“We’ve all seen the might of the reawakened Precursor constructs,” I begin. “Once they’re upon us, we will have little time. There is no room for error. No room for hestitation.”

“They are our creators!” the Examiner exclaims. He is a former Promethean larger than myself and older than my original by several thousand years. The Examiner long ago preferred supporting command as more suited to his talents, which are extraordinary—as indicated by the fact that he has somehow brought seventy-five fortresses and eleven dreadnoughts out of the worst Precursor tangles to the greater Ark, where they now provide the bulk of our defense.

“Doubtful in the extreme!” cries the Tactician. A general rumble of agreement passes around the circle. The Tactician is relatively slight and younger than the others. Less than two thousand years have passed since his maturity, and he has always been Builder Security, but he proved his brilliance over and over during the metarch revolt. With the fall of the Master Builder, he went into temporary retirement. His star rises again. He could be chosen to replace me—not without reason.

“I harbor no doubts they are not the same,” I say, “not anymore at least. The distortions the Flood inflicts are outward manifestations of an inner ugliness that reflects its origins. Ultimately, it matters little where they came from. We now find ourselves at the end of Forerunner existence.”

The commanders stand in solemn silence.

Bitterness-of-the-Vanquished steps through the projected forge, and stands surrounded by ghostly images of damaged Forerunner transports. Bitterness commanded Warrior forces during the Kradal conflicts at galactic center. She trained me—trained my original. She is the eldest among us, not to be taken lightly.

“Under your command,” she says, “Forerunners have lost thema after thema to the Flood. I taught the Didact, and you are not him. Tell us why any Forerunners should continue to follow you in the face of such catastrophic losses … now that the Didact has returned and his duplicate is no longer necessary.”

Despite anticipating this—with all the honed political instincts of my original—I feel a deep jab of resentment. In my mind, in all my thoughts, I am the Didact. Bornstellar is like a character in a story told centuries ago, so dim … so other.

But I have to honor her opinion. Still, she forces me to reveal things best left unsaid.

“I would agree, and step aside, yet the Didact has recused himself.”

“Because he was subjected to interrogation by a Gravemind!” Bitterness says.

“So it would seem,” I respond. “A consequence of his capture by the Master Builder, who dropped him into a Burn to die.”

The commanders all raise their arms and twist their left hands. They are not receptive to this line of discussion, and bicker among themselves. They do not believe one story or another, and the reasons for the Master Builder’s strange behaviors in these matters remain unknown.