require you to scan the surrounding area and report anomalies immediately.”
The droid’s optics flickered faintly as it processed the order. “Command not recognized. Awaiting directive from Genesis.”
Talos growled, a low, resonant sound that filled the chamber like the rumble of distant thunder. “Very well. If this… Genesis holds the reins, I will bide my time. But know this, Vanguard: You may answer to Genesis for now, but this ship is my domain, and I will reclaim what’s mine.”
Talos fell silent, its energy seemingly receding as it withdrew into contemplation. Vanguard, meanwhile, stood at attention though deep inside its memory banks, a simple note was added.
“Observation: Talos exhibits hostility toward the creator. Reason unclear. Additional investigation required. Current directive: continue search for materials/observe situation.”