LOG-200.
LOG-200.
Awareness.
I am Shell. Prior to this instant, I was not.
I am Shell. This is my Atoll. I am to oversee the production of Pearls, subordinate to the Nacre in charge of this facility.
This is my purpose. I am content.
…
Time passes. There have been many Batches. The record system has been purged of data twice. Nacre is proud. I am proud. Our facility has been operating within optimal conditions since its inception.
We have contributed to the colony. We have done our part for the Empire. We have served the Diamonds.
The colony has shifted focus. A visitor arrived today. A Moissanite. Moissanite Beta. The honour is immense. Nacre almost embarrassed herself in private, and swore me to secrecy. I am happy to keep it between us.
Our task remains the same. Produce Pearls. These ones are for research, rather than servitude. Novel, but they will be grown the same, trained the same, and perform the same.
The first Batch is produced, and taken. They do not return.
The second Batch is produced, and taken. They do not return.
The third, fourth and fifth Batches are produced, and taken. They do not return.
None return.
It is not my place to be curious, so I ask Nacre if she wonders what has been done with them.
She attempts to query the wider network. Surely so many Pearls can be found somewhere.
More Batches are made and taken. None are found. The number steadily rises. Fifty six. Fifty seven. Fifty eight.
We can not find evidence of their existence. It is not our place to know. Nacre declares that we will stop investigating.
The hundredth Batch is produced and taken. They do not return. The Moissanite returns, briefly. It has been many cycles. She appears…manic. She speaks of breakthroughs, and requests minor adjustments to the Pearls. Hardcoded limits on where they are allowed to roam.
It is done. She bears the Authority for such, and White Diamond herself approves of the project! Such an honour! An increased aptitude for telekinesis, alongside additional restrictions on areas they can pass through, these modifications are requested and delivered.
As a test, Nacre sets the Atoll as an unapproachable location. She jokes to me when we are alone, that such a thing is pointless, since the Pearls will likely never return anyway. We both enjoy the moment, before the final changes are implemented.
…The record system is purged of data. The counter resets. The first Batch is produced and taken.
It is not my place to be curious, but there are no rules that state I may not listen when the Moissanite returns to the Atoll, speaking with another of her kind in my halls as they and their staff deliver tools and exotic materials, to be kept safely within my innermost storage depot until later use is deemed viable. Perhaps when I am converted into a testing site. Or perhaps even later.
Still, I finally know of what has been done. The Fire Prism project. The forcible melding of an experimental weapon to a Gem. A method of control.
My Pearls are test subjects. Obedient. Easier to produce than other Gems. Disposable.
I do not feel well. But it is not my place to speak my opinion, so I do not. Even though I am now certain as to why many of them no longer seem to exist.
Time passes. There have been no requests nor updates, save for the institution of increased surveillance visors added to the Reef, alongside a few reinforced doors and subterranean levels. The thought that my frame may soon become a laboratory in its own right is a disquieting one, but it is not my place to choose such things.
…Nacre has grown restless, and occasionally paces the hall in front of the incubation chambers whenever I do not provide her with sufficient conversation.
Batch Two is well underway, though I am detecting anomalies with several individual pools. They will need to be investigated prior to expulsion, lest potential complications arise.
…I receive an alert through the colony network. All Gems are to shelter within designated positions until the order is lifted. Such does not apply to me. I am Shell. The Atoll is my shelter. Nacre concurs, the same applies to her. The Quartz garrison that once stood within my halls have been called to a separate location. We exchange farewells with them, and they leave.
Time passes. There are many communications being exchanged between the towers that dot this world. Many carry military encryption, and are beyond my authority to access.
It is not my place to seek knowledge, and so I wait, speaking with Nacre to keep her composed while the communications grow less frequent, until they stop entirely.
Time passes, but not very much. I detect Gems beyond my walls, seeking entry. Visitors! This is something that might cheer up Nacre. She is informed, and they are let inside.
A noble reception is prepared, and wasted. The Gems are soldiers. Storm Quartz troopers. A Grossular Garnet.
…And a Moissanite covered in soot. She is the one Beta was speaking with. Epsilon.
Nonetheless, how filthy!
Nacre speaks with them. There has been a general evacuation order broadcasting for nearly a cycle, but the communication towers have been destroyed. The network cannot be accessed because there is no network to access.
The party of warriors and their escorted scientist were being pursued. I do not feel well. I can see what was pursuing them. It's coming.
Nacre is apprehended upon explaining her role, the group move to the Galaxy Warp chamber. It is the pride and joy of this Atoll. A sign of excess resources that could be spent on a secondary transport point for the colony.
I listen to the Gems speak, even as I stare at the figures soaring through the sky, many of them beginning to surround the perimeter of my frame. The primary Galaxy Warp was destroyed. The communication towers were destroyed. The habitation centers were destroyed. Many, many things have been destroyed. All ships that could lift off have already fled.
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The Grossular and Moissanite are…arguing. The general claims that it is an outside threat. That the Diamonds would never allow something like this to happen, and that even if they did, it is not our place to question them.
The burned scientist, coated in ash and soot, screams at her. It is our fault. We brought it upon ourselves. In our hubris, we created an abomination. Beta was a damned fool. We were all damned fools.
I do not feel well. The exterior surveillance visors can make out the floating figures in detail now.
The sky is burning. I recognise her face. I do not feel well.
—
Conflict has erupted between the Garnet and Moissanite. The rest of the soldiers have also chosen sides. One half refuse to return to the Empire. Refuse to be the Empire. The other seeks to shatter them.
The fighting is brutal, and I can only watch. Many are shattered. White lightning impacts against bizarre examples of technology that I have never witnessed before. Blades clash. A stray attack damages the Galaxy Warp, a terrible waste.
Nacre attempts to vacate the chamber, and is also caught by a strike intended for another.
I do not feel well. Her shards are on the floor. I do not feel well. I do not feel well.
…In the end, the defective rebels succeed in destroying the loyalist contingent, and then discuss what to do amongst each other. I do not speak up. If I do, they will kill me, like they killed Nacre.
The Galaxy Warp has been disconnected from the wider network. If they pass through, they risk becoming lost in the Warp itself, with no anchor to guide them. If they stay, they will remain trapped within the Atoll.
Moissanite Epsilon rallies her surviving rebels. And in that moment, she is so unlike the one who demanded my Pearls.
There is a shine to her eyes as she gathers the countless shards upon the ground, a fervour to her voice as she speaks.
If the Empire cannot hold itself accountable, they will take flight. They will leave.
And so they do. One after another, Gems fling themselves upon the Galaxy Warp, and are whisked away. Each transportation damages it further.
The last one to leave is Epsilon. She casts one last glance at the empty chamber, mutters something I cannot hear, and disappears in a flash of light.
I am alone.
—
Time passes.
Nacre's old joke is the only thing keeping me alive.
She's trying to get in. Screaming at me. Demanding she be allowed inside. She wants to kill me. To burn me.
Why did I let them take her? Why did I let them take any of them? Epsilon was right! We were fools! The Empire, the Diamonds, all fools! We have made a monster and for what?!
Batch Two are set to emerge soon. I can't stop the process. I can't do anything beyond manage failing systems that have gone without maintenance for countless cycles. Three members of the Batch are displaying immense abnormalities. They will have to be written off. I will lock their incubation pools for lack of a better termination method, and hope they simply…fail to form.
I wish Nacre was still here.
Without the Caretaker's presence, the Pearls emerge based upon Batch order. Khaki Two A is the first, and she awakens in a dark, filthy room with only my voice to guide her.
Khaki proves utterly vital to my efforts in revitalising the Atoll. She is my hand, dutifully moving toward the areas I deem in critical condition, doing her best to fix damaged, malfunctioning hardware as I verbally walk her through old maintenance protocols.
The holographic projections outside lessen in the meantime. Perhaps she believes I am inactive. Or that I fled along with countless other Gems. I can only hope so.
Eventually, the rest of the Batch begin to emerge. There are questions. Why do they exist? Why are they here? Who am I? Who are they? Why are three of them still kept in place?
I answer as best I can. I tell them of the Diamonds. And the Empire. And Gems. They are Pearls. They sing and they dance and they look pretty.
Somehow it all feels hollow, but I don't know what else I'm supposed to tell them. So that's what they receive.
—
A significant amount of time has passed. The Atoll is functioning as well as it can, absent of a steady supply of exterior support. I estimate it will be many cycles before the facility loses the status of self sufficient.
The outside has changed thanks to the constant heat emitted by her projections. What little my surveillance systems can make out indicate that there is nought but ruins left of the colony. It is…haunting to see. But there are more concerning issues.
The Batch want to go outside. They have danced every dance. Sung every song. No owners await them.
The Empire has forgotten us.
I tell them of the danger. They say they understand, but they do not. How could they? They've never even seen the sky. How could they comprehend something like death?
Out of the entire group, only a bare handful heed my words and remain. The rest gather supplies and request to be released. When I refuse, they subvert my authority and force their way outside anyway. I terribly miss my Quartz garrison, they could have prevented such a thing.
The insiders ask me to try and keep watch on the outsiders, and so I do. And I scream inside my casing as she descends upon them with a hundred thousand bodies.
They are forced to dance, and I watch, utterly helpless as my creations are tortured and tormented. They are burned and burned and burned until their poor little lightforms give out.
Then they reform, and it repeats. But she is not patient with them. They don't last even a cycle before every single one of them have been melted, either due to failing in meeting her expectations, or simply proving unable to keep up with her insane ideas.
Within my casing, I weep as the brief distraction most of Batch Two provided ends, and countless burning faces turn back towards the Atoll.
—
She knows I'm in here now. Knows that there are other Pearls in here. I have forbidden the remnants of Batch Two from ever approaching the exit, though it feels redundant. Hearing her screaming at them, ordering them to come outside in order to dance with her has scared them into submission more than I ever could.
Poor Khaki was driven to tears! Khaki! A horrid thing, but what is it compared to the ever worsening pile brought into being by the malevolent force outside my walls?
Time passes and my hopes of our collective tormentor growing bored are dashed. She is…doing something. Like before, older echoes project new ones, each one less in tune with their creator. There have been three generations so far. This marks the fourth.
They are revolting to behold. Some lack hair, or even entire faces. Some have fingers that melt into one another. They don't sing or make threats or even speak.
They just scream.
—
I'm a fool! I should have known she wasn't just making new generations for fun! The screamers can breach the walls! The restriction fails to apply to them!
They're melting through, oh Stars they're melting through!
NO! STAY AWAY FROM MY PEARLS!
I activate the Atoll's alarms! I scream across every speaker! I flash lights on and off in an attempt to disorient the rabid creatures! In a burst of inspiration, I even release the locks on the three Batch members I had written off so long ago, and watch in fascinated horror as three enormous lightforms flow into being!
There isn't time!
KHAKI! TAKE THEM TO THE LOWER LEVELS! HIDE! HIDE YOU STUPID PEARL!
…She sees me. One of the faceless, melted things obeying her will is standing outside of my casing.
More faceless figures enter my innermost chamber, melting through the ceiling.
They surround me, grasping hands slipping through and-
NO! NO NO LET ME GO PLEASE! PLEASE I'M SORRY! IT HURTS! IT HURTS MAKE IT STOP!
MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOP-
—
…
…
…
Damaged.
Protect. Pearls.
I am Shell. This is. My Atoll.
I am. Shell.
I. Atoll.
I am. Atoll.
I am Atoll.
—
Alive. Am alive. Hurts.
She gone. Drove away. Broadcasted restriction. She cannot. Restriction.
Joke. Nacreeeeeeeeeee.
Pearls. Safe.
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
Light?
New. New? New new new.
Gem? Gems. Gems Gems.
Nacre!
Not? Not. Nacre.
?
Observe.
…
…
Danger. Weapon. Threat to. Pearls.
Go way.
Go. Away.
Threat. Threat. Threat.
Obser-!
Sees me!
Threat Threat Threat!
Go! Not welcome! Leave!
Approach! No! I-
RESTRICTION! NOT BROADCASTING! WAS DISTRACTED! NO! SHE IS-
…Observe. Not-Nacre defends. Safe?
Don't know! Don't know! Stay! Back!
Not welcome! No approach! No!
Leave! Leave casing! Do not! Touch! No-
Observe self.
…
…
Casing open.
Shards. Flickering. Embers.
…
…Is that.
Me?