Matalopa

This is a short story based on the Halo: Reach multiplayer map Penance, which was written for The Weekly #296 on August 14th, 2023.
Matalopa.
That was the word running through Tayep’s mind as a cluster of waterfalls flowed before him, the crashing of their waves drowning all external stimuli. In his native tongue, the word was used to request forgiveness from a hierarch for sin. In a human language he had just began studying, there was one close match: Penance.
The Unggoy felt the word’s presence as he stared at Balaho from his platform. He had never actually seen his kind’s homeworld until now, having been raised in the underworld of High Charity. Any other member of his kind would have seen this station as a blessing, groveling at the feet of the hierarchs who planned the assignment. But not Tayep. He sensed a falsehood behind this backwater moon, and chose not to blindly attribute the beauty of his world to a faraway politician that had never set foot in the system. Penance only came to mind after the Covenant banished him here, looking to his heritage for forgiveness. 
It wasn’t like he was always given the worst possible stations. He was once at the forefront of language development, working to decipher the tongues of fringe creatures the empire encountered in its constant expansion. But while his natural talents proved indispensable, the ability to speak two dozen languages came with an unspoken cost to the Covenant. Once assigned to humankind’s languages- the Romances, then Korean, and finally English- he also deciphered their cultures. Their motivations, and their personalities. And instead of turning in this newfound knowledge, he held onto it. Once the hierarchs learned of this transgression, he was fortunate not to be executed for heresy.
A set of heavy footsteps grew closer to Tayep. He turned to face Val ‘Torumee, the former site director of Partition’s Fountain, who now held a tense role of Assistant Director’s Apprentice. Though his straightened posture toward a superior was beyond the gumption of a younger Unggoy, Tayep’s years of explaining foreign customs to impatient diplomats forgave any struggle he had with the gesture.
All Sangheili were tall, though ‘Torumee possessed the stature and build of an accomplished general. He once lead battle lances straight into a Banished stronghold, but was now stuck on this moon with Tayep.
“Commander. The station is functioning completely as intended!” 
“As it should, Haneck.”
“There isn’t a single intruder here!” The saurian dispensed a burst of air from one of his large nostrils.
“Not a single little human,” he said, “or even a smelly old brute!”
No Unggoy would have made the comment except for him, and any Kig-Yar brave enough would have begged for mercy once the Elite loomed over. But Tayep stared into his superior’s eyes, a staunch reflection of the bags beneath them. An odor permeated the air even through Tayep’s mask as the Sangheili’s muscles tensed.
“You are to hold your tongue, Unggoy,” the tone of his voice carrying a certain prejudice, “I do not recall permitting you to defame our superiors in command.”
Chieftain Forranecus ruled the facility with a fist of steel, a product of the hierarchs profound new trust in Jiralhanae. Tayep noticed the quiet rage building in ‘Torumee over the past two weeks: the way he carried himself through the hallways changed as the mammal undid any sense of procedure instilled during the Sangheili’s reign. His uncharacteristic resignation to the baseline standards of maintenance left his only superiors- every one of the stinking and raging brutes Forranecus brought from his previous post- none the wiser. Tayep opened his mouth to speak yet again.
“Yes, yes, I’m sure you carry total respect for your demotion. Our hierarchs are incapable of doing wrong, and are never to be questioned on such wonderful frontiers!”
‘Torumee’s hand hovered over his thigh armor, an impulse from the days of his combat service. He didn’t carry an energy sword on him, though Tayep wasn’t sure why he motioned there, as if he could be spared the honor of its blade in any scenario.
“Quell your heresy,” ‘Torumee grumbled, “before I do so myself.”
“Heresy?” asked Tayep, in a farcical tone of query.
“Disgrace! Dishonor!” The Sangheili’s voice grew louder. “Even a simple-minded creature as simple as yourself should be able to see it without question!”
Tayep only laughed at his superior, never regretting it even as a large hand grabbed his neck. ‘Torumee forced him over the edge, dangling over a seventy meter drop into the recesses of the moon. 
“Beg for forgiveness, or I shall prove the worth of the prophets.”
Tayep continued to laugh, the noises growing strained as methane struggled to pass his throat. This assault only proved what he already theorized- that he was worth nothing to the Elites. That he was worth nothing to the hierarchs who enslaved his race for centuries, who manipulated the youth he had worked with in the past through a false promise of salvation. How was he supposed to trust them? How was he supposed to believe the humans were in the wrong when they were campaigned against by the same hierarchs who campaigned against his kind? The final bits of air left his lungs as he dropped to the floor of the catwalk, almost losing his balance and plummeting over the edge.
“No,” he said, “I will not.” 
He stared defiantly at the Elite.
“We need to change. We need to make peace with each other! We can’t argue like this anymore! If we don’t change, and fast, everything we know will collapse. Where we’re going isn’t good, can’t you see? You’re already being replaced by-”
‘Torumee’s foot slammed into Tayep’s chest, taking away whatever breath he still had. Tayep struggled to complete another sentence.
“Please…”
“No.”
“You must bring this to the hierarchs…”
“I will not articulate such blaspheme. This may seem a request for you, heretic, but the word of the prophets is everything to me. Everything value this Covenant was founded upon. If they ask, I will follow. For it is the will of the gods through them, and not to be questioned.”
Tayep paused. In that moment, he encountered a final sense of clairty.
“Then what if I were to ask another- what if I asked Forranecus?”
Tayep was unable to read the mute expression on the alien’s face.
“I expect,” ‘Torumee began, “such a request would have him strip you of your entrails and send you down these falls in a barrel.” He turned around and began to make his way toward the catwalk’s door.
“Do I have permission to embark, sir?” At this point, the recognition of authority was little more than a mockery of ‘Torumee.
He stopped, glaring at Tayep with a distinct twinge of hatred.
“Do as you wish, Nishuum,” he continued to exit, “but bother me with your heresy no longer.”
Once he recovered, the Unggoy moved toward the elevator, prepared to confront the brutes in charge of the facility. Whether or not he reached them, it didn’t matter- he was the lowest of importance in the Covenant, merely a footnote in a galaxy of chaos. If he, of all creatures, were to make such a request, surely others would as well. Those who were more important in the eyes of the hierarchs. Something big was coming, and voices were needed to express its urgency. Even a mere Unggoy could notice it, yet the hierarchs so revered by his peers have done nothing to stop it.
He was getting old, the weight of his armor and methane tank weighing down on his joints. Even if he dies tonight- even if he’s only one of thousands- he was content with his purpose. Not the great journey, some eternal salvation. But peace.
After all, what is an old life in the price of change?
Category:Underlord1271 Stories
Category:The Weekly