Halo: Minorca Saga/Chapter Sixteen

CHRONOLOGICAL 
ANOMALY [APRIL 2552???] / FORERUNNER “LABYRINTH” FACILITY
 
 
The Spartans has 
been gone a while, and Wallace was beginning to wonder if they hadn’t gotten 
lost – or worse, whether there were Covenant in the Labyrinth already, and had 
claimed their first victims.
 
The corridors were 
massive, and the platoon didn’t even bother taking cover. There was no cover 
available besides the Warthogs. But they didn’t hurry along either. If there was 
Covenant here, they didn’t want to slam headlong into them.
 
He waved a hand, 
and Tinkerbell fluttered away.
 
The machine looked 
like a small plasma pistol, floating around backwards. A pair of wings jutted 
from the back, and at the front a small light glowed dim. As they had moved 
further, trying to catch up to the Spartans, they had stumbled across it.
 
Wallace had 
nicknamed it Tinkerbell after a story his mother had once told him. It insisted 
on trying to get close to the vehicles, using a laser cutter to repair what it 
perceived as damage. It was more of a hindrance than help, really, but it seemed 
curious and gentle. And enthusiastic.
 
They rounded a 
corner, and the machine floated up to the roof. Wallace’s eyes followed it.
 
He gaped.
 
Above, streams of 
the little machines  crisscrossed the ceiling, entering and exiting from portals 
at the top  of the walls. There must have been hundreds…thousands of them.
 
As Wallace’s eyes 
drifted down, he saw a sight even less welcome.
 
There were larger 
machines, some a sphere with three booms around them, others angular and 
shifting. And through them all waded a mammoth machine, as big as a dropship, 
with huge arms and shields in front of it.
 
“Back up! Back up, 
damn it!”
 
The vehicles were 
put in reverse, and they sped out of there. If they were hostile, they would 
have been sitting ducks.
 
Wallace 
disembarked, waving Vasquez to do the same and follow him forward. He used her 
sniper rifle to get a better view of the chamber.
 
It was massive, 
and could have held three gravball stadiums. There were railings along the sides 
where platforms led to control panels, and in the middle of the chamber a chasm. 
The effect was impressive.
 
It was also not a 
good thing. There was no way back. The Spartans must have come this way, because 
there were no other side-passages or corridors.
 
Wallace frowned. 
There had to be some way through.
 
“What the hell are 
those things?” muttered Vasquez.
 
“No idea Corporal. 
But whatever they are, I don’t want to get on their bad side. And I want to be 
in their field of fire if I can help it.”
 
She nodded to the 
left. “Over there, Sarge. We could use them as cover.”
 
There were a 
number of cube-shaped objects cluttering the chamber floor, grouped together in 
a tight cluster. Vasquez was right – they even covered the entrance to the 
walkway.
 
“There’s a lot of 
empty spare between here and there, Vasquez.”
 
“I always did well 
in sprints.”
 
 
 
Damn. Why had she 
volunteered? That was the first mantra a Marine who intended to live a long and 
healthy life learned – never volunteer for nothin’.
 
She had abandoned 
her sniper rifle and most of the armour plating. They were dead weight, and she 
doubted they’d be useful against…whatever these machines were. She had an M7S 
submachine gun clipped to his ammo belt, but other than that she had lightened 
her load as much as possible.
 
She tensed her 
feet, getting ready to run as if her life depended on it. It very well might.
 
She took off – the 
air rushed around her as she powered across the floor. From her peripheral 
vision, she saw machines swivel, pivoting in mid-air, red lights glowing-
 
There was a 
blistering heat across her back, and she clenched here eyes shut as she ran. The 
sound of other beams firing around her made her run even faster if it was 
possible.
 
And then she was 
through.
 
She unclipped the 
M7S, flicking the safety off, hoping bullets worked against these things as she 
moved from cube to cube, hoping the machines weren’t smart enough to realise she 
was lightly armed.
 
Apparently, they 
were very smart.
 
She almost ran 
into one of the machines, a glowing orb with struts shifting and a weapon slung 
underneath it. She flinched as its weapon glowed red…
 
…and then powered 
down again. It floated away.
 
Okay. Now Vasquez 
was confused as hell. But she put it out of her mind, focussing on the control 
panel. She was closer now, and the angle the machines floated at provided less 
cover. But as they turned to track her progress, they held their fire.
 
And a new machine 
had joined them, a carved out sphere with another inside it glowing blue.
 
“Ah, Excellent! 
More Reclaimers!”
 
It floated to a 
stop in front of her. She curved around it, ducking through an overhang.
 
It shifted its 
position, bringing it into her way. She went around it again, trying to keep her 
submachine gun trained on it.
 
“Please, 
Reclaimer, I mean you no harm. If you wish access to the control panel, then all 
you had to do was ask.”
 
It spoke her 
language, she realised with a shock. And it called her…what? Reclaimer?
 
And then an alien 
machine speaking the English language was the least of her problems.
 
 
 
 
Wallace let out a 
small cry as Vasquez vanished in a golden glow, and hefted his rifle.
 
Damn! He shouldn’t 
have sent her – shouldn’t have tried to follow the Spartans – shouldn’t have-
 
“Sarge?”
 
Wallace spun – and 
there, behind him, was Corporal Vasquez.
 
“What the-”
 
“Please, lower 
your firearm.”
 
The machine 
descended, floating at around eye-height. It tilted in a curious gesture, seemng 
to stare right at Wallace.
 
“Over my dead 
body, lightbulb.”
 
The machine seemed 
to let out an electronic sigh. “My concern is not for my safety, you understand. 
Units of my classification have more than sufficient shielding to protect 
against such inferior projectile weapons. But deflection may cause harm to you 
or a member of your group. Please. Lower your firearm.”
 
It sounded like a 
schoolteacher dealing with a naughty pupil. Wallace frowned, but reattached it 
to his magnetic clamps.
 
“And the rest of 
your group?”
 
Wallace looked – 
the platoon had manoeuvred the Warthogs as cover, and now trained 
submachineguns, pistols, rifles, and chainguns at the machine. Wallace nodded, 
and the Marines began to grudgingly holster their weapons.
 
“Okay. Now what 
are you going to do with us?”
 
“First, I must 
relocate you to a safer location. This area is no longer safe for Reclaimer 
habitation.”
 
“Wait, what-“
 
The golden glow 
returned, surrounding them.
 
 
 
 
No!
 
The creature leapt 
from the shadows with all its might, perhaps hoping to catch one of the 
creatures before it disappeared – to claim the flesh it had persevered for.
 
It passed through 
the after-image, hitting the floor hard.
 
And now, the 
Sentinels took aim.
 
But the corridors 
contained more than mere shadows. Grotesque behemoths lumbered out, roaring 
defiance. Further back, bulbous creatures bristling with spikes took aim.
 
War broke out.
 
The Sentinels were 
technically superior. They floated out of range of the creatures, using their 
laser weapons efficiently and quickly. But the numbers of the creatures swelled. 
The behemoths leapt into the air, latching on to sentinels, dragging them down, 
tearing them apart with bare hands – or what sufficed for hands.
 
The smaller spiky 
creatures convulsed, and rods lanced out, accelerated past the speed of sound, 
slamming into shields and tearing into metal plating. The massive Enforcer 
floated forward, its massive shield covering the smaller constructs behind it.
 
Behind them, the 
shadows moved…
 
The creatures 
moved on, taking time only to activate the light bridge across the canyon to 
further their progress. They would claim the secrets of this facility, that had 
been their sanctum and prison for millennia.
 
As they passed, 
the infection form paused. Had the air shifted?
 
It ignored it. It 
was not food.
 
And they were 
hungry.
 
 
 
 
Qur’a’s eyes were 
wide in fear. Around him, his warriors clutched their weapons, yearning to wipe 
these abominations out but terrified all the same.
 
The Flood. The 
unholy demons that had opposed the Gods aeons ago, and who had almost brought 
about the end of the universe.
 
Qur’a had heard 
tales of such things as an infant, always as a child. If he ha dmisbehaved, he 
would be told the demons would come for him. Even then, he had never believed 
it. Not in his heart of hearts. But somewhere inside him a small part had 
thought “what if they are…”
 
‘Joralanee moved 
forward slowly, crouching over the remnants of one of the machines, gently 
prodding it with a boot to see if it wad dead. When the wreckage refused to 
budge, she leaned down further to inspect it.
 
“Sentinels,” she 
whispered over the BattleNet. “Sacred warriors of the Gods.”
 
Juno was his 
Lance’s technical specialist, but she was also their specialist on all matters 
of the Forerunners. She had been training to be a warrior-monk before deciding 
the life of a warrior of the Covenant would be more exciting.
 
He wondered if she 
was beginning to regret it now. Qur’a certainly was.
 
As Kaidon of the 
Sovereign-State of Morheka, Qur’a had a duty to serve in the Covenant. Many of 
his illustrious ancestors had joined the regular Army, becoming Field Masters. 
They usually lived. Others had joined the navy, and led fleets into battle. A 
few had become High Councillors. But Qur’a was the first to break with tradition 
and become a Special Operations Ultra.
 
Juno came from 
 the Righteous Trinity to the north of Morheka. A few members of his Lance came 
from Mopad. But in battle, geography was ignored and forgotten. They had become 
brothers and sisters forged and tempered in battle.
 
The shambling 
legion passed with scarcely a glance at the invisible Sangheili. Qur’a wondered 
whether it was because of their active camouflage, or because they had all 
frozen in fear.
 
Their orders 
were…confused. He knew the Covenant had arrived to claim a relic, but even the 
Field Master had not known what it was. When the luminaries had detected it, 
they had simply assumed it would be a minor artefact, quickly recovered and 
studied.
 
Nobody had 
expected this…
 
“Can we reach the 
Field Master yet?” he asked their communications specialist, Suna ‘Warrumee.
 
“No excellency. 
The signals are…confusing. Distorted. Even a distance of only a few units will 
interrupt contact. As long as we stay close, it wont effect our team.”
 
Qur’a silently 
cursed his luck.
 
He wondered how 
Field Master ‘Kotarqee was faring? He had been planning on crushing the human 
defences to allow the Covenant to allow access to the other signal.
 
Other signal…
 
“There must be a 
way out of here. Tlatomee, take your File and search for it. If you encounter 
the humans, do not engage. Follow them if you must, but find that exit. The rest 
of us will search this place for relics, and perhaps a way to stop the Flood.”
 
‘Tlatomee nodded, 
an action outlined on the Heads-Up-Display projected onto his goggles, and half 
of the Lance split off, moving across the light bridge.
 
“May the 
Forerunners have mercy upon us,” he muttered. “For the Parasite shall not.”
 
 
 
Michael had 
listened, and thought he could piece together most of the puzzle, or at least 
part of it.
 
Thousands of years 
ago, the Forerunners had dominated the galaxy before vanishing. The Caretaker 
refused to divulge the reason behind their disappearance, only that it was 
related to the purpose of the Labyrinth. But when they had gone, they had left a 
lot behind. Some of it destroyed by the wear of time, some of it buried…and 
some, like the Labyrinth, intact.
 
That was what the 
Covenant was after – the relics left behind by the Forerunners, who the revered 
as gods.
 
“So, this 
Labyrinth. It was a testing facility, yes?”
 
“Indeed,” the 
Caretaker said, almost offhand. “It was established to aid in the war effort, 
and to find exploitable disadvantages.”
 
“And I don’t 
suppose you could tell us who your makers fought?”
 
“I am sorry, but 
no. Protocol is quite clear on that, as I have already explained.”
 
Michael shook his 
head. “Yes, you said.”
 
“While my 
Sentinels continue sterilisation protocols, I can at least show you the heart of 
the facility. It is the safest place here, and should provide adequate 
protection.”
 
Exactly what they 
needed protection from, Michael had no idea.
 
As the senior 
officer present, he had been elected as their representative. The fact that he 
was also from the Office of Naval Intelligence helped matters, of course. The 
Spartans and Marines swept the corridors with their weapons, staying alert for 
whatever threat the Caretaker talked about.
 
Occasionally, they 
would reach the end of a corridor, and they would be teleported to the other 
side, continuing their journey. Michael suspected that it actually involved a 
miniscule controlled slipspace rupture, rather than  the disassembly and 
reassembly of their atoms, but it was a convenient name and had the same effect. 
Simplicity was not to be sneezed at.
 
And as they 
walked, they talked. Or, at least, the humans plied the Caretaker with questions 
and tried to fit the answers together.
 
“So, what is the 
centre like?”
 
“The Core? 
Standard fare – containment and research stations, gravitic maintenance 
assemblies, and a zero-point energy power supply.”
 
Michael frowned. 
“No. That’s impssible. You can’t get zero point energy. Its like perpetual 
motion machines – energy must come from and go somewhere.”
 
“As you say, 
Reclaimer, but your disbelief does not stop it from existing.”
 
“But it violates 
the laws of thermodynamics!”
 
“YOUR laws. Of 
course, your technological state was projected to be far ahead of your current 
state, but I had expected at least some improvement…ah, here we are. The Core.”
 
The chamber was 
quite large, and the floor curved downwards. Michael knew he should be feeling 
off balance on the uneven surface, but gravity hugged its curvature, keeping him 
firmly rooted upright.
 
Behind him, the 
axenoarchaeologist gasped. Michael stared in astonishment.
 
The chamber was 
beautiful. Around them, glittering carvings and glyphs seemed to float in the 
air around them…and then, with a start, Michael realised they were floating 
around them. Behind them, the solid granite walls were smooth and perfectly 
curved. Michael had enough experience to appraise it approvingly with a 
craftsmans eye. His father had been a statue carver back on Miridem…
 
But more 
astonishing than the holograms and molecule-perfect construction was the glowing 
purple beam that lit the centre of the room, and in the middle of it, a floating 
crystal of sapphire as big as his hand.
 
There was a snort 
of derision from behind him. “Is that it?” Sergeant Wallace demanded.
 
“Well, yes, 
Reclaimer. This crystal powers this facility and others like it – past, present, 
and future.”
 
Michael frowned. 
“What?”
 
It took a lot of 
explaining, and Michael’s grasp of quantum mechanics was barely enough to get 
hold of the basics. It was quite beyond the Marines, though the Spartans 
listened with interest. And the Xenoarchaeologist frowned as though what he was 
being told made perfect sense.
 
It probably did. 
Michael was an expert on the Covenant, not these Forerunners. It was nice to 
have someone else to consult for a change.
 
Zero-point energy 
was not a new theory. Technically, it was the smallest possible energy of a 
quantum mechanical physical system. And if it could be extracted and used, it 
could provide its users with virtually unlimited power – perpetual motion 
devices that constantly generated energy without using any. But of course, that 
violated so many laws of physics that it was impossible. For one thing, if 
energy was taken from a zero point system it would change the system itself. But 
it apparently didn’t.
 
That was because 
the energy it extracted wasn’t from THIS universe.
 
Astrophysicists 
had speculated for centuries on why slipspace seemed to be so chaotic – many of 
its physical laws had broken down, and quantum eddies made navigating it a 
difficult prospect at the best of times, and at worst it was downright lethal.
 
The dimensions 
breakdown had been because of this crystal. The Forerunners had never needed to 
use slipspace for travel. They had far more efficient – and here, Michael 
grimaced at the machine’s prim tone of superiority – methods of moving about the 
galaxy. So they had managed to tunnel into another universe, one newly born, and 
had drained it of its energy to give themselves an infinite supply of power.
 
“How much does the 
crystal generate?” Carson asked, curious. “To power hundreds of facilities like 
this-”
 
The Caretaker 
looked haughty. “Like this? You misunderstand me, I think. This single crystal 
powered the Forerunners entire civilisation. Its ships, its cities, its 
translocation grids…everything. All at once.”
 
Michael whistled. 
“That would be something. Could we perhaps get closer?”
 
“You can try, but 
I am quite confident you will not succeed.”
 
Michael shrugged, 
and tried to move towards it. He reached out, to the crystal-
 
He blinked, 
confused. Where was he? He’d been reaching for the crystal and…now he was on the 
other side of the room? He turned around. The Marines and Spartans were on the 
other side of the crystal now. He tried to move towards it again-
 
He felt a hand on 
his shoulder, and the Sergeant shook his head.
 
“You just went 
straight through it. Twice.”
 
“Of course,” the 
Caretaker said, as though it was balaringly obvious. “A compressed slipspace 
field encapsulating the artefact allows us to view it. This is merely an 
afterimage. The Crystal is quite safe, suspended in the slipstream space it 
draws its energy from.”
 
Wallace snorted. 
“Commander, this has been a waste of our time. We should find what the Covenant 
were looking for and get back to base.”
 
Michael sighed. 
“As fascinating as this place is, I must agree with you, Sergeant. And, of 
course, Doctor Carson needs to be briefed on the Covenant, since he disappeared 
before…they…”
 
He glanced at the 
Doctor. He looked young, not like a man who had been lost for more than thirty 
years. But he’d disappeared in 2520. A sudden realisation struck him.
 
“When we return, 
will there BE a base to return to?” he demanded, glaring at the Caretaker.
 
“Uncertain. The 
temporal fluctuations that surround this place are a sideeffect of the crystal, 
and cannot be predicted with great accuracy. You could return a day after you 
left, or a hundred years before. There’s no certainty.”
 
The Marines 
murmured. If they could go back, perhaps they could warn the UNSC, be ready for 
the Covenant when they attacked…but they’d never see their families again. They 
might not even be born. And they’d have to fight the Covenant all over again. Or 
of they emerged a hundred years later…they could find themselves in a galaxy 
controlled by the Covenant. Neither prospect was particularly inviting.
 
“What about the 
Grandfather Paradox?” Michael asked, hopeful. “If we did go back a hundred 
years, could we change it? And if we did…would we still be born?”
 
“If you do go back 
in time, and you tried to change things, then you did not succeed. Time is 
unchangeable. What happens is fixed. How it happens is a flexible stream, but it 
always ends up in the sea.”
 
Damn. So much for 
that.
 
“Still, you cannot 
remain here. Outbreaks are being reported in all sectors, and seventeen Sentinel 
maintenance facilities have been overrun. Your presence remains a further threat 
to containment that must be negated.”
 
“Containment of 
WHAT?!” growled the lead Spartan, Jamal. “What are you keeping in here? What are 
we a threat to?”
 
“Well, since 
containment if failing already…this facility was originally established as a 
weapons testing facility. Do you understand? We sought ways to fight out 
adversary. Biolgical viruses. Directed energy weapons. Solid light containment 
fields. And our crowning achievement, the Halo Effect generators. All of them 
were designed to combat a parasitic alien species we termed the Flood.”
 
For a moment, 
Michael could have sworn he had heard a gasp. But all of the Marines and Doctor 
Carson looked passive, perhaps even bemused. The Spartans, with their reflective 
visors, were a mystery.
 
“A flood? And…this 
is what you are keeping in here?”
 
The Caretaker 
moved to another translocation grid panel, and they were surrounded in glowing 
golden light as it replied. “Research specimens were retained by several 
Installations as a failsafe measure in case the Array failed. If the Flood 
persisted, we would eventually find a means of defeating them. Or so it was 
hoped.”
 
The Caretaker 
sighed as the glow dissipated. “Alas, it would seem that nothing we try works. 
They rapidly become immune against even our most successful biological weapons. 
They are immune to radiation, and the pure strains are unaffected by the Halo 
Effect. And they are capable of mutating their physiology at will, so that any 
strategy we come up with can rapidly be countered. They are even able to tap 
into the computer systems, which I understand they have begun now. Excuse me-”
 
There was a 
brilliant flash of light, and a beam of pure energy lanced out of the 
Caretaker’s central eye, striking one of the shadows. It burst violently in 
mid-leap, and Vasquez hurriedly stepped back as its remains collapsed at her 
feet.
 
The shadows moved. 
The weren’t shadows.
 
“I apologise. I 
did not anticipate infection of this area. One moment…”
 
Another glow, 
golden this time, appeared around the Caretaker. The creatures broke off from 
the shadows, leaping at them in a wave of flesh – and struck an invisible 
barrier. Golden flecks appeared where the creatures made contact, and Michael 
could make out a perfect sphere surrounding them.
 
“And now…”
 
The golden glow of 
the translocation grid enveloped Michael again…
 
And then 
blackness.
 
 
 
 
Qur’a was 
astonished at many things. Where to begin?
 
The relic they had 
sought, had fought so hard to reach, did not exist in the conventional way. The 
abomination that had infected the structure had been harboured by the gods 
because there was no other way to stop them. And the Oracle had treated the 
humans with difference…respect…
 
And, for the first 
time in his life, Qur’a began to doubt the Prophets.
 
Vermin? How could 
they be vermin if an Oracle obeyed their commands? How could the Forerunners 
approve, even demand, their extinction if they had made the Humans their 
“Reclaimers”?
 
The other members 
of his lance had hung back. If Qur’a had been discovered, he did not want to 
lose his whole lance because they demanded revenge. He returned to them with 
haste, turning his thoughts over in his head.
 
Juno ‘Joralanee 
looked up as he approached. “What news, Excellency? Any relics discovered?”
 
He shook his head 
firmly. “No, Sub-Commander. There are no relics here. Only the abomination and a 
handful of…only the abomination.”
 
Why did he not 
tell them? His thoughts were important. They could split the Covenant apart if 
he shared them…but no. The Great Journey came before any pride he felt in his 
race, and no matter what special place the humans held in the Gods’ hearts, they 
impeded their progress. They would be swept away by the holy light of the sacred 
rings. Or perhaps they would be gathered up on the wings of angels?
 
No. Safer to keep 
them to himself. Perhaps he would discuss it with the Prophets, bnut for now 
secrecy would ensure their survival.
 
“Any word from the 
‘Tlatomee and his File?”
 
“None, Commander. 
They remain within range, but they do not respond.”
 
Qur’a bared his 
teeth in anger. “Then they must have been claimed by the parasite. Accursed 
abominations!”
 
“What do we do 
now, Commander?”
 
Qur’a sighed, 
shaking his head. “If the scriptures speak truth, then the Abomination almost 
defeated the Forerunners themselves. I am not so arrogant as to presume even the 
Covenant invulnerable. We must find a way to stop the Parasite from escaping 
from this place, and we must find a way to study this sacred structure with 
greater clarity than we can afford now.” 
 
 
He shuddered as 
shambling monsters strode past, ignoring the stealthed Sangheili. Qur’a was glad 
that the parasite did not seem to be paying attention – he knew full well that 
the creatures had no need for eyes, and used other senses to find their paths. 
He was only grateful that they didn’t seem to be using them, or that their 
camouflage seemed to be confounding them.
 
“We return, and we 
report our findings to Field Master ‘Kotarqee. He will know what to do.”
 
He didn’t mention 
that if he made this the Field Master’s burden, then it was no longer his. It 
bore down on his mind – and he kept returning inevitably to the humans.
 
What had the 
Oracle meant by calling them “Reclaimers”? Why had it treated them with such 
respect if they were vermin? The answers terrified Qur’a – not because they 
might be true, but because it would mean that the Prophets who had decreed them 
Heretics were false.
 
And if they were 
false about this, they could be false about a great many things…
 
 
 
 
The translocation 
field glowed gold for one last time, and the Caretaker saw the occupants of it 
flash and disappear. A few Sentinels continued to patrol the corridors, 
supported by their heavier brethren and by Enforcers. Constructors desperately 
set to work, trying to repair damage.
 
“What did you tell 
them?”
 
The Caretaker 
didn’t turn around. “Only what protocol allowed.”
 
There was a glow 
in the shadows, and another construct emerged from where it had remained, 
hidden. It flickered, the active camouflage field still dissipating. It was 
larger than the Monitor, elongated vertically, with four wing-like thrusters 
jutting from behind it.
 
Its eye flickered. 
“A pity. You are a fool, Caretaker. You set too much store by Protocol that is 
easily broken.”
 
The Monitor turned 
to face its counterpart, its eye now flaring red. “How dare you! There has been 
no breach of containment for 101,023 Cycles, Guardian!”
 
The Guardian 
turned away from the Caretaker, a flight of its own Sentinels following it in 
escort. And as he left, he called back: “Because there was nothing to tempt the 
Flood. This world was barren and lifeless, until the Reclaimers arrived. Even 
after they made this world theirs, you contained them only because of superior 
forces. You have spent twenty Cycles fighting more desperately than the 
thousands you spent enforcing the Protocol. They did not try, because there was 
no gain. You let them bide their time and regather their strength, because of 
your Protocol. You shall be the doom of us all.”
 
And then he was 
gone, leaving the Caretaker spluttering and seething in his wake.
Category:Minorca Saga